Mary. You hav'n't heard half the story, or I'm sure you'd never forgive me.
Job. Never mind the story now, Mary;—'tis a true story that you're my child, and that's enough for the present. I hear you have met with a rascal. I hav'n't been told who, yet. Some folks don't always forgive; braziers do. Kiss me again, and we'll talk on't by and by. But, why would you run away, Mary?
Mary. I could'nt stay and be deceitful; and it has often cut me to the heart, to see you show me that affection, which I knew I didn't deserve.
Job. Ah! you jade! I ought to be angry; but I can't. Look here—don't you remember this waistcoat? you worked it for me, you know.
Mary. I know I did.
[Kissing him.
Job. I had a hard struggle to put it on, this morning; but I squeezed myself into it, a few hours after you ran away.—If I could do that, you might have told me the worst, without much fear of my anger. How have they behaved to you, Mary?
Mary. The landlord is very humane, but the landlady———
Job. Cruel to you? I'll blow her up like gunpowder in a copper. We must stay here to-night;—for there's Peregrine, that king of good fellows, we must stay here till he comes back, from a little way off, he says.
Mary. He that brought you here?