and I shall give you a glimpse into the future.

DEARTH. I don't know that I want that: the present is so good.

MARGARET. Shut your eyes, please.

DEARTH. No, Margaret.

MARGARET. Please, Daddy.

DEARTH. Oh, all right. They are shut.

MARGARET. Don't open them till I tell you. What finger is that?

DEARTH. The dirty one.

MARGARET (on her knees among the leaves). Daddy, now I am putting up
my hair. I have got such a darling of a mirror. It is such a darling
mirror I 've got, Dad. Dad, don't look. I shall tell you about it. It
is a little pool of water. I wish we could take it home and hang it
up. Of course the moment my hair is up there will be other changes
also; for instance, I shall talk quite differently.

DEARTH. Pooh. Where are my matches, dear?

MARGARET, Top pocket, waistcoat.

DEARTH (trying to light his pipe in darkness). You were meaning to
frighten me just now.

MARGARET. No. I am just preparing you. You see, darling, I can't call
you Dad when my hair is up. I think I shall call you Parent. (He
growls.) Parent dear, do you remember the days when your Margaret was
a slip of a girl, and sat on your knee? How foolish we were, Parent,
in those distant days.

DEARTH. Shut up, Margaret.

MARGARET. Now I must be more distant to you; more like a boy who could
not sit on your knee any more.

DEARTH. See here, I want to go on painting. Shall I look now?

MARGARET. I am not quite sure whether I want you to. It makes such a
difference. Perhaps you won't know me. Even the pool is looking a
little scared. (The change in her voice makes him open his eyes
quickly. She confronts him shyly.) What do you think? Will I do?

DEARTH. Stand still, dear, and let me look my fill. The Margaret that
is to be.

MARGARET (the change in his voice falling clammy on her). You'll see
me often enough, Daddy, like this, so you don't need to look your
fill. You are looking as long as if this were to be the only time.

DEARTH. (with an odd tremor). Was I? Surely it isn't to be that.

MARGARET. Be gay, Dad. (Bumping into him and round him and over him.)
You will be sick of Margaret with her hair up before you are done
with her.

DEARTH. I expect so.

MARGARET. Shut up, Daddy. (She waggles her head, and down comes her
hair.) Daddy, I know what you are thinking of. You are thinking what
a handful she is going to be.

DEARTH. Well, I guess she is.

MARGARET (surveying him from another angle). Now you are thinking