David (whispers) Maggie … Maggie …

She ignores him and busies herself with tidying up.

Christopher Let’s begin with these. They’re blocking the light in the kitchen. Mark that. And that. And that.

David What about this one?

Christopher What is it?

David A sycamore. Doesn’t look very healthy.

Christopher Mark it. Ah – here’s a specimen. According to Grandfather Gore it is a … yes, a walnut. That’s a walnut, isn’t it?

David Is it?

Christopher A juglans nigra, yes! A nigrescent juglans! Needs a lot more light. Put a mark on that one that’s crowding in on it.

David And this?

Christopher No, leave that.

David It’s an old sycamore. Doesn’t look very strong.

Christopher It looks fine to me.

David It’s weak-looking. I’ll mark it.

Christopher Careful, David: you don’t want to denude the place altogether.

David Gone.

Christopher Don’t be so harsh. Let’s stick with this plan.

Their voices fade. Occasionally we hear a word or two. Now in the far distance we hear the school choir singing ‘Oft in the Stilly Night’. The moment the music begins, Margaret stands motionless, enraptured, as she did at the beginning of the play. But on this occasion for only a very short time. Then, very deliberately, she turns her back to the music and stands still. But the siren sound seduces her again. She turns round. She is drawn towards the singing as she was before and drifts downstage towards it. She drops into a seat and sits there, mesmerised, absorbing, submitting, remembering. Christopher emerges from the thicket left.

Now, according to the old man, there should be a birch somewhere about … here? And indeed there is! ‘Brought home by cousin Edward from Kenya.’ That’s a white birch-bark, isn’t it? ‘A five-foot Betula pendula tristis’. A sad birch. (to tree) Why are you sad? Still hankering after Kenya? Give cousin Edward breathing space. So – mark that and that and – David? Where are you, David?

David now emerges round the side of the house.

David Sorry. Ran out of whitewash.

Christopher Mark that. And that.

David This one, too?

Christopher Steady on. You’re being ruthless.

David Marked.

Christopher Please, David. Just do as I say.

David It won’t be missed.

Christopher Now if we keep faith with the formidable grandfather, there has to be a Tilia americana somewhere here. And there the lime tree is. Bravo, Grandfather!

David No, that’s a linden, Father.

Christopher Linden – lime tree. Same thing, David. We’ll take his word on the americana part. So – give him space to live. Mark that – and that. And maybe that scrubby thing should –

David points excitedly to the sky.

David Look, Father! Look! – look!

Christopher What are you –?

David The falcon! There! Look – the falcon!

Christopher I see no –

David Right above your head! Quick! There!

David, brush in hand, swings round excitedly to point to the bird. As he does so, he splashes a large whitewash mark across Christopher’s chest and the faded record.