George. [Advancing towards Emily.] Look you here, mistress. I’ve put up with it going on for fifteen years. But sometimes ’tis almost more nor I can bear. If ’twasn’t for Master Thomas I’d have cleared out this long time ago.
Emily. Don’t flatter yourself as Thomas needs you, my man.
George. We has always been good friends, farmer and me. ’Tis not for what I gets from he nor for what he do get out of I as we do hold together. But ’tis this—as he and I do understand one another.
Emily. We’ll see what master has to say when I tell him how you was found sitting on the kitchen table and love-making with that saucy piece of London trash.
George. I’m off. I’ve no patience to listen any longer. You called me roadster varmint. Well, let it be so. On the road I was born and on the road I was picked from my dead mother’s side, and I count as ’tis on the road as I shall breathe my last. But for all that, I’ll not have road dirt flung on me by no one. For, roadsters varmint though I be, there be things which I do hold brighter nor silver and cleaner nor new opened leaves, and I’ll not have defilement throwed upon them.
Emily. [Seizing the arms of Jessie and Robin.] The lad’s raving. ’Tis plain as he’s been getting at the cider. Come you off with me to the haymaking, Robin and Jess.
Robin. May I take my book along of me?
Emily. [Flinging the book down violently.] I’ll book you! What next?
Jessie. Poor Georgie. He was not courting Joan, mother. He was only doing the taters for her.
Emily. [As they go out.] The lazy good-for-nothing cat. I’ll get her packed off from here afore another sun has set, see if I don’t.