Fam. You'll not flog
The boy?
Ipp. He didn't do his stint by half.
You know the master's rules. He's twelve years old.
Must cut three thousand leaves.
Fam. A man's full work.
And he's so small.
Lis. And sick he is. Two days
He couldn't eat.
Ipp. You women!
Fam. Let him go.
A little child, Ipparro.
Ipp. Let him go?
Am I the master of the hacienda?
He'll tie me up to-morrow!
Fam. It will kill
Iduso.
Lis. Such a little one, he is!
A baby yesterday,—to-day a man,—
How can that be?
[An overseer enters left]