[William John Granahan and John Graeme go out by door at back.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Going over to fire and arranging kettle.]

Five hunnert poun, and after me tellin' him to keep till four hunnert.

Wait till I get ahoult o' him again. I'll speak till him. Did he no'

hear me thumpin' four times on the door till remind him. He must ha'e a soft spot in his heart for Robbie John.

[Tap at door.]

Come in.

[Jane Graeme enters somewhat diffidently.]

Oh its you Miss Graeme.

[Shakes hands.]

Youre welcome indeed. Your father's just gone out wi' my good man.

JANE.

Yes. I know--but I thought perhaps--well that Robbie was in here.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Inspecting her critically.]

Deed now, I couldn't tell you where he might be.

JANE.

I'll just sit down a minute. I suppose you are all doing well here Mrs. Granahan?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Ach aye. As well as one could expeck. There's nothin' to make much complaint o'.

JANE.

I haven't seen Robbie about for some time Mrs. Granahan. I suppose he's working hard at the harvest.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Aye 'deed there's a brave press o' work on now, what wi' the corn a cuttin', and the rest o' it, he's been gey busy o' late.

JANE.

Indeed I am sure he was.

[She looks round, sees the fiddle hanging up where Taylor has left it.]

[Aside.]

Is that the fiddle he was telling me about, I wonder?

[To Mrs. Granahan.]

Is that the tramp's fiddle, Mrs. Granahan?

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Aye, that's the poor cratur's belongin'. But you needn't be afeared.

Robbie's indeed been very good. He's nivir played on it to my knowin', and keeps his promise well.

JANE.

Poor Robbie. Do you not think he's unhappy about something or other Mrs. Granahan. He's got very dull and moody this last while.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Deed now I don't see much odds in him Miss Graeme. He nivir was a great boy with his tongue anyway;

[Slily.]

bar maybe an odd wan or two he would mak' up to.

JANE.

I think you do wrong to keep that fiddle hanging up before his eyes, when he has promised never to play again.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Och blatherations. I nivir heerd the like o' the sort o' talk people goes on wi' nowadays. Do ye think my son bes only an ould ba cryin'