Chapter IV: Act III: (Two years later.) Parlor in GAYLIE GIFFORD'S house (1)

Door in flat_, C., _windows each side of it, with drapery
curtains; shrubbery outside. Table_, R. C., _with books, &c.; a
lighted astral lamp upon it. Lounge_, L. _Arm-chair_, R., _with
small table beside it. Easy-chairs_, R. _and_ L. _Should be
handsomely furnished; elegantly, if possible, by adding
statuettes, screens, &c._ MRS. TRUEWORTH _discovered in
arm-chair_, R., _knitting_. MATTIE _sitting at table_, L. C.,
_reading a newspaper_.

_Mattie_ (_dropping paper_). And so at last this cruel war is over, mother. Richmond has fallen, and our brave soldiers are already marching homeward. Only think of it! any day, any hour, may bring back our dear Rob, after four years' absence. Oh! 'twill be a happy return for all of us.

_Mrs. T._ For you and me, Mattie, yes. I shall see my brave boy again; you, a noble brother, whose record in the long struggle is spotless. But how will Gaylie receive him?

_Mattie._ With open arms, mother: are they not lovers?

_Mrs. T._ They parted as lovers: but you know two years ago Wilder Rowell resigned his command, and returned to Grainlow; that from that time he has been a constant visitor to this house; that he is always welcomed by its mistress; that he attends her in all her walks and drives; that she smiles upon him, and evidently delights in his company. You know this, and I know it, and I don't like it. There, I've dropped a stitch!

_Mattie._ Why, mother! I really believe you are jealous of Col. Rowell's attentions. Do _you_ doubt Gaylie's affection for us, her love for Brother Rob?

_Mrs. T._ Doubt her affection for us? No! Has she not been a dear daughter to me for these years? Has she not made us members of her own household? Have I not had, every day, convincing proofs of her affection? No, no! bless her dear heart, for Mother Trueworth has a warm corner in it. It's only for the boy I fear. Suppose he should come home, and find our Gaylie's heart turned from him, caught by this man whom I don't like, never did like, and never will like. There goes another stitch!

_Mattie._ Suppose, suppose! O mother, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Why, I should no more doubt Gaylie's love for our Rob, than I should doubt—

_Mrs. T._ Your love for Hiram Jenks, eh, Mattie?

_Mattie._ There's another jealous one! He thinks Mr. Rowell is in love with me, or pretends he does, and continually quarrels with me about him. But we always make up, and I really believe that it's for the pleasure of being reconciled every day that he does it.

_Mrs. T._ Ah! Hiram Jenks is a good, honest, smart, reliable young man: so you be careful, and not quarrel too often. There may be a time when there will be no reconciliation.

_Mattie._ I'm not afraid of that, mother. He loves me dearly. But I
mean to cure him of this folly the very next time he attempts it.

_Crimp_ (_outside_). Hi! whar's Missy Gaylie? whar she be? Hallelujum! (_Enters_, C., _running, in a high state of excitement_.) Babylum am fallen! Got a telegram down dar: de boys am coming dis yer night, got mos' home. Der a-lighting up down dar. "Johnny am marching home" double-quick. Yaas, indeed! Whar Miss Gaylie? Hi! lots ob fun.

_Mrs. T._ Coming, Crimp, to-night?

_Crimp._ Don't I tole you? Don't I tole you? I'se jes' gwine to 'luminate dis yer mamsum from de crown to de heel, regardless ob expense. Hi, golly! Jubilum am a-comun, and de darkies are jes' gwine into glory. Whar's Miss Gaylie? Whar she be? Golly! I can' hole myself still: mus' do somfum, or I shall combusticate and smash all to pieces. Whar's Miss Gaylie? (_Runs off_, L.)

_Mrs. T._ (_rising_). Coming to-night! Dear, dear boy! I must dress myself to receive him. Just see what a state I'm in,—this old cap and this poor dress.

_Mattie._ Why, mother, you never looked better in your life.

_Mrs. T._ It's no such thing. I'm looking shabby, and my boy's coming home. Oh! I wish I had the regal robes of a queen, that I might receive him as he deserves. Dear, dear boy! (_Hurries off_, L.)

_Mattie._ And so Rob is really coming home: how glad somebody will be to see him! She care for Wilder Rowell? I, for one, do not believe it. She's some reason for allowing his attentions: what it is, I cannot find out. When I ask her, she laughs, and breaks away singing, "Trust her not, she is fooling thee. Beware! Take care!" But I do trust her. She is all goodness. (_Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Ah! only pretty Mattie Trueworth. If I hadn't higher aspirations, I should dearly like to make love to that girl. (_Aloud._) Good-evening, Miss Mattie.

_Mattie._ Ah! Mr. Rowell, good-evening.

_Rowell._ There seems to be a hubbub about this usually quiet
mansion. What is going on?

_Mattie._ Why, don't you know our soldiers are coming home
to-night?

_Rowell._ To-night! That is news. Is the war over?

_Mattie._ Why, what a man! Don't you read the papers? Don't you
take any interest in the war?

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Not since I resigned two years ago. (_Aloud._)
Oh, certainly! Is Richmond taken?

_Mattie._ A week ago. Here's the whole account. (_Rises with paper,
and comes forward._)

_Rowell._ Indeed! show it to me. (_Puts his arm about her waist._
HIRAM _appears at door_, C.)

_Hiram._ Ahem! a-hem! (MATTIE _starts to_ L. ROWELL, _with paper
in his hand_, _starts_ R.)

_Hiram_ (_with bombastic fury_). Oh, yes, oh, yes! it is all
true, all true.

_Rowell._ What! is the news confirmed?

_Hiram_ (_contemptuously_). Confirmed! my _suspicions_ are confirmed. (_To_ MATTIE.) Oh, you cruel, deceitful, perfidious, ungenerous, ungrateful, unkind, unjust, un—un—unsociable young woman! what have you done?

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Hallo! this fellow's in his jealous humor again. (_Aloud._) Miss Mattie, as you have company, I'll take the paper, and find the news myself.

[_Exit_ L.

_Mattie._ Mr. Hiram Jenks, what's the matter?

_Hiram._ What's the matter? You ask _me_? Matter, what's the mattie? I mean Wattie, matts the water? Oh, pshaw! I can't speak. My tongue is paralyzed. False woman! you have shattered the shrine of affection in this bosom. Young lady, you have burst the bonds of devotion. Young maiden, you have lacerated my heart, crushed my soul, blasted my hopes, destroyed my—my—Go, deceitful maid! After my long devotion, oh! this is too much, after all I have done for you. Oh! (_Tears hair._)

_Mattie._ Well, what have you done for me?

