He can’t do it, Miss, we must pull weeds in the court yard.
Cob.
Yes, we must scratch the stones.
Clem.
Tomorrow afternoon, then.
Cob.
Tja! I’ll be here, then. Good day, Miss. [To Barend.] Good day, pudding breeches.
Clem.
[Pinning on her hat.] He teases you, doesn’t he?
Bar.