(Enter Landlady.)
Good morning, Mrs. Thrifty.
Land. (to Bea.) O Sir! I be glad to see you!
Bea. I thank you good landlady: take good care of my wife.
Land. That I will, Sir; she's in the green chamber, giving orders to her maid. And this young gentleman is your son, I suppose. (turnings and courtesying to Wil.)
Bea. Yes, my good ma'am.
Land. Blessings on him! Ay! if he be like his father, the blessings of the widow and the helpless will rest upon him.—You are going to the Squire's I suppose?
Bea. Yes, landlady; how does the family do?
Land. O lud, Sir! what an alter'd family it be! the servants a-grumbling; the lady a-scolding; the Squire himself going up and down like a man possess'd, as they tell me, and can't sleep in his bed o'nights for writing to dukes and lords and such like, and tormenting himself, poor man, just to be made a Sir or a Knight, or some nonsense or other of that kind:—and then all the poor children; it grives me to see them like so many chickens that have got no dam to gather them together, tho' I'm sure that dear good young lady does all that she can for them: I sees her every morning from the room overhead, which overlooks their garden, walking with them as if she were the mother of them all, tho' I warrant you she's soon snubb'd into the house again; O it grieves me to see them!
