Lubin. [Hastily.] What, old Andrews?
Mary. No. This is another. Folk do marvel how Miller John do have the patience to keep in with him.
Lubin. How’s that?
Mary. So slow and heavy in his ways. But he can drink longer at the cider than any man in the county afore it do fly to his head, and that’s why master do put up with him.
[Jeremy comes heavily towards them, a straw in his mouth. His hat is pushed to the back of his head. His expression is still and impassive. He comes straight towards Mary, then halts.
Mary. Come, Jeremy, I reckon ’tis not for rue nor tea of marjoram you be come here this morning?
Jeremy. [Looking coldly and critically at the travellers and pointing to them.] Who be they?
Mary. Travellers on the road, seeking a bit of rest.
[Jeremy continues to look them all over in silence.
Mary. How be things going at the Mill to-day, Jerry?