Mary. Are you up, uncle?
(Dan Murray opens the door from the inner apartments and comes into the kitchen. He is carelessly dressed and sleepy-looking as if just out of bed, wears a muffler and glasses, and appears to be some fifty years of age.)
Daniel. Yes. Did the Whig come yet?
Mary. Yes. I put it in your workshop.
Daniel (glancing at the clock). Bless my heart, it's half-past one!
Mary (reproachfully). It is, indeed, uncle.
Daniel. Well! Well! Time goes round, Mary. Time goes round. (Kate picks up the bucket and goes out by the yard door.) Where's your father? (He crosses over to the workshop door.)
Mary. He's out working with Sam Brown at the threshing all morning since seven o'clock.
Daniel. Well! Well! A very industrious man is John Murray. Very. But lacking in brains, my dear—lacking in brains. Kind, good-hearted, easy-going, but—ah! well, one can't help these things. (He goes towards the workshop.) Where did you say the Whig was, Mary?