[A raw, dishevelled country boy appears in the loft, slides down the ladder, and shuffles up sleepily.]
THE BOY Evenin’.
RACHEL [Drawing Goody Rickby aside.] You understand; I desire no comment about this purchase.
GOODY RICKBY Nor I, mistress, be sure.
RACHEL Is he—?
GOODY RICKBY [Tapping her forehead significantly.] Trust his wits who hath no wit; he’s mum.
RACHEL Oh!
THE BOY [Gaping.] Job?
GOODY RICKBY Yea, rumple-head! His job this morning is to bear yonder glass to the house of Justice Merton—the big one on the hill; to the side door. Mind, no gabbing. Doth he catch?
THE BOY [Nodding and grinning.] ’E swallows.