_Hiram._ Eh! well, what I was going to do for you,—marry you. To see you fondly reclining upon the bosom of another, another's arm about your waist,—oh, this is torture! madness! (_Tears his hair, and rushes about stage._) Mattie Trueworth, you are a cartless hoquette; no, a—

_Mattie._ You got the cart before the horse that time, Hiram. How
silly you are! It's all a mistake.

_Hiram_ (_coolly_). Oh! it's a mistake: I'm glad of that; so
let's kiss and make up. (_Approaching her._)

_Mattie._ Stop! you have opened my eyes. You saw his arm about my
waist. Then he loves me. Oh, joy! rapture! bliss!

_Hiram._ Why, Mattie! you don't mean, you can't mean, you can't be
so mean as to say you love Col. Rowell.

_Mattie._ Why not? he's rich; he is the owner of Trueworth Farm;
and I, I might be again its mistress.

_Hiram._ Yes: but, Mattie, wh-wh-what's to become of me?

_Mattie._ You? why, you unjustly suspected me; but then you opened
my eyes. You have my thanks: all else is at an end between us.

_Hiram._ Good gracious! I don't want your thanks. I wouldn't thank you for your thanks. I want _you_, Mattie. Come, let's make up (_coaxingly_). Now, do, Mattie, now, do. You ain't a-going to throw me over for that man?

_Mattie._ Why, he owns Trueworth Farm.

_Hiram_ (_aside_). Confound it! she means it. (_Aloud._) Hang Trueworth Farm! what's that to a heart filled with devotion! No, don't be hard on a feller. You know I love you. Come, let's make up. Do, now, do.

_Mattie_ (_drawing herself up to her full length_). No, sir! You have trifled with me, and we must part. Seek another mate: be happy if you can. (_Imitating_ HIRAM'S _coaxing_.) Do, now, do. I wish you well: particularly, _fare_-well. (_Courtesies, and goes off_, L.)

_Hiram_ (_looks after her_). Why! she's gone. She means it! Jealous of her? why, it's absurd! She might have known it. I only wanted to tease her into a reconciliation: these make-ups are so jolly! But she don't tease well; and now I've set her to setting her cap for Rowell. Pshaw! Humbug! the jealous game is all up. (_Enter_ CRIMP, L.)

_Crimp._ Hallo, Hi-_ram_! am dat you? Jes' you come down to de barn wid me. I'll show you, free gratis, for nuffin, no extra charge, and no postfonemet, de greatest dissemblage ob sky—sky—sky—what dat man call 'em? _skyrotechnicks_, golly! rickets, fourteen pounders, and—and Rum-and-candles, and—and Bungola lights, and squabs, and bombs—golly! Jes' busters; de take de roof right off; yaas, indeed! Come down, do, Hi-_ram_: gwine to let 'em shoot slam bang, when de boys come home.

_Hiram._ That's right, Crimp: give them a welcome.

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed, Hi-_ram_! gwine to make 'em smell brimstone. I tole you. Serve 'em right: wish we could get up a yearthquake: wouldn't be a bit too good for 'em. Come on, Hi. I say, Hi-_ram_, am you any relation to ole Jim? he was de highest old ram eber I see. Yah, yah, yah! (_Exit_, C., _laughing, followed by_ HIRAM. _Enter from_ L., ROWELL.)

_Rowell._ And so the war is over, and the boys are marching home, and with them comes, of course, Mr. Rob Trueworth. Hang the luck! I fear that fellow's appearance. Two years ago I resigned my command in the army for two reasons. First, an unfortunate _rencontre_ with Trueworth, whom I kept in the ranks after he had been several times honorably mentioned, awakened the suspicions of Grant, and a court-martial was threatened; second, a very pressing invitation from Gaylie to return, the pretext being business which required my assistance, but the real motive, an evident desire for my society. Of the first reason, I took good care to let her know nothing; and having the postmaster, Hosea Jenks, well under my thumb, I am sure she has received no hint from Trueworth. She has evidently repented of her folly, and takes kindly to my presence. Never a word about Rob Trueworth. Yet I seem no nearer the attainment of my heart's desire, than when I returned. I have assiduously courted her: we walk, ride, and sail together. I am attentive, devoted, and she enjoys every thing. But, when I speak of love, she evades it, or talks of her freedom, or we are interrupted. I will speak plainly: she must be bound to me ere he returns, or I fear my two-years' campaign will be wasted. Ah! here she is. (_Enter_ GAYLIE, L.)

_Gaylie._ Oh, isn't it glorious! the war is over. (_Sees_ ROWELL.)
Why, colonel, is that you? Have you been waiting long? I'm so sorry.

_Rowell_ (_taking her hand_). Yes: I have been waiting long, two years, Gaylie, to give you full assurance that I love you. Is my love returned?

_Gaylie_ (_excitedly_). Returned! O colonel! have you heard the news? Our brave soldiers have returned; that is, they are coming home to-night, crowned with victory. Oh, I'm so happy! ain't you?

_Rowell._ Gaylie, I am miserable.

_Gaylie._ Because they are coming home? Oh, fie! colonel. And you a
soldier?

_Rowell._ Gaylie, you must listen to me. You evade a question of
the utmost importance to my welfare. I asked you, Do you love me?

_Gaylie._ As you have asked me a dozen times in the last fortnight;
and I answer you as I have before, Wait until the war is over.

_Rowell._ Ah, but the war is over: there is no reason for delay.
Gaylie, will you be my wife?

_Gaylie._ That's a serious question, colonel. I'll consider it.

_Rowell._ Gaylie, you'll drive me mad.

_Gaylie._ Then I won't consider it: will that suit you? O colonel!
do you suppose there have been any changes in the regiment?

_Rowell._ Will you answer my question, Gaylie?

_Gaylie._ Will you answer mine, colonel?

_Rowell_ (_biting his lips_). I don't know; I don't care. Boxer, who took my place, has been made a brigadier-general; but, for the rest, I know nothing.

_Gaylie._ I wonder if Rob Trueworth is still a private. Perhaps
he's a captain, or a sergeant. I do hope he has risen.

_Rowell._ You still have an interest in that fellow?

_Gaylie._ Of course. Isn't he my brother?

_Rowell_ (_aside_). That's good. She ignores the other tie. (_Aloud._) Now, Gaylie, speak. (_Takes her hand._) Surely my devotion deserves a recompense. Will you? (_Enter_ CRIMP, L., _with a lighted candle in each hand_.)

_Crimp_ (_speaking as he enters_). Hi! Miss Gaylie, de hole _circumbendence_ ob de exterior ob de house up stairs am in a blaze ob glory; lights into all de windows, an' greeze all ober de glass and de carpets. Took sum pains up dar, I tole you. Shall I light dese yer windows, Miss Gaylie?

