Woman. Wal, ole man, here we bees agin. ’Tis a year ago this blessed day since Peg ’ticed the little gal from Tomkins’s show.
Man. ’Twouldn’t ha’ been a year, mammy, only we got no news o’ the reward. Fifty guineas, an’ no questions asked. Wal-a-day! Many’s the weary tramp we’s had that we needn’t a’.
Woman. An’ many’s the trinket I’ll buy.
Man. Now, ole Beauty Spot, you don’t git the spendin’ o’ that gold!
Woman. I don’t! Wal, we’ll see! I don’t, do I?—humph!
Man. But where’s Peg? Meet us by this wood, she said. An’ ’tis past the time set. She must a’ reached the hall two days agone.
Woman. If I’d a’ had my say, the child should ha’ been sent by some other body; but Peg she would go along.
Man. ’Tis a marcy an’ she don’t git fast under lock an’ key.
Woman. Wal, the child’s back to where she belongs; an’ lucky she be; for our Peg, that be a great deal too smart for us, will go to mind every crook o’ that young un’s finger, an’ worse’n that. Now I’ll tell ye. I harked one night, late it was, with the stars all so bright, we inside the tent, they two out, nobody stirring, no noise, only corn rustlin’ a-near us, an’ a little matter of a breeze in the trees; an’ what does I hear? Why, that young ’un a-tellin’ our Peg about the angels, an’ more besides, an’ what good was, an’ what wicked was. Does I want a gal o’ mine to hear the like? No, I doesn’t. Peg ain’t the gal she was (shaking her head). No, no! She ain’t up to half the smart tricks. (Enter Peg.)
Man and Woman. The money! The gold, the gold! Where’s the gold?