_Jas._ Harkee, sirrah. Let bygones go by. Times are changed with me, as thou knowest well, and if thou valuest thy stewardship, adapt thy morals to those of thy master. If thou sayest or doest aught to anger this gentle maiden, I’ll lay my whip across thy shoulders, as I have done ofttimes ere this. _Reu._ (_aside_). We are virtuous now, but time was when we would have angered her in company. _Dor._ Nay, sir, I pray you, bear with him. _Reu._ (_aside_). She pleadeth for me! Bless her pretty face, she pleadeth for me! _Jas._ Has the rascal, then, found favour in thine eyes? _Dor._ (_aside to SIR JASPER_). Oh no; but whenever he cometh to the forge he sayeth such strange things, and looketh at me with such strange looks, that I fear he is sorely afflicted, and not to be held accountable for his deeds. _Jas._ (_laughing heartily_). Why, in truth, I sometimes think so too. (_To REUBEN._) Get thee to the inn, sir; we shall lie there to-night: as for the whipping, why the maiden’s intercession hath saved thee this once. _Reu._ She pleadeth for me! Bless their hearts, they’re all alike! They all plead for me! [_Exit REUBEN._ _Jas._ And now, pretty maiden, tell me, who art thou? _Dor._ So please your worship, I am Dorothy Druce, only daughter of Dan’l Druce, the blacksmith, and your worship’s tenant. _Jas._ (_looking kindly at her_). He’s a kind father to thee, I’ll be sworn. _Dor._ He is kind to me and to all. In very truth I think he must be the best man in the whole world. _Jas._ And thou tendest him very carefully? _Dor._ Yes, indeed. I am with him from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof; and we love each other with a love that passeth all telling. _Jas._ (_after a pause_). Dorothy, I once had a little child who promised to grow up to be just such a pretty lass as thou. But we--we were separated many years ago, and I have never seen her since! _Dor._ Oh, poor gentleman! _Jas._ Poor, indeed--for I declare to thee, Dorothy, that I would give all my substance, were it ten times what it is, to have her with me in my old age. But though I have sought her high and low for many a weary year, I have found no tidings of her; and so I must needs go on to the end--a solitary old man, uncared for and alone! There’s a doleful tale, little Dorothy! _Dor._ Indeed, it is passing sad, and my heart bleeds for your worship. I am even more grieved for thy daughter, who hath lost the fostering care and guidance of so worthy a gentleman. I am sure she would have loved your worship very dearly. _Jas._ (_moved_). I know not. It may be so, and yet--I showed myself but a careless and unloving father to her when we were parted. But her mother died of grief--and--and I would fain make amends, I would fain make amends! Yes, Dorothy, it would have gone hard with me but I would have made her love me! _Enter DAN’L._ Who is this good fellow?