_All_ (_in chorus_). Let me. Let me. I'll tie it. (_They crowd around him._) _Tom._ Oh, quit! Keep off! Do you want to kill me. The least touch causes an indescribable sensation to quiver and shoot to the roots of my hair. Oh! I want a gentle hand, a skilful hand, a matronly hand. Miss Patience, you have much skill, tact. Will you condescend to—to tie up my paw? _Girls_ (_in chorus_). Poor Tom! _Patience_ (_approaching him_). Certainty, if I can relieve your suffering. _Tom._ You can, you can! Oh! (_Gives her string, and extends his hand. She stands_ L. _of him_. GIRLS _fall back_ R. _and_ L. _She winds the string about hand._) _Tom._ Gently, gently! Oh! how soft and tender! It seems as though my mother was hovering about me. Take care, take care! Gently! (_She ties the string._) Be very careful. _Patience._ I think that is tied tight. _Tom._ You think so? But you must be sure. _Patience_ (_taking his hand, and looking at string_). Yes, it's all right. _Tom_ (_slipping his hand out of cloth, leaving it in her hands_). Then you keep it, Patience, as a slight token of regard. "I'd offer thee this hand of mine, if I could love thee less." Keep it, Patience, and "wipe your weeping eyes," when I am far away. [_Runs off_ R. _Patience_ (_throws the wrapper after him_; GIRLS _laugh_). Was there ever such an insulting young puppy! Oh, his aunt shall know of this! I'll not go to my slumbers until I have told my story. Now laugh. (GIRLS _shout with laughter_.) You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. _Maria._ You told us to laugh. Seems to me you cannot be suited any way. _Patience_ (_sits on lounge_). That scamp shall go out of this house, or I will. The idea of his daring to play such a trick upon me! Thought his mother was hovering about him! (_Enter_ TOM R., _enveloped in a large cloak or "waterproof," straw bonnet on his head, with a green veil down_.) _Tom_ (_at_ R.). Ef yez plaise, young ladies, I'm a poor ould widdy-woman, wid a husband in Californy; and the door was open, and I made bould, ef yez plaise, to walk in, and beg a chrust of bread. It's nine days jist, since a morsel of bread, or a sup of tay, has passed me lips. _Bessie._ Poor old lady! _Chorus._ Oh! do come in! (BESSIE _sets a chair_ C., _and the others crowd about_ TOM, _and lead him to chair_.) _Tom._ Oh! it's the kind hearts yez have, ony way. I'm wairy wid the walkin', and faint wid the hunger; and I've corns on my fute, and chilblain on my fingers, an' siven childer at home. _Maria._ Somebody give her something to eat. _Jane._ Here's Job with the tray. _Augusta._ And our lunch. (_Enter_ JOB _with tray_.) _Job._ Hallo! Who's this?