“Licorice, my dear wife!”
“I’ll sweep thee out next!” cried Licorice, brandishing her broom in the very face of her lord and master. “I’ll have no Christians, nor Christian blood, nor Christian faith, in my house, as I am a living daughter of Abraham! Get you all out hence, ye loathsome creeping things, which whosoever toucheth shall be unclean! Get ye out, I say!—Belasez, bring me soap and water. I’ll not sleep till I’ve washed the floor. I’d wash the air if I could.”
“Your pardon, Mother, but if you will have no Christian blood in your house, you must sweep me out,” answered Belasez, with a mixture of dignity and irrepressible amusement.
Licorice turned round to Abraham.
“Thou hast told her?”
“It was better she should know, wife.”
“I’ll chop thy head off, if I hear thee say that again!—And dost thou mean to be a Christian, thou wicked girl?”
“I do, Mother. And I mean to go with my father.”
“Go, then—like to like!—and all the angels of Satan go with thee!”
And the broom came flying after Belasez.