_Gaylie._ No, Crimp, I will attend to this.

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! I'm obleeged to you. Jes' put your bright eyes into de windows, and de illumination up stairs won't be no circumstance. I'll jes' stick 'em into de bay window, out yunder.

[_Exit_ R.

_Rowell_ (_runs to_ GAYLIE, _and puts his arm about her waist; takes her hand_). Gaylie, am I never to get an answer? Speak before we are again interrupted. (MRS. TRUEWORTH _appears_, L.)

_Rowell_ (_goes_ L.). Confusion! Will this never end?

_Gaylie._ Come in, mother.

_Mrs. T._ No: when two young people are so closely interested in conversation, an old woman's presence is unpleasant. I'm not blind, Gaylie Gifford; and I'm not likely to hold my tongue, when I see injustice done one I love; so I'll go away. O Gaylie! Gaylie! have I been deceived in you? (_Going._)

_Gaylie_ (_running to her_). No, mother, no! Believe me, trust me.

_Mrs. T._ I try to, Gaylie; but it is so hard, so hard!

[_Exit_ L.

_Gaylie_ (_comes down_ R. _at table_). Have I wounded her dear
heart? Am I doing right?

_Rowell_ (_approaching_). Gaylie—

_Gaylie._ Silence, sir! Speak to me now, and I shall hate you. (ROWELL _returns_ L. _Enter_ C. HOSEA JENKS, _followed by_ HIRAM. MATTIE _enters_ L. HOSEA _comes down_. HIRAM _stops up stage, and tries to make up with_ MATTIE; _she snubs him_.)

_Hosea._ I—I—really, really, I beg pardon, colonel, if you are having a _tety-tety_; but I thought you'd like your mail, and so I brought it. (_Comes down_ L. _of table, and hands letters to_ ROWELL, _who stands_ R. _of table; then goes back to_ L. C.)

_Rowell._ Ah! thank you, Jenks. (_Aside._) Confound his kindness! I
know you'll excuse me, Gaylie. Here's my mail.

_Gaylie._ Certainly, colonel. (HIRAM _comes down_ R. _of table, where_ GAYLIE _is standing, and hands her a letter secretly_.) (_Aside._) And here's mine. (_Presses it to her lips._)

_Rowell_ (_his back to_ GAYLIE). (_Aside._) Here's one for Gaylie, in the old familiar hand. (_Looks round to her: she is looking down; he turns to_ L., _and slips it into his pocket; as he does so, she bends forward, and watches him, then shakes her head_.)

_Gaylie._ Nothing for me, Mr. Jenks? (_She looks at_ JENKS _keenly: he tries to look in her face, drops his eyes, and nervously plays with his hat_.)

_Hosea._ Oh, no! Nothing for you, not a thing. Do you suppose I should have failed to bring them? (_She goes up stage; he comes down_ R.) (_Aside._) That's a lie, a wicked lie. I can't help it. I try; but it will pop out, anywhere, everywhere. Once I was a punster. "Alas, poor Jenks! where are your jests now, that were wont to set the table in a roar?" All lies now.

_Gaylie_ (_goes up, takes_ HIRAM'S _hand_). (_Aside._) Thanks, faithful sentinel. (_Aloud._) Come, Mattie, we'll go and look at Crimp's preparations, and leave the colonel to his letters. (_Puts her arm about_ MATTIE'S _waist, and they go off_ C.)

_Rowell_ (_who has opened a letter, and is reading it, seated at table_, L.). Confound it! another call for money, and no way to raise it. (JENKS _starts for door_; ROWELL _looks round_.) Yes; there's Jenks: he must help me out. Jenks!

_Hosea_ (_turns trembling_). Ye-yes, colonel.

_Rowell_ (_rising_). Jenks, I must have money at once. I have a pressing call, and my funds are completely exhausted. Come, you shall give me fifteen hundred dollars, and I'll transfer to you the Trueworth Farm.

_Hosea_ (_aside_). That's cool. (_Aloud._) But—but you see,
colonel, I—I—I don't want the Trueworth Farm.

_Rowell._ Neither do I. But I do want money; so look round and raise it, and don't keep me waiting long (_rises, and comes close to him_), or Grainlow will have a new postmaster. (_Exit_ C. JENKS _falls into chair he has left_.)

_Hosea._ New p-p-p-postmaster! well, that's the old threat. Oh, the villain! This comes of meddling with public affairs. When I was a private citizen, I was gay and happy, with such a flow of humor, punning from morning till night. I never pun now; I can't; it's sure to turn into a lie. I'm a miserable old rascal, that's ashamed to look an honest man in the face. I'm a swindler, a cheat, a liar, and a coward. I can't help it. I sold my birthright for a mess of pottage; no, potash, for it's all lie. O Jenks! when you parted with honesty, you knocked down a rich estate at an awful sacrifice. I'm in daily dread of these infernal detectives. In my office, at home, at my table, in bed, I feel the hand of justice on my shoulder, and the voice of outraged Uncle Sam thunders in my ear.

_Hiram._ The colonel wants his money, dad.

_Hosea_ (_starts to his feet_). Yes, yes. I'm a-going for it, I'm
a-going for it. (_Starts up stage._)

_Hiram._ Halt! 'bout face! hold up your head, turn out your toes.
(HOSEA _obeys_.) Now, dad, you will do no such thing!

_Hosea._ Hey! what do you mean, boy?

_Hiram._ Come, dad, straighten up; drop that. I've changed that
name with you. You are the boy,—a weak, silly, foolish boy.

_Hosea._ Do you want to insult my gray hairs?

_Hiram._ Insult them? Tell me, dad, have _you_ respected them as
you should?

_Hosea._ Eh! wh-what do you mean?

_Hiram._ Why does that man order you to find money for him? Why
does he treat you with such cool contempt?

_Hosea_ (_nervously_). Eh? oh! ha, ha, ha! it's only his way, you know. We are great friends,—great friends. He got me my office; and, you know, if I can do him a favor, why, I ought; certainty I oughter be proud to—to do him a favor: see? (_Aside._) How he looks at me! he knows it's a lie. I can't help it: it will pop out.

_Hiram._ That won't do, dad. You're afraid of him: you're a
coward.

_Hosea._ Coward, boy! this to me?

_Hiram._ Yes, and more. You have sold yourself to this man; you are accomplices in crime. You have made yourself liable to a long imprisonment, for you have robbed the mail.

