_Enter_ FLOS.

What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?

_Flos_. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,
An' two--three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',
An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.

_Pete_. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,
And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come
An' tell me kick 'em out.

_Flos_. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.

[_Footsteps are heard without_.

_Pete_. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--

[_He makes for the door_.

_Mrs. Secord_. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,
And wait at table properly with Flos.

_Enter a_ Sergeant, _a_ Corporal _and four_ Privates.

_Sergeant (striking Pete on the head with his cane)_. That's for
your ugly phiz and impudence.

[_Exit Pete, howling_.