The war brides were cheered with enthusiasm and the churches were
crowded when the wedding parties spoke the ceremony in
concert.--PRESS CLIPPING.
SCENE: _A room in a peasant's cottage in a war-ridden country. A large
fireplace at the right. Near it a high-backed settle. On the left a
heavy oak table and benches. Woven mats on the floor. A door at left
leads into a bedroom. In the corner a cupboard. At the back a wide
window with scarlet geraniums and an open door. A few firearms are
stacked near the fireplace. There is an air of homely color and neatness
about the room._
_Through the open door may be seen women stacking grain. Others go by
carrying huge baskets of grapes or loads of wood, and gradually it
penetrates the mind that all these workers are women, aristocrats and
peasants side by side. Now and then a bugle blows or a drum beats in the
distance. A squad of soldiers marches quickly by. There is everywhere
the tense atmosphere of unusual circumstance, the anxiety and excitement
of war._
_Amelia, a slight, flaxen-haired girl of nineteen, comes in. She brushes
off the hay with which she is covered, and goes to packing a bag with a
secret, but determined, air. The Mother passes the window and appears in
the doorway. She is old and work-worn, but sturdy and stoical. Now she
carries a heavy load of wood, and is weary. She casts a sharp eye at
Amelia._
_Mother:_
What are you doing, girl? [_Amelia starts and puts the bag in the
cupboard._] Who's going away? They haven't sent for Arno?
_Amelia:_
No.
_Mother:_ [_Sighs, and drops her load on the hearth._]
Is the hay all in?
_Amelia:_
Yes. I put in the last load. All the big work on our place is done, and
so--[_Looks at her mother and hesitates. Her mother begins to chop the
wood into kindling._] I'll do that, Mother.
_Mother:_
Let be, girl. It keeps me from worrying. Get a bite to eat. What were
you doing with that bag? Who were you packing it for?
_Amelia:_ [_With downcast eyes._]
Myself.
_Mother:_ [_Anxious._]
What for?
_Amelia:_