DEACON ROBERTS. [Putting the pound of butter in his hat and his hat on his head.] American, Hughie lad.
[At that instant there is a noise from the inner kitchen, and Neli Williams opens the door. The Deacon turns, and their glances meet and cross. Each understands perfectly what the other has seen. Neli Williams has thrown off her red cloak and taken off her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short full skirt, white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped apron, tight bodice, fichu, short sleeves, and white cap on dark hair.
NELI. [Slowly.] Uch! The deacon has what he came for whatever!
HUGH. [Turning to contradict his wife.] Nay, Neli— [Losing his balance on chair, tumbles off, and, with arm flung out to save himself, strikes dish of pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every direction, spraying the Deacon and Hughie; the bowl spins madly, dipping and revolving on the floor. For a few seconds nothing is audible except the bowl revolving on the flagstones and Hughie picking himself up and sneezing behind the counter.] Achoo! Achoo! Dear me, Neli—Achoo!
NELI. [Going quickly to husband and beginning to wipe brine from husband's forehead and cheeks; at the same time has her back to the Deacon and forming soundless letters with her lips, she jerks her head toward the Deacon.] B-U-T-T-E-R!
HUGH. [Drearily.] Better? Aye, I'm better. It did not hurt me whatever.
NELI. [Jerking head backwards toward Deacon Roberts and again forming letters with lips.] B-U-T-T-E-R!
HUGH. What, water? Nay, I don't want any water.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Coughing, ill at ease and glancing suspiciously at bowl that has come to rest near his leg.] Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' I must be movin' on.
NELI. [Savagely to Deacon.] Stay where ye are whatever!