SCENE: A woodshed, in the ell of a farm-house.
The shed is open on both sides, front and back, the apertures
being slightly arched at the top. (_In bad weather, these
presumably may be closed by big double doors, which stand open
now--swung back outward beyond sight._) Thus the nearer opening is
the proscenium arch of the scene, under which the spectator looks
through the shed to the background--a grassy yard, a road with
great trunks of soaring elms, and the glimpse of a green
hillside. The ceiling runs up into a gable with large beams.
On the right, at back, a door opens into the shed from the house
kitchen. Opposite it, a door leads from the shed into the barn.
In the foreground, against the right wall, is a work-bench. On
this are tools, a long, narrow, wooden box, and a small
oil-stove, with steaming kettle upon it.
Against the left wall, what remains of the year's wood supply is
stacked, the uneven ridges sloping to a jumble of stovewood and
kindlings mixed with small chips of the floor, which is piled
deep with mounds of crumbling bark, chips and wood-dust.
Not far from this mounded pile, at right centre of the scene,
stands a wooden armchair, in which LINK TADBOURNE, in his
shirt-sleeves, sits drowsing. Silhouetted by the sunlight beyond,
his sharp-drawn profile is that of an old man, with white hair
cropped close, and gray moustache of a faded black hue at the
outer edges. Between his knees is a stout thong of wood, whittled
round by the drawshave which his sleeping hand still holds in his
lap. Against the side of his chair rests a thick wooden yoke and
collar. Near him is a chopping-block.
In the woodshed there is no sound or motion except the hum and
floating steam from the tea-kettle. Presently the old man murmurs
in his sleep, clenching his hand. Slowly the hand relaxes again.
From the door, right, comes POLLY--a sweet-faced girl of
seventeen, quietly mature for her age. She is dressed simply. In
one hand she carries a man's wide-brimmed felt hat, over the
other arm a blue coat. These she brings toward LINK. Seeing him
asleep, she begins to tiptoe, lays the coat and hat on the
chopping-block, goes to the bench, and trims the wick of the
oil-stove, under the kettle. Then she returns and stands near
LINK, surveying the shed.
On closer scrutiny, the jumbled woodpile has evidently a certain
order in its chaos; some of the splittings have been piled in
irregular ridges; in places, the deep layer of wood-dust and
chips has been scooped, and the little mounds slope and rise like
miniature valleys and hills. [2]
Taking up a hoe, POLLY--with careful steps--moves among the
hollows, placing and arranging sticks of kindling, scraping and
smoothing the little mounds with the hoe. As she does so, from
far away, a bugle sounds.
[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1912, by Percy Mackaye. All rights
reserved.]
[Footnote 2: A suggestion for the appropriate arrangement of
these mounds may be found in the map of the battle-field annexed
to the volume by Captain R.K. Beecham, entitled _Gettysburg_
(A.C. McClurg, 1911).]
LINK
(_snapping his eyes wide open, sits up_)
Hello! Cat-nappin' was I, Polly?
POLLY
Just
A kitten-nap, I guess.
(_Laying the hoe down, she approaches_)
The yoke done?
LINK
(_giving a final whittle to the yoke-collar thong_)
Thar!
When he's ben steamed a spell, and bended snug,
I guess this feller'll sarve t' say "Gee" to--
(_Lifting the other yoke-collar from beside his chair, he
holds the whittled thong next to it, comparing the two
with expert eye_)
and "Haw" to him. Beech every time, Sir; beech
or walnut. Hang me if I'd shake a whip
at birch, for ox-yokes.--Polly, are ye thar?
POLLY
Yes, Uncle Link.
LINK
What's that I used to sing ye?
"Polly, put the kittle on,
Polly, put the kittle on,
Polly, put the kittle on--"
(_Chuckling'_)
We'll give this feller a dose of ox-yoke tea!
POLLY
The kettle's boilin'.
LINK
Wall, then, steep him good.
(POLLY _takes from_ LINK _the collar-thong, carries it to the
work-bench, shoves it into the narrow end of the box, which she
then closes tight and connects--by a piece of hose--to the spout
of the kettle. At the farther end of the box, steam then emerges
through a small hole._)
POLLY
You're feelin' smart to-day.
LINK
Smart!--Wall, if I
could git a hull man to swap legs with me,
mebbe I'd arn my keep. But this here settin'
dead an' alive, without no legs, day in,
day out, don't make an old hoss wuth his oats.
POLLY
(_cheerfully_)