Mary. Thank you. (Gives pail. Ned goes to door.) I say, Ned, ain’t you afraid to leave your awl behind?
Ned. (At door.) Mary, you’re laughing at me.—(Aside.) She little knows I leave my all—my heart—behind. (Exit, L.)
Mary. (Sits on bench.) Dear fellow! What a shame his father turned out so bad! And no mother to care for him! (Takes up lapstone and strap.) I wonder what kind of a shoemaker I should make! (Takes awl.) Dear me, I’ve pricked my finger! Where’s the hammer? O, here it is. I don’t believe it’s very hard work to mend a shoe. As he is doing my work, I should be doing his. I wonder where he left off!
Enter Douglas, C.
Douglas. Beautiful, beautiful!
“She had a hammer in her hand,
The day when first we met.”
Mary. (Jumping up.) Mr. Douglas!
Douglas. Ah, Mary, I’ve caught you cobbling.
Mary. No, you haven’t, for I hadn’t commenced.