Pick. You know the value I set upon that mare, you have spoilt for ever.
Little P. But, sir, hear me—indeed I was not so much to blame, sir, not so very much.
Miss P. Do not aggravate your faults by pretending to excuse them—your father is too kind to you.
Little P. Dear, sir, I own I was unfortunate——I had heard you often complain, how wild and vicious little Daisy was, and indeed, sir, I never saw you ride her, but I trembled least some sad accident might befall you.
Pick. Well, and what is all this to the purpose?
Little P. And so, sir, I resolved, sooner than you should suffer, to venture my own neck, and so try to tame her for you; that was all—and so I was no sooner mounted than off she set—I could not help that you know, sir, and so this misfortune happened, and so, sir—but indeed, sir——
Pick. Could I be sure this was your motive——and ’tis purely love and regard for your old father makes you thus teaze and torment him—perhaps I might be inclined to——
John. Yes, sir, but ’tis no love and regard to me made him beat me so——
Little P. John, you know you were to blame.—Sir, indeed the truth is, John was scolding me for it, and when I told him as I have told you, why I did it, and that it was to hinder you from being hurt, he said that it was no business of mine, and that if your neck was broke it was no such great matter.
Pick. What—no great matter to have my neck broke——