MRS. ROBERTS. Well, Jan!
JAN. Father 's coming; sister Madge is coming.
[He sits at the table, and fidgets with his whistle; he blows three vague notes; then imitates a cuckoo.]
[There is a tap on the door. Old THOMAS comes in.]
THOMAS. A very coot tay to you, Ma'am. It is petter that you are.
MRS. ROBERTS. Thank you, Mr. Thomas.
THOMAS. [Nervously.] Roberts in?
MRS. ROBERTS. Just gone on to the meeting, Mr. Thomas.
THOMAS. [With relief, becoming talkative.] This is fery unfortunate, look you! I came to tell him that we must make terms with London. It is a fery great pity he is gone to the meeting. He will be kicking against the pricks, I am thinking.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Half rising.] He'll never give in, Mr. Thomas.