[_Delaying to give the Beer._

_Mrs. Brul._ What! old Job Thornberry of Penzance, sir?

_Pereg._ The very same. You know him, then?

_Mrs. Brul._ Very well, by hearsay, sir. He has lived there upwards
of thirty years. A very thriving man now, and well to do in the
world;--as others might be, too, if they would but follow my advice.
[_To DENNIS._

_Pereg._ I rejoice to hear it. Give me the beer, Landlord; I'll
drink his health in humble malt, then hasten to visit him.

_Dennis. [Aside._] By St. Patrick, then, you'll make wry faces on
the road. [_Gives him the mug._

[_As PEREGRINE is about to drink, a Shriek
is heard at a small Distance._

_Pereg._ Ha! the voice of a female in distress? Then 'tis a man's
business to fly to her protection.
[_Dashes the Mug on the Ground. Exit._

_Mrs. Brul._ Wheugh! what a whirligigg! Why, Dennis, the man's mad!

_Dennis._ I think that thing.

_Mrs. Brul._ He has thrown down all the beer, before he tasted a
drop.

_Dennis._ That's it: if he had chuck'd it away afterwards, I
shou'dn't have wonder'd.

_Mrs. Brul._ Here he comes again;--and, I declare, with a young
woman leaning on his shoulder.

_Dennis._ A young woman! let me have a bit of a peep. [_Looking
out._] Och, the crater! Och, the--

_Mrs. Brul._ Heyday! I should'n't have thought of your peeping after
a young woman, indeed!

_Dennis._ Be asy, Mrs. Brulgruddery! it's a way we have in
Ireland.--There's a face!

_Mrs. Brul._ Well, and hav'n't I a face, pray?

_Dennis._ That you have, my lambkin! You have had one these fifty
years, I'll bound for you.

_Mrs. Brul._ Fifty years! you are the greatest brute that ever dug
potatoes.

_Re-enter PEREGRINE, supporting MARY._

_Pereg._ This way. Cheer your spirits; the ruffian with whom I saw
you struggling, has fled across the Heath; but his speed prevented
my saving your property. Was your money, too, in the parcel with
your clothes?

_Mary._ All I possessed in the world, sir;--and he has so
frighten'd me!--Indeed. I thank you, sir; indeed I do!

_Pereg._ Come, come, compose yourself. Whither are you going, pretty
one?

_Mary._ I must not tell, sir.

_Pereg._ Then whither do you come from?

_Mary._ No body must know, sir.

_Pereg._ Umph! Then your proceedings,