MRS. R. Poor boy! Come and sit ’ee down. (Pushing him in chair l. of table.) Where be the potatoes, Deb.?
DEB. (Bewildered, turns round and round.) I don’t know. (Laughs.)
MRS. R. Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (Sits back of table r. c. Allen l. Deb. r.) Thee won’t find ‘em by turning round and round. Now come lad, and get a bit inside thee. Us’ll do the talking afterwards.
(Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewildered manner. She brings potatoes, and puts them in front of Allen.)
ALLEN. Ah, it do smell lovely, don’t it? (Sniffing at pie.)
MRS. R. Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. Lud, how thin thee art looking, lad. (To Deb. who is almost doing so.) Don’t pour the beer into the pie, child, and look where thee’s put the potatoes! (Takes jug away from her.)
DEB. (Sitting down, laughing.) I don’t know what I’m doing. (Takes saucepan off table.)
MRS. R. Well, us can see that.
ALLEN. And how’s everything been going on? How’s the colt?
MRS. R. Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yestermorning, the little dear! (All are now seated.)