Fam. Oh, you worse than slaves!
Mas. No names,
My proudling. Wait a year, then what you please.
[The men have been eating. Ysobel stands in door of hut holding a great bowl of beans from which the peons fill their cups. Lissa gives out the fish. Her boy, Iduso, crouches by her skirts]
Lis. [To boy] Not eat? Now you're a man? Twelve years to-day!
Fam. [Bending over Iduso] Is 't fever, Lissa?
Lis. [With sullen jealousy] Let him be, Famette.
What do you know? You've got no children.
Fam. I've
A little brother.
Lis. Brother! Nothing that.
Fam. He's just Iduso's age.
Lis. [Softened] And has to take
A man's work on him?