MRS. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, I've scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam! CAPT. G. (Absently.) Eb! Wha-at? MRS. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) I've scalded it aw-fully! Aren't you sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly. CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well. (Unrolling bandage.) You small sinner! Where's that scald? I can't see it. MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!--It's a most 'normous big burn! CAPT. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam. You know I don't care for sweets. MRS. G. In-deed?--Pip! CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave me to my own base devices. I'm busy. MRS. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into the house? CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear? MRS. G. Let me play too. I'd like it. CAPT. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy--Don't you think that jam will burn, or whatever it is that jam does when it's not looked after by a clever little housekeeper? MRS. G. I thought you said Hyder could attend to it. I left him in the veranda, stirring--when I hurt myself so. CAPT. G. (His eye returning to the equipment.) Po-oor little woman!--Three pounds four and seven is three eleven, and that can be cut down to two eight, with just a lee-tle care, without weakening anything. Farriery is all rot in incompetent hands. What's the use of a shoe-case when a man's scouting? He can't stick it on with a lick-like a stamp--the shoe! Skittles-- MRS. G. What's skittles? Pah! What is this leather cleaned with? CAPT. G. Cream and champagne and--Look here, dear, do you really want to talk to me about anything important? MRS. G. No. I've done my accounts, and I thought I'd like to see what you're doing. CAPT. G. Well, love, now you've seen and--Would you mind?--That is to say--Minnie, I really am busy. MRS. G. You want me to go? CAPT. G, Yes, dear, for a little while. This tobacco will hang in your dress, and saddlery doesn't interest you. MRS. G. Everything you do interests me, Pip. CAPT. G. Yes, I know, I know, dear. I'll tell you all about it some day when I've put a head on this thing. In the meantime-- MRS. G. I'm to be turned out of the room like a troublesome child? CAPT. G. No-o. I don't mean that exactly. But, you see, I shall be tramping up and down, shifting these things to and fro, and I shall be in your way. Don't you think so? MRS. G. Can't I lift them about? Let me try. (Reaches forward to trooper's saddle.) CAPT. G. Good gracious, child, don't touch it. You'll hurt yourself. (Picking up saddle.) Little girls aren't expected to handle numdahs. Now, where would you like it put? (Holds saddle above his head.) MRS. G. (A break in her voice.) Nowhere. Pip, how good you are--and how strong! Oh, what's that ugly red streak inside your arm?