The girls see him, and with glad cries rush into
his arms.)
LADY MARY. Father.
LORD LOAM. Mary--Catherine--Agatha. Oh dear, my dears, my dears, oh
dear!
LADY MARY. Darling.
AGATHA. Sweetest.
CATHERINE. Love.
TREHERNE. Glad to see you, sir.
ERNEST. Uncle, uncle, dear old uncle.
(For a time such happy cries fill the air, but presently TREHERNE is
thoughtless.)
TREHERNE. Ernest thought you were a tiger-cat.
LORD LOAM (stung somehow to the quick). Oh, did you? I knew you at
once, Ernest; I knew you by the way you ran.
(ERNEST smiles forgivingly.)
CRICHTON (venturing forward at last). My lord, I am glad.
ERNEST (with upraised finger). But you are also idling, Crichton.
(Making himself comfortable on the ground.) We mustn't waste time.
To work, to work.
CRICHTON (after contemplating him without rancour). Yes, sir.
(He gets a pot from the hut and hangs it on a tripod over the fire,
which is now burning brightly.)
TREHERNE. Ernest, you be a little more civil.
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