_Enter Peter Bargrove with great consequence._
_Mrs Bar._ Well, Peter, have you seen your father?
_Peter._ I have not yet communicated the important intelligence.
_Mrs Bar._ Why, what's the matter with the boy? important intelligence!
_Peter._ I had forgot. She is still unaware of my discovery. Hem! (_walking up to his mother._) good woman! look me full in the face.
_Mrs Bar._ Good woman! Mercy on us, Peter! Is it thus you address your mother?
_Peter._ My mother! I tell you to look in my face.
_Mrs Bar._ Look in your face? Well, sir, I do look in your face; and a very foolish face you're making of it. Are you mad?
_Peter._ Mad! no, Mrs Bargrove, I'm not mad, but I've discovered all.
_Peter._ Yes, all. Down on your knees and confess.
_Mrs Bar._ Confess! confess what? Down on my knees too? Why, you ungracious boy, what do you mean?
_Enter Mr Bargrove, unperceived, who stands aside._
_Peter._ What do I mean? Confess your enormous guilt--the wicked trick that you played me in my infancy.
_Mrs Bar._ Dear me, dear me, my child is out of his senses.
_Peter._ Madam, I am in my senses, but I am not your child. Woman, you know it.
_Peter._ Tell me, will you confess at once, thou infamous----
[_Old Bargrove comes forward, and knocks Peter down with his cudgel._
_Old Bar._ I can't stand it any longer. What do you mean, you rascal, by calling your mother infamous?
_Peter_ (_rubbing his head, and getting up slowly_). 'Tis well--'tis very well I had resolved before to turn you away; now you may expect the severest chastisement. Take warning this moment, you old----
_Old Bar._ (_lifting up his cudgel_). You old what?
_Peter._ I'll swear the peace against you. Take care what you are about. This is a violent assault, you know; and you don't know him you are beating.
_Peter._ No, you don't--but I'll tell you. This woman changed me at nurse, and I can prove it. I--yes--I, humble as I stand here, with my head broken also--am no less than Peter Etheridge--the young Squire!
_Old Bar._ Look at the almanac, dame. Is the harvest moon at full? He's mad, indeed!
_Peter._ I am not. Mrs Bargrove, where is your accomplice, Nelly Armstrong? You see I know all. (_Mrs Bargrove weeps, but makes no answer._) I say again confess all, and then, perhaps, I may pardon you, and let your husband keep his place.