(_To Mrs. Secord_.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.

_Mrs. Secord_. Well, sir!

_Sergeant_. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes,
You see. You got my message: what's to eat?

_Mrs. Secord_. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is,
Nor inn, to take your orders.

[FLOS _and_ PETE _enter, carrying dishes_.

_Sergeant_. O, bless you, we don't order; we command.
Here, men, sit down.

[_He seats himself at the head of the table, and the others
take their places, some of them greeting_ MRS. SECORD
_with a salute of respect_.

Boy, fill those jugs. You girl,
Set that dish down by me, and haste with more.
Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season.
Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?

_Mrs. Secord_. 'Tis a child's pet.

_Sergeant_. O, pets be hanged!

[_Exit_ MRS. SECORD.