[Squinting at LOTH suspiciously. In a surly tone.] 'Mornin'. [A brief pause, whereupon BEIPST addresses his scythe which he pulls to and fro in his indignation.] Crooked beast! Well, are ye goin' to? Eksch! Well, well, I'll be …
[He continues to sharpen it.
LOTH
[Has taken a seat between the handles of a cultivator.] I suppose there's hay harvesting to-day?
BEIPST
[Roughly.] Dam' fools go a-cuttin' hay this time o' year.
LOTH
Well, but you're sharpening a scythe?
BEIPST
[To the scythe.] Eksch! You ol'…!