Lady B. (disengaging herself peevishly). Yes, yes, child. I trust that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,—but I do not like to be messed about. Monkshood, you know what you have to do.
Elfie. Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently he smiles. You're such a good old man, you will take care that all the poor people are fed, won't you?
Monks. (with a sinister smile). Ah! Missie, I've 'elped to settle a many people's 'ash in my time!
Elfie (innocently). What, do they all get hash? How nice! I like hash,—but what else do you give them?
Monks. (grimly). Gruel, Missie. (Aside.) I must get out of this, or this innocent child's prattle will unman me!
[Exit with parcels.
Elfie. You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.
Lady B. No, no, some other time. (Aside.) Pshaw! why should I dread the effect of her simple melodies? (Aloud.) Sing, child, if you will.