Demon (darkly). To have a little fun with you!
Of fiendish humour now I'll give a specimen.
[Chases him round and round Stage, and proceeds to smear him hideously with jam.
Joe (piteously). Oh, don't! I feel so sticky. What a mess I'm in!
Demon (with affected sympathy). That is the worst of jam—it's apt to stain you.
[To Joe, as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his crime.
I see you're busy—so I'll not detain you!
[Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors close with a clang; all lights down. Joe stands gazing blankly for some moments, and then drags himself off Stage. His Mother and John, with Pear- and Plum-gatherers bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back of Scene, in faint light of torches.
Re-enter Joe (bearing a candle and wringing his hands). Out, jammed spot! What—will these hands never be clean? Here's the smell of the raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this little hand.... (Moaning.) Oh, oh, oh!
[This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such profane literature.
Joe's Mother. Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!
See—stains on all his fingers, and his thumbs!
"What Joe was about, His Mother found out, When she look'd at his fingers and thumbs."—Poem again.
Nay, Joseph—'tis your mother ... speak to her!