Anna. Aye! many fear it. I for one.
Carpenter. There, that’s right! Now, ’tis almost done.
(The child turns towards the carpenter’s bench.)
Mary. Thou will not miss that sight, my son.
Carpenter.—
Come, little son, and hold the wood!
Brace hard the end, while I make good
The upright. See how crooked it stood!
Child. What art thou making, father?
Carpenter.—