Will. Yes, sir, I saw the landlady herself; she said she would come up immediately, sir.
Just. Ah, that’s well—immediately?
Will. Yes, sir, and I hear her voice below now.
Just. Oh, show her up; show Mrs. Bustle in.
Enter Mrs. Bustle, the landlady of the “Saracen’s Head.”
Land. Good morrow to your worship! I’m glad to see your worship look so purely. I came up with all speed (taking breath). Our pie is in the oven; that was what you sent for me about, I take it.
Just. True; true; sit down, good Mrs. Bustle, pray—
Land. Oh, your worship’s always very good (settling her apron). I came up just as I was—only threw my shawl over me. I thought your worship would excuse—I’m quite, as it were, rejoiced to see your worship look so purely, and to find you up so hearty—
Just. Oh, I’m very hearty (coughing), always hearty, and thankful for it. I hope to see many Christmas doings yet, Mrs. Bustle. And so our pie is in the oven, I think you say?
Land. In the oven it is. I put it in with my own hands; and if we have but good luck in the baking, it will be as pretty a goose-pie—though I say it that should not say it—as pretty a goose-pie as ever your worship set your eyes upon.