MARY. But you’ll have to stir yourself up and deck the house and set the table and wait upon the visitors and look to the traps and horses and all, Jerry—seeing as you’re the only one. JEREMY. I’ll not. I’m not one as steps beyond my own work, and master do know it too. MARY. Then how are they going to manage? JEREMY. I’m out to find them as’ll manage for them. [_Turning sharply to_ LUBIN.] Be you in search of work, young man? LUBIN. I—I count as I’ve nothing particular in view. JEREMY. [_Turning to_ ISABEL.] And you, wench? ISABEL. [_Faintly_.] I’ve gone from the place where I was servant. JEREMY. Then you’ll come along of me—the both of you. ISABEL. [_Shrinking_.] O no—I couldn’t go among—among strangers. JEREMY. I never takes no count of a female’s vapours. You’ll come along of me. You’ll curl the mistress’s hair and lace her gown and keep her tongue quiet—and you [_turning to_ LUBIN] my man, will set the tables and wait upon the quality what we expect from Bristol town this dinner-time. LUBIN. [_Angrily_.] I never waited on man nor woman in my life, and I’ll not start now. JEREMY. You will. I’m not agoin’ a half mile further this warm morning. Back to the Mill you goes along of me, the two of you. MARY. [_Looking fixedly at_ ISABEL.] This is a chance for you, my dear. You’ll not find a better. JEREMY. Better? I count as you’ll not better this’n. Good money for your pains—victuals to stuff you proper, and cider, all you can drink on a summer’s day. I count you’ll not better that. LUBIN. [_As though to himself_.] I could not go. JEREMY. Some cattle want a lot of driving. ISABEL. [_Timidly to_ LUBIN.] If I go, could not you try and come along with me, master? LUBIN. You’ll never have the heart to go through with it. JEREMY. ’Tis a fine fat heart as her has within of she. Don’t you go and put fancies into the head of her. ISABEL. [_To_ LUBIN.] I’ll go if so be as you’ll come along of me too. [LUBIN _bends his head and remains thinking deeply_. JEREMY. ’Tis thirsty work this hiring of men and wenches—I’ll get me a drop of cider down at the Red Bull. Mayhap you’ll be ready time I’ve finished. MARY. I’ll see that you’re not kept waiting, Jeremy. JEREMY. [_Turning back after he has started_.] What be they called, Mary? [MARY _looks doubtfully towards_ LUBIN _and_ ISABEL. ISABEL. My name—they calls me Isabel. JEREMY. [_Turning to_ LUBIN.] And yourn? LUBIN. [_In confusion_.] I don’t rightly recollect. JEREMY. [_Impassively_.] ’Tis of no account, us’ll call you William like the last one. ISABEL. O, and couldn’t I be called like the last one too? JEREMY. Then us’ll call you Lucy. And a rare bad slut her was, and doubtless you’ll not prove much worser. [_He goes away_. MARY. This is your chance. A good chance too—