er mind her, kinsman. Things
remain as they were. The answer I gave you last harvest, I repeat
to-day. I'll not force my daughter. If you suit her, well and good;
then it's for her to see that she can be happy with you. If she shakes
her head--still better--be it so, I should say--then you must be content
to pocket the refusal, and part in good fellowship over a bottle with her
father. 'Tis the girl who is to live with you--not I. Why should I, out
of sheer caprice, fasten a husband upon the girl for whom she has no
inclination? That the evil one may haunt me down like a wild beast in my
old age--that in every drop I drink--in every bit of bread I bite, I
might swallow the bitter reproach: Thou art the villain who destroyed his
child's happiness!

MRS MILLER. The short and the long of it is--I refuse my consent
downright; my daughter's intended for a lofty station, and I'll go to law
if my husband is going to be talked over.

MILLER. Shall I break every bone in your body, you millclack?

WORM (to MILLER). Paternal advice goes a great way with the daughter,
and I hope you know me, Mr. Miller?

MILLER. Plague take you! 'Tis the girl must know you. What an old
crabstick like me can see in you is just the very last thing that a
dainty young girl wants. I'll tell you to a hair if you're the man for
an orchestra--but a woman's heart is far too deep for a music-master.
And then, to be frank with you--you know that I'm a blunt,
straightforward fellow--you'll not give thank'ye for my advice. I'll
persuade my daughter to no one--but from you Mr. Sec--I would dissuade
her! A lover who calls upon the father for help--with permission--is not
worth a pinch of snuff. If he has anything in him, he'll be ashamed to
take that old-fashioned way of making his deserts known to his
sweetheart. If he hasn't the courage, why he's a milksop, and no Louisas
were born for the like of him. No! he must carry on his commerce with
the daughter behind the father's back. He must manage so to win her
heart, that she would rather wish both father and mother at Old Harry
than give him up--or that she come herself, fall at her father's feet,
and implore either for death on the rack, or the only one of her heart.
That's the fellow for me! that I call love! and he who can't bring
matters to that pitch with a petticoat may--stick the goose feather in
his cap.

WORM (seizes hat and stick and hurries out of the room). Much obliged,
Mr. Miller!

MILLER (