Mother Drum turns on him in a rage.

"You lie, you pannierman's by-blow!" she cried; "you bony muckfowl, with
the bony back sticking out like the ace of spades on the point of a
small-sword! you lie, Bobchin, Changeling, Horseleech! 'Slid, you
Shrovetide Cutpurse, I'll scald your hide with gravy, I will!"

"Ware the pan, ware the pan!" all the Blacks cried out; for the Good
Woman made a flourish as though she would have carried out her threat;
whereupon my Man-Dog, Jowler, thought it was time to interpose, and
spoke.

"There's no harm in Mother Drum, but that her temper's as hot as her
pan, and we are late to supper. Come, Mother, Draw for us, and save you
still. I'll treat you to burnt brandy afterwards."

"What did he call me Pig-Woman for?" she grumbled, but still half
mollified. "What if I did waste my youth and prime in cooking of porkers
in a booth; I am no cutpurse. I, I never shoved the tumbler for
tail-drawing or poll-snatching on a levee-day.[L] But I will draw for
you, and welcome my guests of the game."

"And Supper, good Moll, Supper," added Jowler.

"An you had not hindered me, it would have been ready upstairs. There
are more upstairs besides you that hunger after the fat and the lean.
But can you sup without a cook? Will venison run off the spit ready
roasted, think you, like the pigs in Lubberland, that jump down your
throat, and cry _wee wee_?"

She began to bustle about, and summoned, by the name of Cicely
Grip--adding thereto the epithet of "faggot"--a stout serving-lass, who
might have been comely enough, but whose face and hands were very nearly
as black as those of the Man-Dog's. This wench brought a number of brown
jugs full of beer, and the Blacks took to drinking with much zest. Then
Jowler, who seemed a kind of lieutenant, in some authority over them,
gave the word of command to "Peel;" and they hastened to leave the room,
which was but a mean sort of barn-like chamber, with bare walls, a
wattled roof, and a number of rough wooden tables and settles, all
littered with jugs and Tobacco pipes. So I and the Fat Woman and Jowler,
Cicely Grip having betaken herself to the kitchen, were left together.

"Cicely will dish up, Mother Drum," he says; "you have fried collops
enow for us, I trow; and if more are wanted for the Billy Boys, you can
to your pan again. You began your brandy pottage too early tonight,
Mother. Let us have no more of your vapours 'twixt this and day-break,
prithee. What