_Hosea_ (_alarmed_). Hush! don't speak so loud, boy! Who told you this? Do you want to see me hung? do you want—O Hiram, Hiram! pity me, pity me! I'm a poor old sinner, a poor old sinner! (_Wrings his hands, falls on his knees, and hides his face._)

_Hiram._ That's the truth, dad; a tool in the hands of a crafty man. O dad, you were hard on me in the old days! You sought to crush out my ambition to be manly while yet a boy,—an ambition which should have been encouraged, not crushed. Your example made others slight me, and look upon me as a fool. But you were an honest man, and you made me honest; and for that I shall always be grateful. Now you have parted with your high estate; sold yourself, body and soul, to the—well, Col. Rowell is his name. I have kept mine, and I mean to rescue you from the clutches of this villain.

_Hosea._ No, boy, you can't do that; I'm sold, delivered: it's too late. I see my folly. But that man! O Hiram! he could deliver me up to justice: he could have me imprisoned.

_Hiram._ Why, dad, you forget he is your confederate; that, in
sacrificing you, he must betray himself.

_Hosea._ Eh? I never thought of that. Of course he must. What a
fool I have been! He dare not move. I'm safe, I'm safe!

_Hiram._ But I dare, dad, and I will. For four years you have intercepted letters belonging to Gaylie, and Rob Trueworth. I know it: I have full proof. Ah! I've watched you closer than you watched me when I was a boy.

_Hosea._ Yes, yes: but you can't betray me; you couldn't have the heart. Hiram, I was a good father to you; that is, I tried to be. You won't give me up to justice?

_Hiram._ You have wronged my friends. Unless you immediately resign your office, I will give information that shall lead to your arrest.

_Hosea._ I'll resign, I'll resign! but he won't let me.

_Hiram._ He shall not prevent you. You must also decline to
furnish him with money.

_Hosea._ I'll do that, I'll do that!—any thing you ask, Hiram,
only don't give me up.

_Hiram._ He's coming back. Remember, no money to that man. (_Goes
up_ R. _Enter_ ROWELL, C.)

_Rowell._ Why, Jenks, what are you about? Didn't you hear? I want
that money to-night,—must have it. Why are you not after it?

_Hosea._ You want fifteen hundred dollars, colonel?

_Rowell._ That's the sum I named.

_Hosea_ (_comes close to him_). Don't you wish you may get it, colonel? (_Snaps his fingers in his face._) Do you understand that? not a dollar from me. You've been drawing heavily on my conscience, but you can't draw on my bank-account: understand that.

_Rowell._ Fool! do you know that I could hang you, unless—

_Hosea._ We hang together. That's good, a pun, ha, ha, ha! the first for many a day. Oh, I'm feeling decidedly better! No, colonel, you couldn't hang me: you dare not molest me; for we are both in the same boat.

_Rowell._ Indeed! Well, my _honest_ friend, we can find a new
postmaster for Grainlow.

_Hosea._ Do, colonel! the sooner you write to Washington, "Off
with his head: so much for Jenks," the better for said Jenks.

_Rowell._ Do you refuse to purchase the Trueworth Farm?

_Hosea._ Decidedly I do.

_Hiram_ (_comes down_). Do I understand you, colonel? You wish to
dispose of Trueworth Farm?

_Rowell._ What's that to you?

_Hiram._ If you want to sell, I'm your customer.

_Rowell._ You?

_Hosea._ You? Why, Hiram Jenks, where can you find the money?

_Hiram._ No matter, dad. Name your price, colonel.

_Rowell._ Fifteen hundred dollars.

_Hiram_ (_takes a wallet from his pocket, and slaps it on
table_). There's your money.

_Hosea._ The boy's crazy. (_Aside to_ H.) I say, Hiram, what are
you about? You wouldn't let me buy it, and now—

_Hiram._ I want it: you forget you are under suspicion. Uncle Sam might confiscate your property at any moment, and the farm would go with it.

_Hosea._ Oh, what a head, what a head! And I thought him a boy!

_Hiram._ If you want the money to-night, write a receipt, and take
it. We will pass the papers in the morning.

_Rowell_ (_goes to table_, R., _and writes_). Certainly.

_Hiram_ (_takes paper from his pocket_). As I have had some thoughts of making you an offer for the property, I have drawn up an agreement. Sign that, and I am satisfied.

_Rowell_ (_takes paper, and looks at it_). This is satisfactory.
(_Signs._)

_Hiram._ Now, dad, if you will witness it. (_Takes bills from
wallet._)

_Hosea._ Certainly. (_Signs. Aside._) Where could that boy have
got his money?

_Hiram_ (_taking paper, and laying down bills_). You'll find that
all right.

_Rowell_ (_counting money_). All correct. I will see you at Lawyer
Ware's office, to-morrow at nine. Is that satisfactory?

_Hiram._ Perfectly. Come, dad, let's look after the office.

_Hosea._ Yes, to the office, where I shall take the first
opportunity to write to the Postmaster General, resigning my office.

_Rowell._ Do it at your peril!

_Hosea._ No: I shall do it at my office. Ha, ha, ha! Why, I'm getting back into my old humor, thanks to the boy. What a head! I used to look in his face, and think I saw a fool. I was wrong: I should have looked in a glass.

_Rowell._ I hope the farm will pay you better than it has me,
Hiram.

_Hiram._ No doubt it will. (_Aside._) If Miss Mattie Trueworth
wants Trueworth Farm, she'll have to look this way. Come, dad!

_Hosea._ Good-by, colonel: if you want your next mail, you'll have to come for it. (HIRAM _goes up, followed by_ HOSEA; _meet_ GAYLIE _and_ MATTIE _coming in_; MATTIE _comes down_ R., _is stopped by_ HIRAM; GAYLIE _speaks with_ HOSEA, L. C.)

_Hiram._ Mattie, won't you make up?

_Mattie._ No, sir: I have higher aspirations.

_Hiram_ (_tragically_). I know: to the owner of Trueworth Farm! Mattie, it's hard to lose you, but it's for the best: I see my error. I cannot win you; and so I freely give you up to a better, a richer man,—the owner of Trueworth Farm. Farewell! (_Clasps her in his arms quick, and kisses her: she screams; he runs off_ C.)

_Mattie._ Well, I never! what does he mean? He give me up? He shall do no such thing. Dear, dear! have I lost him? Hiram, Hiram! (_Runs off_ C.)

_Gaylie._ Your son has gone, Mr. Jenks.

_Hosea._ Has he? I must run after him. I can't bear to have him out of my sight: I'm so proud of him! (_Aside._) He might repent, and give me up.

[_Exit_ C.

_Rowell_ (_as_ GAYLIE _comes down_). Gaylie, may I ask a favor of you? I have been making a sale to-night, and have here fifteen hundred dollars: will you give me your check for it? I want to send it to-night.

