Mrs. Mulligan. Faith, an’ whose dog should it be, thin?
Lady. Send your boys, and I’ll speak with them.
Mrs. Mulligan (going). I’ll send them, mum. Mornin’ mum.
Exit Mrs. Mulligan. Another tap at the door.
Lady. O, this is not to be borne! Come!
Enter Countrywoman with bandbox,—not an old woman.
Lady (earnestly). If it’s about a dog, tell me all you know at once! Is he living?
Countrywoman. Yes’m, but he’s quite poorly. I think dogs shows their sickness, same as human creturs do. Course they have their feelin’s.
Lady. Do tell quick.
Countrywoman. Just what I want, for I’m in a hurry myself. So I’ll jump right inter the thick on ’t. You see last night when my old man was ridin’ out o’ town in his cart, with some o’ his cabbages left over, for garden sarse hadn’t been very brisk all day, and he was late a comin’ out on account o’ the off ox bein’ some lame, and my old man ain’t apt to hurry his critters, for a marciful man is marciful to his beasts, you—