cupation--fiend.

_Joe_ (_cowering limply on his chair_). O Mr. Fiend, I _know_ it's
very wrong of me!

_Demon_ (_politely_). Don't mention it--but please to come "along of"
me?

_Joe_ (_imploringly_). Do let me off this once,--ha! you're relenting,
You smile----

_Demon_ (_grimly_). 'Tis nothing but my jam fermenting!
[_Catches_ JOE'S _ankle, and assists him to descend._

_Joe._ You'll drive me mad!

_Demon_ (_carelessly_). I _may_--before I've done with you!

_Joe._ What do you want?

_Demon_ (_darkly_). To have a little fun with you!
Of fiendish humour now I'll give a specimen.

[_Chases him round and round Stage, and proceeds to smear him hideously
with jam._

_Joe_ (_piteously_). Oh, don't! I feel _so_ sticky. _What_ a mess
I'm in!

_Demon_ (_with affected sympathy_). That _is_ the worst of jam--it's
apt to stain you.
[_To_ JOE, _as he frantically endeavours to remove the traces of his
crime._
I see you're busy--so I'll not detain you!

[_Vanishes down star-trap with a diabolical laugh. Cupboard-doors close
with a clang; all lights down._ JOE _stands gazing blankly for some
moments, and then drags himself off Stage. His Mother and_ JOHN, _with
Pear- and Plum-gatherers bearing laden baskets, appear at doors at back
of Scene, in faint light of torches._

_Re-enter Joe_ (_bearing a candle and wringing his hands_). Out, jammed
spot! What--will these hands _never_ be clean? Here's the smell of the
raspberry jam still! All the powders of Gregory cannot unsweeten this
little hand.... (_Moaning._) Oh, oh, oh!

[_This passage has been accused of bearing too close a resemblance to
one in a popular Stage Play; if so, the coincidence is purely
accidental, as the Dramatist is not in the habit of reading such profane
literature._

_Joe's Mother._ Ah! what an icy dread my heart benumbs!
See--stains on all his fingers, _and_ his thumbs!

"What JOE was about, His Mother found out, When she look'd at his
fingers and thumbs."--_Poem again._

Nay, JOSEPH--'tis your mother ... speak to her!

_Joe_ (_tonelessly, as before_). Lady, I know you not (_touches lower
part of waistcoat_); but, prithee, undo this button. I think I have jam
in all my veins, and I would fain sleep. When I am gone