_Gaylie._ Certainly! you'll find my check-book in the next room. Please bring it to me, colonel. (ROWELL _bows, and exits_ L.; GAYLIE _sits in chair_ R., _and looks after him_.) That man loves me, for two years has been my devoted slave; and now the time has come for me to speak plainly. He tells me there is no longer reason for delay: he is right. He thinks his long period of devotion deserves a recompense: he shall have it. And the other, Rob Trueworth, who left here four years ago,—does he still love me? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt it? Yet I must speak to-night, speak plainly. He believes that he has won me: I can see it in his proud step, the triumphant glance of his eye. Is he right? (_Smiles._) Can I doubt that? (_Enter_ ROWELL L., _with check-book_.) I'm so sorry to trouble you, colonel! (_Takes book._) Fifteen hundred, you say? (_Writes check._)

_Rowell_ (_laying down bills_). Yes: you'll find the bills here.

_Gaylie._ So you have made a sale to-night, colonel?

_Rowell._ Yes: Trueworth Farm.

_Gaylie._ Sold Trueworth Farm? And you refused to sell it to me
four years ago!

_Rowell._ Yes,—yes, I remember. I didn't like to part with it now,
but I wanted money—

_Gaylie_ (_rising_). Oh! I bear you no malice, colonel. (_Gives
check._)

_Rowell._ Thank you. And now, Gaylie, that we are alone, may I once more press you for an answer? (_Takes her hand, and puts his arm about her waist._) You know how dearly I love you: make me happy by saying that you return that love.

_Gaylie._ And would that really make you happy, colonel?

_Rowell._ Happy? The happiest of men!

_Gaylie_ (_drawing herself up_). Then hear me, Col. Rowell! (_Enter_ L. MRS. TRUEWORTH, _with shawl and_ _bonnet added to her former costume, and a large band-box in her hand_.)

_Rowell._ Oh, speak, Gaylie! tell me you love me!

_Mrs. T._ Before you do, Gaylie, let me get out of this house.
(GAYLIE _goes_ R., ROWELL L.)

_Gaylie._ Mother, what does this mean?

_Mrs. T._ Mother! you have no right to call me by that name: you have disgraced it. Four years ago you plighted vows with my dear boy; he went to battle, trusting in your promise: and now another's arms are about you, another's voice pleading to you for words which tremble on your lips. O Gaylie! how I have loved you, you may never know; but I love my boy, and he shall not come here to have his noble heart broken at the sight of his rival, a favored suitor. No: I thank you for all your kindness to me, but—my boy's coming, and I'll go to meet him: he has no one to love him now so tenderly as his old mother, bless him! 'Twill be a hard blow after all his love and hope and faith. O Gaylie, Gaylie! you've broken my heart! (_Drops her box, and staggers forward_; GAYLIE _runs, and catches her in her arms_.)

_Gaylie._ O mother, mother! this must not be! Stay here; this is
your home: here Rob will come—

_Mrs. T._ Not in that man's presence will I meet my boy.

_Rowell_ (_aside_). The old lady's complimentary. (_Aloud._) I think Mrs. Trueworth is right, Gaylie. It would certainly be unpleasant to young Trueworth to see our happiness.

_Gaylie._ I beg your pardon, colonel; I have not spoken yet.

_Mrs. T._ Let me go, Gaylie: I cannot stay here!

_Gaylie._ You must, you shall, mother! You have heard the colonel:
now hear me.

_Mrs. T._ No, no! I will go. Hark! what's that? (_Distant chorus;
sings the chorus of "Marching through Georgia."_)

_Gaylie._ At last, at last! They've come, mother, they've come. Hear me. Within myself, and to myself, I made a vow that I would keep Col. Rowell in suspense until I heard the victorious shouts of our returning heroes. They come, and I can speak; hear me: Col. Rowell, you have asked me to be your wife: I answer, No; for I detest you. (MRS. TRUEWORTH _goes over to chair_, R.)

_Rowell._ Gaylie, what is this? are you in earnest?

_Gaylie._ Four years ago I defied you; enlisted, for the war between you and my hero, on his side, not yours. I have kept the faith: I have battled you from that time to this, and won the victory.

_Rowell._ Battled! victory! I do not understand you.

_Gaylie._ You sought to keep us apart, and, to that end,
intercepted our letters.

_Rowell._ No, no! you are mistaken! I—I am innocent of any such
crime. (_Enter_ HIRAM, R.)

_Gaylie._ Here is my witness. 'Twas he who aided me in outwitting you. For the last two years our letters have passed under cover of his name. Those you have stopped were decoys.

_Rowell_ (_aside_). What a fool I have been!

_Gaylie._ You sought to keep my hero in the ranks. Perhaps you will recollect the first letter which reached him. 'Twas sent by the hands of a trusty messenger. (Enter CRIMP, L.) 'Twas delivered in your presence.

_Crimp._ Yaas, colonel; d-d-don't shoot!

_Rowell_ (_aside_). Oh, curse the girl! she has outwitted me.

_Gaylie._ You sought to keep him down; and so I decoyed you here, believing that your presence, hateful as it had become, was necessary to the exaltation of Rob Trueworth. I have used a woman's art, coquetry; but the end justifies the means. So you see, colonel, the Home Guard has a right to claim the victory. Home Guard, attention! fall in! (_She stands_ L. HIRAM _takes his place next her, and_ CRIMP _next up stage_. GAYLIE _then faces them_.)

_Gaylie._ Comrades, your general, ahem! is proud of you; we have fought together; we have conquered. Now let us march to meet the returning heroes. (_Steps back beside_ HIRAM.) Home Guard, attention! Eyes right! eyes left! Salute! (_They salute. Chorus repeated outside, "Marching through Georgia," nearer. Enter_ ROB, _in full uniform of a colonel_.) Ah! Rob, Rob! he's come, mother, he's come! (_Runs into_ ROB'S _arms_.)

_Mrs. T._ (_springing up_). O Rob, boy! welcome, welcome, welcome!

_Rob._ Dear, dear mother! (_Enter_ MATTIE, L.)

_Mattie._ Where is he? O Brother Rob! (_Runs into his arms._) This
is glorious!

_Rob._ Thanks for your hearty welcome. Ah, Hiram! (_Shakes
hands._) And Crimp!

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! how is yer? an' how is Boxer? an'—an' ole smoke-jack? Gay times in ole Virginny, two years ago. I'm obleeged to you.

_Rob_ (_comes down to_ L., _where_ ROWELL _stands with his back to him, and his arms folded_). Wilder Rowell, the regiment with which you set out for the battle-field has returned under command of its new colonel, myself.

