SCENE. _Before the door of the Parsonage. Trunks, boxes, and various
articles of furniture, scattered about the yard. Two men coming
down the path_.
(_George Grey enters_.)
_George_. Those trunks in the forward team. Make haste. We've no time to
lose. This box in the wagon where the children are.--Carefully--carefully,
though.
(_A Soldier enters_.)
_Sol_. Hurra, hurra, the house there! Are you ready? Ten minutes more.
_George_. Get out. What do you stand yelling there for? We know all
about it.
_Sol_. But your brother, the Captain, says, I must hurry you, or you'll
be left behind.
_George_. Tell my brother, the Captain, I'll see to that. We want no
more hurrying. We have had enough of that already, and much good it has
done us too. Stop, stop,--not that. We must leave those for the Indians
to take their tea in.
_Workman_. But the lady said----
_George_. Never mind the lady. Well, Annie, are you ready? Don't stand
there crying; there's no use. We may come back here again yet, you know.
Many a pleasant sunrise we may see from these windows yet. Heaven defend
us, here is this aunt of ours.--What on earth are they bringing now?
(_A Lady in the door with a couple of portraits, followed
by others bringing baskets and boxes, etc_.)
_Lady_. That will do, set them down; now, the Colonel and his lady, on
the back room wall, just over against the beaufet. Stop a moment. I'll
go with you myself.
_Betty_. (In, the door.) Lord 'a mercy! Here it is broad day-light. What
are we waiting for? I am all ready. Why don't we go?
_George_. I tell you, Aunt Rachael, the thing is impossible. This
trumpery can't go, and there's the end of it. St. George and the
Dragon----
_Miss Rachael_. Never mind this young malapert--do as I bid you.
_Betty_. Lord 'a mercy, we shall all be murdered and scalped, every soul
of us. Bless you--there it is in the garret now!--just hold this
umberell a minute, Mr. George,--think of those murderous Indians wearing
my straw bonnet. Lord bless you! What are you doing? a heaving my
umberell over the fence, in that fashion!
_George_. These women will drive me mad I believe. Let that box alone,
you rascal. Lay a finger on that trumpery there I say, and you'll find
whose orders you are under; as for the Colonel and his lady, they'll get
a little drink out of the first puddle we come to, I reckon.
[_Goes out_.
_Miss R_. (_Coming from the house_.) That will do. That is all,--in the
green wagon, John----
_Ser't_. But the children----
_Miss R_. Don't stand there, prating to me at a time like this. Make
haste, make haste!
How perfectly calm I am! I would never have believed it;--just tie this
string for me, child, my hands twitch so strangely,--they say the
British are just down in the lane here, with five thousand Indians,
Annie.
_Annie_. It is no such thing. Aunt Rachael. The British are quietly
encamped on the other side of the river; three miles off at least.
_Miss R_. I thought as much. A pretty hour for us to be turned out of
house and home to be sure. Not a wink have I slept this blessed night.
Hark! What o'clock is that? George, George! where is that boy? Just run
and tell your mother, Annie, just tell her, my dear, will you, that we
shall all be murdered. Maybe she will make haste a little. Well, are
they in?
_Ser't_. The pictures? They are in,--yes'm. But Miss Kitty's a crying,
and says as how she won't go, and there's the other one too; because,
Ma'am, their toes--you see there's the trunk in front gives 'em a leetle
slope inward, and then that chest under the seat--If you would just step
down and see yourself, Ma'am.
_Miss R_. I desire to be patient.
[_They go out_.
(_Annie sits on the bench of the little Porch, weeping.
Mrs. Gray enters from within_.)
_Annie_. Shall I never walk down that shady path again? Shall I enter
those dear rooms no more? There are voices there they cannot hear. From
the life of buried years, ten thousand scenes, all vacancy toother eyes,
enrich those walls for us; the furniture that money cannot buy, that
only the joy and grief of years can purchase. They will spoil our
pleasant home,--will they not, mother?
_Mrs. G_. Pleasant, ay, pleasant indeed, has it been to us. God's will
be done. Do not weep, Annie. We have counted the cost;--many a safe and
happy home there will be in the days to come, whose light shall spring
from this forgotten sorrow. God's will be done.
_Annie_. Mother, they are all ready now; is Helen in her room still?
_Mrs. G_. Go call her, Annie. Hours ago it was I sent her there. I
thought she might get some little sleep ere the summons came. Call her,
my child. How deadly pale she was!
[_Annie goes in_.
* * * * *