Pick. You taught it to talk—it taught you to talk, you mean, I am sure it was old enough, ’twas hatched in the hard frost!
Miss P. Well, brother, what excuse now?—but run, Susan, and do you hear, take John, and——
Enter John, slowly and lame, his face bound up.
Oh John, here’s a piece of business.
John. Ay, ma’am sure enow—what you have heard, I see—business indeed—the poor thing will never recover.
Miss P. (joyfully) What, John, is it a mistake of Susan’s—is it still alive?—but—where—where is it, John?
John. Safe in stables, and it were as sound—a’ made her a hot mash, woud’nt touch it—so crippled will never have leg to put to ground again.
Pick. No, I’ll swear to that—for here’s one of them. (holding up a leg on a fork)
Miss P. What does the fool mean? what—what, what is in the stable—what are you talking of?