_Rowell_ (_turns round_). You the colonel of the 10th?

_Rob._ I am happy to say I have won that distinction. Won it! do you hear? You would have kept me in the ranks; but thanks to woman's wit, and military justice, you were removed in time. I now return to claim my bride. (_Turns up stage._)

_Rowell_ (_turns away_). Oh, I have failed,—miserably failed! I cannot bear to see their happiness. (_All are gathered about_ ROB, _up stage_.) I was so sure of her! and she has been laughing at me all this time. I wish I could hate her; but no, no, it's impossible. I played for her fortune, and I ended in loving her as I can never love again. They are busy: I'll slip away. Oh! this may be justice for them: 'tis ruin, utter ruin, for me.

[_Exit_ L.

_Hiram_ (_leads_ MATTIE _down_ R.) Now, Mattie, Rob has returned,
and Gaylie is true to him. Col. Rowell, of course, is in the market.

_Mattie._ I don't care if he is: I don't want him!

_Hiram._ But you want Trueworth Farm.

_Mattie._ Not if I must take its owner.

_Hiram._ No? not when his name is Hiram Jenks? It's mine, Mattie: I bought it to-night. Come, let's kiss and make up: do, now, do! (_Kiss and retire up, arm in arm._ ROB _and_ GAYLIE _come down_.)

_Rob._ Gaylie, how can I ever thank you for making me what I am?

_Gaylie._ Nonsense, Rob! you made yourself. If I did help a little, 'twas for my own pride; for I always wanted to be a colonel's wife. Ahem!

_Crimp_ (_down_ L.). So did I. Yaas, yaas! I'm obleeged to you. No, no, dat's a bifstake: dat's a bifstake. I mean—I mean—wh-w-w-what do I mean? I mean to go an' let off dem ar squabs; make a blaze; cos de colonel's come; yaas, indeed!

_Hiram_ (R.). Wait, Crimp: the colonel's going to speak.

_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! I's waiting with both years wide open
tight. I'm obleeged to you.

_Rob_ (C. _with_ GAYLIE). Ladies and gentlemen of the Home Guard, accept my thanks for your kind and valuable assistance in the campaign just closed. Ever grateful must our country's defenders be to the strong arms and tender hands, loving hearts and watchful eyes, that cared for the old folks at home, when they were in the field.

_Gaylie_ (C.). Ahem! Colonel, in behalf of the Home Guard, I give you a hearty welcome home. If our efforts have won your approbation, if—There, I've broken down! O Rob, Rob! I'm so glad to get you back! we'll be a happy family now, won't we, mother?

_Mrs. T._ (_comes down_ R. C.). Indeed we will, Gaylie. My own boy
back again, thank Heaven! The skies will be bright now.

_Rob._ Ay, mother! bright to herald the coming of peace, with all its blessings. We have fought the good fight: we have conquered. Henceforth the land we love is free.

_Crimp._ Das a fac', an' I am one on 'em; I'm obleeged to you.

_Gaylie._ Yes, we have conquered; and, though "the girl you left behind you" has done but little for the cause, she carried into it a loyal and a willing heart; and, if her hero is satisfied, she will never regret having "enlisted for the war."

HIRAM _and_ MATTIE, R. MRS. T., ROB, GAYLIE, C.
CRIMP, L. _Curtain._

NEVER SAY DIE.

CHARACTERS.

MR. SIMON GRAYLOCK.
MR. RALPH CHEENY.
JOHN BOUNCE, Mr. Graylock's coachman.
MRS. GRAYLOCK.
MISS ALICE CHASE.
PATTY PERT, Mrs. Graylock's maid.

COSTUMES MODERN AND APPROPRIATE.

SCENE.—_Handsome apartment in the house of_ MR. GRAYLOCK. _Table_,
C., _red cloth. A study-lamp burning. Books and papers. Lounge_,
R. _Arm-chair_, L. _Chairs_ R. _and_ L. _of table_. PATTY PERT
_seated in arm-chair with a book_.

_Patty_ (_reading_). "At the sound of that voice musically voluminous as the sighing of the October gale in the lofty branches of mountain hemlocks, Araminta Augusta Violetta sprang to her feet, and, dashing the embroidery-frame to the floor with a crash that shook the ancient edifice, gave one terrific, yet ecstatic scream of joy, and sank fainting into the arms of her own fond Felix Frederick Freelove." Oh! isn't that splendid? Oh! why wasn't I born in those barbaric days, when knights and squires, and milk-white steeds, and high-born ladies, pranced about, like the grand entry of a magnificent circus? Oh! why wasn't I a barbarian? And such love-making! (_Reads._) "Beauteous damsel, with eyes of azure blue, hear, oh, hear the vow of your own true knight! I will cleave yonder mountain from summit to base with one blow of my trusty cimeter, ere one tear of grief shall find its way adown thy gently-arching nose:" oh, beautiful, beautiful! There are no barons now. Who ever hears such language as that in these plebeian times? Even old Mr. Graylock, fond as he is of his young wife, never allows his ecstasy to rise above the utterance of "My dear, you're looking well, remarkably well." And Mrs. Graylock has nothing more romantic on the end of her tongue than, "Hubby, don't be gone long. I do get so sleepy when you're away!" Oh, the world's degenerating! there's not the least doubt of it. There's John Bounce, who tries to make love to me; and precious bad business he makes of it too, forever dropping his _h_'s, and sticking them where they don't belong. I'm determined to reform him, or he shall bounce about the world without a wife, though, as he says, his 'art _h_is given to me _h_alone. (_Enter_ BOUNCE R.)

_Bounce._ 'Illo, Patty! _h_all by yourself, 'ay? Where's the master
and missus?

_Patty._ Still at table, Mr. Bounce, daintily toying with the
dessert of their luxurious repast.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes, Patty! what _h_elegance of _h_expression!

_Patty._ It's a pity Mr. Bounce, your language is not better
seasoned with polite pronunciation.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes, Patty, 'ave you been drinking?

_Patty._ Sir!

_Bounce._ You talk just for _h_all the world like the fellows that master used to 'ave 'ere to dine afore 'e was 'itched to the new missus. They were dreadful free _h_and _h_easy spoken until the wine came _h_on, and then they couldn't find words _h_expansive enough to _h_express their _h_ideas.

_Patty._ Mr. Bounce, no more of such language. It is time that you and I understood each other. I believe you wish me, at some not very distant period, to become your bride?

_Bounce._ Yes: _h_i _h_expect to make you Mrs. Bounce.

_Patty._ _H_expect? Why should you?

