Fra. By money. He may buy his son's release.
Stra. I'll see him myself.
Fra. Do so.
Stra. But if he is an impostor!
Fra. He is not.
Stra. In that hut?
Fra. In that hut. [Stranger goes into the Hut.] A good master, though one almost loses the use of speech by living with him. A man kind and clear—though I cannot understand him. He rails against the whole world, and yet no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A hater of society, no doubt; but not by Providence intended to be so. Misanthropy in his head, not in his heart.
Enter the Stranger and Peter, from the Hut.
Pet. Pray walk on.
Stra. [To Francis.] Fool!