Mag. Oh, mither, it was anither tree! (Weeping on Cheviot’s shoulder.)
Mrs. Mac. Angus, it was anither tree! (Weeping on Angus’s shoulder.)
Ang. Dinna, mither, dinna; I canna bear it! (Weeps.)
Ch. Yes, it was another tree—you can remain there for the present—in point of fact, it was growing on both trees. I don’t know how it is, but it seems to grow on a great many trees—a perfect orchard—and you are one of them, my dear. Come, come, don’t fret, you are one of them!
Enter Minnie and Symperson.
Min. Cheviot!
Sym. What is all this?
Ch. (rapidly referring to piece of paper given to him by Mrs. Macfarlane, as if going over a washerwoman’s bill.) “Twenty-four pairs socks, two shirts, thirty-seven collars, one sheet, forty-four nightshirts, twenty-two flannel waistcoats, one white tie.” Ridiculous—quite ridiculous—I won’t pay it.
Min. Cheviot, who is this person who was found hanging on your neck? Say she is somebody—for instance, your sister or your aunt. Oh, Cheviot, say she is your aunt, I implore you! (The three cottagers curtsy and bow to Minnie.)