_Bounce._ Why, Patty? 'Aven't _h_i _h_offered you my 'art _h_and
'and?

_Patty._ And—and what?

_Bounce._ My 'art _h_and 'and. Don't you _h_understand _h_it?

_Patty._ Your art? Yes: your art is driving horses.

_Bounce._ But I ain't talking _h_about 'orses. _H_i said 'art; this
'art which 'eaves _h_in my bosom with fond _h_aspiration.

_Patty._ Nonsense! Once for all, Mr. John Bounce, I will never marry a man who aspirates in such a shocking manner as you do. No, sir. The man whose bride I shall become must be capable of declaring his love in grammatical, pronounceably correct English. He must fall gracefully upon his knees before me, and, in accents too wild to be resisted, say, "Patty, my heart"—not _art_, Mr. Bounce; I'll have no artful man—"is at your feet." Not _hat_. Hats are for heads, not feet, Mr. Bounce. When you can do that, speak: till then a gulf as wide as that which once yawned between Felix Frederick Freelove, and his Araminta Augusta Violetta, separates us.

[_Exit_ R.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes! Who's _H_araminta _H_augusta? _H_i don't know 'er. Well, this _h_is _h_extraordinary. _H_and _h_i thought my language was so _h_intelligent! Well, Miss Patty, though _h_i love you with _h_all my 'art, _h_i'm not _h_a-going to lose no flesh on your _h_account. Well, _h_after _h_all, women _h_are a good deal like 'orses; _h_if they find you don't notice their capers, but keep cool, they're very _h_apt to settle down _h_into a _h_easy trot. 'Ere's master and missus. _H_i'll make myself scarce. (_Exit_ L. _Enter_, R., MR. GRAYLOCK, _with a plate containing nuts and raisins balanced on each hand, followed by_ MRS. GRAYLOCK.)

_Mr. G._ Now, my dear, for a refreshing season of calm and tranquil delight. Here, beneath our own vine and fig-tree, metaphorically speaking, we will meditate, converse, and—and eat our nuts and raisins. (_Sits in chair_ L. _of table_).

_Mrs. G._ (_placing ottoman beside him_, L.). Yes, indeed; what could be more delightful? (_Sits. He hands her a plate. They eat._) How grateful I should be—and I am—that I have a dear husband, so fond of spending his evenings with me, instead of leaving me for a stupid club, or the society of a billiard-room! It's a shame, a disgrace to married life, the manner in which some husbands conduct themselves.

_Mr. G._ Ah, my dear, you were a wise young woman, when from the multitude of your admirers, young, giddy fellows, you turned to make choice of a staid, middle-aged, experienced individual to guide your youthful steps. Ah, my dear, yours was a wise choice. Do I not worship you? Do I not dote upon you? Is not every wish of your heart gratified?

_Mrs. G._ Yes, indeed. No: there's one wish yet ungratified. Alice—

_Mr. G._ What! you're not going to bring up that troublesome
subject again?

_Mrs. G._ Again and again, until you give your consent to her
marriage with Mr. Cheeny.

_Mr. G._ Now, my dear, how are we to enjoy a season of calm and tranquil delight if you insist upon boring me with a subject upon which we can never agree? Let's change the subject. My dear, I am seriously thinking of dyeing—

_Mrs. G._ O Simon, don't talk so! Do you want to frighten me to
death?

_Mr. G._ Yes, of dyeing—my hair and beard.

_Mrs. G._ You cannot mean it.

_Mr. G._ Yes, I do. Watkins tells me he has a wonderful preparation, one application of which will instantly turn white, gray, red, or yellow hair to a beautiful black. Think of it, Susannah! In imagination behold your husband entering the room, transformed by "The Magic Dyer" into a youthful specimen of the genus _homo_.

_Mrs. G._ I couldn't imagine it, and I won't. I am perfectly satisfied with your appearance. And you would look horrid with your hair and beard in mourning. I should never forgive you if you did such a dreadful thing. Never say dye to me again. Now let's change that subject. Alice and Mr. Cheeny—

_Mr. G._ Sue! Susan! Susannah! pause. If you do not instantly
pause, I shall dye—my hair and beard.

_Mrs. G._ Oh, no, you won't! Why are you so determined to keep
Alice single? (_Enter_ ALICE R.)

_Alice._ Yes, uncle, why am I to be deprived of my natural rights?

_Mr. G._ Oh, bother! You here? Now, how is a man to enjoy a season
of—

_Mrs. G._ Oh, don't say that again! Answer my question.

_Mr. G._ Certainty, my dear. I have three reasons: the first of
which is, she is too young to marry.

_Mrs. G. and Alice_ (_together_). Too young to marry!

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). Grand chorus of indignant females. (_Aloud._)
I repeat it: too young to marry.

_Mrs. G._ Nonsense! She's as old as I am. If that is your opinion,
why did you allow me to marry?

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it. (_Aloud._) You didn't
allow me to finish. Too young to marry a young man.

_Alice._ Indeed! Well, I'll never marry an old one, if I live to be as old as my grandmother. I do detest old men, and middle-aged men too.

_Mr. G._ (_aside_). Stuck my foot in it again.

_Mrs. G._ So much for your first reason. What is your second?

_Mr. G._ My second is, Alice can do better than to marry at all. Look at that head. How beautifully the reasoning bumps are developed! A phrenologist would go wild with ecstasy with his hands upon that head.

_Alice._ Would he? He'd get them well scratched for his assurance.

_Mr. G._ (_Rising, placing plate on table, and speaking with bombastic enthusiasm._) Alice, 'tis the era of progress. Woman's rights will soon be fully recognized, and woman take her place among the gifted and the learned. They will be called to the bar, the pulpit. Think of that time, and prepare to take your place,—to rule, and not be ruled. Married life for you! Preposterous! 'Twould be a galling chain 'gainst which your noble intellect would chafe and worry.

_Alice._ Uncle, are you crazy?

_Mrs. G._ Poor Simon, has second childhood come so soon to you?

_Mr. G._ My dear, let's change the subject.

_Mrs. G._ Certainly; to the third and last reason. What is that?

_Mr. G._ The third and last? That I refuse to make public.

_Mrs. G._ What! you have another reason?

_Mr. G._ I have, and it's a clincher; but I positively refuse to
give it.

_Mrs. G._ To your own lawful wife? to her from whom you have often
said you have no secrets? Simon Graylock, I'm ashamed of you.

