[Olive threads a needle, and standing beside her father, sets the stitch; weeps as she does so.
Giles. Know you every tear adds weight to the stones, lass?
Olive. Then will I weep not. [Mends.
Giles. Be the child and the old woman well?
Olive. Yes, father.
Giles. Look out for them as you best can. And see to 't the little maid's linen chest is well filled, as your mother would have.
[Olive breaks off the thread.
Giles. Be the stitch set strong?
Olive. Yes, father.
Giles (turning and folding her to his arms). Oh, my good lass, the stones be naught, but this cometh hard, this cometh hard! Could they not have spared me this?