DORA.
Didn't I say that we had forgiven you? But, Dan Smith, they tell me
that you--and you have six children--spent all your last Saturday's
wages at the ale-house; that you were stupid drunk all Sunday, and so
ill in consequence all Monday, that you did not come into the
hayfield. Why should I pay you your full wages?
DAN SMITH.
I be ready to taaeke the pledge.
DORA.
And as ready to break it again. Besides it was you that were driving
the cart--and I fear you were tipsy then, too--when you lamed the lady
in the hollow lane.
DAN SMITH (_bellowing_).
O lor, Miss! noae, noae, noae! Ye sees the holler laaene be hallus sa dark
i' the arternoon, and wheere the big eshtree cuts athurt it, it gi'es
a turn like, and 'ow should I see to laaeme the laaedy, and meae coomin'
along pretty sharp an' all?
DORA.
Well, there are your wages; the next time you waste them at a pothouse
you get no more from me. (_Exit_ DAN SMITH.) Sally Allen, you worked
for Mr. Dobson, didn't you?
SALLY (_advancing_).
Yeaes, Miss; but he wur so rough wi' ma, I couldn't abide 'im.
DORA.
Why should he be rough with you? You are as good as a man in the
hayfield.
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