_Mr. G._ But, my dear Susan—

_Mrs. G._ Don't dear me, Mr. Graylock. You are a very ungrateful man. Do I deserve this treatment? Have I not sacrificed my young and ardent admirers for your sake? Have I not crushed out the brightness and gayety of my young life to settle down, and become the slave of a man old enough to be my father? For what? To have your confidence withheld from me—

_Mr. G._ Sue—

_Mrs. G._ Silence, Mr. Graylock! When I fondly hoped, in making our Alice happy, to brighten our home with the presence of gay, lively company—

_Mr. G._ Susan—

_Mrs. G._ Silence, sir! I must be content with your company; not even allowed to share your confidence. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I wonder your iron-gray locks do not turn white with shame. They look streaked enough. You want to dye them. You'd better. Disguise yourself somehow. Keep out of my sight, for I'm thoroughly ashamed of you. Come, Alice, I'll not waste my time with such a wretch.

_Alice._ But, Aunt Susy, my marriage—

_Mrs. G._ Must wait till my lord and master concludes to give his third reason. O Simon, Simon! you've broken my heart. (_Weeps._) You—you—you've br-br-br-oken my heart.

[_Exit_, R., _followed by_ ALICE.

_Mr. G._ (_looks off_ R., _then speaks slowly_). Well, I never! Bless my soul! Goodness gracious! Heavens and earth! Here's a tornado, an earthquake, a hurricane! The wife of my bosom, the partner of my joys, in the enjoyment of a season of calm and tranquil delight, gets up, and—Well, well, here's blighted hearthstones, blasted happiness, and for what? For an untold reason. Make public that reason? disclose it to the partner of my joys? Never! distinctly, emphatically, and unequivocally, never! Tell her that I oppose my niece's marriage because upon that marriage I, her lawful guardian, must pay into her hands the sum of ten thousand dollars, left in my hands by my deceased brother, her father, to be so paid on the occurrence of her marriage, which marriage must have my consent? Never! She would drive me from her presence with scorn,—or any thing else that was handy. I can't part with the money now. This unlucky, happy day must be kept far, far away. But my wife, she must be appeased. How can I bring back her smiles? Ah, "The Magic Dye!" She would see manhood in its prime, raven locks, and all that sort of thing, about her home. She shall. I will disguise myself. The die is cast. She will be pleased with the change: she can't help it. The smile will return to her rosy lips, and all be bright again. Wilkins can transform me in five minutes. He shall. I shall dye happy, and live happy ever after. (_Strikes bell._) I'll make a confidant of Bounce. No, I won't. I'll mystify him to—(_Enter_ BOUNCE L.)

_Bounce._ Did you ring, sir?

_Mr. G._ Bounce, I am about to commit a desperate act.

_Bounce._ _H_another? Why, you've only been married _h_a month!

_Mr. G._ I am about to leave this home, to go—no matter where; to do—no matter what. You are a faithful servant. You will keep my secret. (_Aside._) I know he won't.

_Bounce._ _H_as the _h_apple of my _h_eye, when I know it.

_Mr. G._ When your mistress asks for me, you will say—nothing; when they search for me, you will lead them to the—well; you will lead them somewhere, anywhere, but where I am—where I go to dye. You understand. Silence, remember. I was here, I am gone, silently, mysteriously (_creeps to door_, R.), like the expiring flame of a candle. Puff! I'm gone.

[_Exit_ R.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes! master's _h_out of 'is 'ead. 'E's gone off suiciding, _h_as sure _h_as _h_eggs. 'Ere's _h_a situation for _h_a 'ouse'old. What's to be done? 'E must be stopped, but 'ow? _H_i'll call mistress. Oh, 'ere she _h_is! (_Enter_ MRS. GRAYLOCK R.)

_Mrs. G._ Has your master gone out, John?

_Bounce._ _H_o, mistress, _h_i'm _h_all _h_unstrung. 'E's out of 'is 'ead, 'e _h_is. 'E's gone somewhere, _h_and 'e's going to do something _h_awful,—put a _h_end to 'imself. _H_it's 'orrible!

_Mrs. G._ What do you mean?

_Bounce._ 'E said _h_i must lead you to the well. 'E's going to drown 'imself, _h_only the well is dry, _h_and he can't. Perhaps 'e's going to the stable to sacrifice 'imself _h_on the 'alter. _H_o, _h_it's 'orrible!

_Mrs. G._ Nonsense, Bounce; he's gone out for a walk.

_Bounce._ Yes, _h_an' 'e'll walk _h_into 'is grave, _h_an' then
'e'll walk nights, and scare us to death. _H_o, _h_it's 'orrible!

_Mrs. G._ John Bounce, have you been drinking?

_Bounce._ _H_i 'ave, _h_i 'ave; tea, green tea; Young 'yson. _H_o, you'll never set your young _h_eyes _h_on's noble form _h_again. 'E's gone to die.

_Mrs. G._ Gone to die? I see it all: the wretch!

_Bounce._ So do _h_i, missus,—'is cold remains, _h_a long procession. Poor master! 'is _h_own 'osses will never carry 'im _h_again!

_Mrs. G._ John Bounce, you are a fool! Stop your snivelling, and listen to me. Your master has no thought of taking his life. He is bound on a very foolish errand, the purport of which I know. As he has tried to frighten us, we will endeavor to turn the tables upon him. Call Patty.

_Bounce._ Yes, ma'am. You're sure 'e's not gone _h_insane?

_Mrs. G._ So sure of it that I shall prevent his entrance to the house for the present. You will lock all the doors, and fasten the windows, except one in the kitchen. When you have done that, go to his room, get his rifle, and return here.

_Bounce._ My _h_eyes! what _h_is coming to this 'ouse? _H_o,
_h_it's 'orrible!

[_Exit_ R.

_Mrs. G._ So my good husband, evidently vexed at my assumed anger, is about to execute his threat of dyeing. Let me see if I cannot turn this to good account, and fix the day for Alice's marriage. That third reason seems to be the impediment; but, if I cannot find that out, I will at least gain his consent by stratagem. O my good Simon! if I cannot win your confidence, I will teach you such a lesson that you will never say dye again. (_Enter_ PATTY R.)

_Mrs. G._ Patty.

_Patty._ Yes, ma'am.

_Mrs. G._ I believe you are very fond of romantic adventures.

_Patty._ Indeed, I am, ma'am, though I never had one in my life.

_Mrs. G._ I am about to throw one in your way. Mr. Graylock will soon return to the house in disguise; that is, he has gone to have his hair and beard dyed. I have given orders to have the doors and windows locked. He will gain an entrance, after some difficulty, to this room. Once here, John Bounce and you, with doors locked, must keep guard over him. Whatever he may say or do, you must not recognize him as your master, but treat him as a burglar. You understand?

_Patty._ Indeed I do. Trust me to treat him as a burglar. I'll pound him with the broom, and John shall fire a few bullets into him to keep him quiet.