RACHEL




                               RACHEL

                       _A Play in Three Acts_

                         ANGELINA W. GRIMKE


                     [Illustration: (Colophon)]


                        THE CORNHILL COMPANY
                               BOSTON




                         Copyright, 1920, by
                        THE CORNHILL COMPANY

      _All rights reserved, including that of translation into
                         foreign languages_




                             CHARACTERS


MRS MARY LOVING, _a widow_.
RACHEL LOVING, _her daughter_.
THOMAS LOVING, _her son_.
JIMMY MASON, _a small boy_.
JOHN STRONG, _a friend of the family_.
MRS. LANE, _a caller_.
ETHEL LANE, _her daughter_.
MARY,
NANCY,
EDITH,
JENNY,
LOUISE,
MARTHA,
           _little friends of Rachel_.

TIME: The first decade of the Twentieth Century.

  ACT I. October 16th.
  ACT II. October 16th, four years later.
  ACT III. One week later.

PLACE: A northern city. The living room in the small apartment of
  Mrs. Loving.

                 All of the characters are colored.




                                ACT I




                               RACHEL


                               ACT I.


  _The scene is a room scrupulously neat and clean and plainly
    furnished. The walls are painted green, the woodwork, white. In
    the rear at the left an open doorway leads into a hall. Its bare,
    green wall and white baseboard are all that can be seen of it. It
    leads into the other rooms of the flat. In the centre of the rear
    wall of the room is a window. It is shut. The white sash curtains
    are pushed to right and left as far as they will go. The green
    shade is rolled up to the top. Through the window can be seen the
    red bricks of a house wall, and the tops of a couple of trees
    moving now and then in the wind. Within the window, and just
    below the sill, is a shelf upon which are a few potted plants.
    Between the window and the door is a bookcase full of books and
    above it, hanging on the wall, a simply framed, inexpensive copy
    of Millet’s “The Reapers.” There is a run extending from the
    right center to just below the right upper entrance. It is the
    vestibule of the flat. Its open doorway faces the left wall.
    In the right wall near the front is another window. Here the
    sash curtains are drawn together and the green shade is partly
    lowered. The window is up from the bottom. Through it street
    noises can be heard. In front of this window is an open, threaded
    sewing-machine. Some frail, white fabric is lying upon it. There
    is a chair in front of the machine and at the machine’s left a
    small table covered with a green cloth. In the rear of the left
    wall and directly opposite to the entrance to the flat is the
    doorway leading into the kitchenette, dishes on shelves can be
    seen behind glass doors._

  _In the center of the left wall is a fireplace with a grate in
    it for coals; over this is a wooden mantel painted white. In
    the center is a small clock. A pair of vases, green and white
    in coloring, one at each end, complete the ornaments. Over the
    mantel is a narrow mirror; and over this, hanging on the wall,
    Burne-Jones’ “Golden Stairs,” simply framed. Against the front
    end of the left wall is an upright piano with a stool in front
    of it. On top is music neatly piled. Hanging over the piano is
    Raphael’s “Sistine Madonna.” In the center of the floor is a
    green rug, and in the center of this, a rectangular dining-room
    table, the long side facing front. It is covered with a green
    table-cloth. Three dining-room chairs are at the table, one at
    either end and one at the rear facing front. Above the table is
    a chandelier with four gas jets enclosed by glass globes. At the
    right front center is a rather shabby arm-chair upholstered in
    green._

Left and right from the spectator’s point of view.

  _Before the sewing-machine, Mrs. Loving is seated. She looks
    worried. She is sewing swiftly and deftly by hand upon a waist
    in her lap. It is a white, beautiful thing and she sews upon it
    delicately. It is about half-past four in the afternoon; and the
    light is failing. Mrs. Loving pauses in her sewing, rises and
    lets the window-shade near her go up to the top. She pushes the
    sash-curtains to either side, the corner of a red brick house
    wall being thus brought into view. She shivers slightly, then
    pushes the window down at the bottom and lowers it a trifle from
    the top. The street noises become less distinct. She takes off
    her thimble, rubs her hands gently, puts the thimble on again,
    and looks at the clock on the mantel. She then reseats herself,
    with her chair as close to the window as possible and begins
    to sew. Presently a key is heard, and the door opens and shuts
    noisily. Rachel comes in from the vestibule. In her left arm she
    carries four or five books strapped together; under her right, a
    roll of music. Her hat is twisted over her left ear and her hair
    is falling in tendrils about her face. She brings into the room
    with her the spirit of abounding life, health, joy, youth. Mrs.
    Loving pauses, needle in hand, as soon as she hears the turning
    key and the banging door. There is a smile on her face. For a
    second, mother and daughter smile at each other. Then Rachel
    throws her books upon the dining-room table, places the music
    there also, but with care, and rushing to her mother, gives her a
    bear hug and a kiss._

RACHEL: Ma dear! dear, old Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Look out for the needle, Rachel! The waist! Oh, Rachel!

RACHEL (_On her knees and shaking her finger directly under her
  mother’s nose._): You old, old fraud! You know you adore being
  hugged. I’ve a good mind....

MRS. LOVING: Now, Rachel, please! Besides, I know your tricks. You
  think you can make me forget you are late. What time is it?

RACHEL (_Looking at the clock and expressing surprise_): Jiminy Xmas!
  (_Whistles_) Why, it’s five o’clock!

MRS. LOVING (_Severely_): Well!

RACHEL (_Plaintively_): Now, Ma dear, you’re going to be horrid and
  cross.

MRS. LOVING (_Laughing_): Really, Rachel, that expression is not
  particularly affecting, when your hat is over your ear, and you
  look, with your hair over your eyes, exactly like some one’s pet
  poodle. I wonder if you are ever going to grow up and be ladylike.

RACHEL: Oh! Ma dear, I hope not, not for the longest time, two long,
  long years at least. I just want to be silly and irresponsible, and
  have you to love and torment, and, of course, Tom, too.

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling down at Rachel_): You’ll not make me forget,
  young lady. Why are you late, Rachel?

RACHEL: Well, Ma dear, I’m your pet poodle, and my hat is over my
  ear, and I’m late, for the loveliest reason.

MRS. LOVING: Don’t be silly, Rachel.

RACHEL: That may sound silly, but it isn’t. And please don’t “Rachel”
  me so much. It was honestly one whole hour ago when I opened the
  front door down stairs. I know it was, because I heard the postman
  telling some one it was four o’clock. Well, I climbed the first
  flight, and was just starting up the second, when a little shrill
  voice said, “’Lo!” I raised my eyes, and there, half-way up the
  stairs, sitting in the middle of a step, was just the clearest,
  cutest, darlingest little brown baby boy you ever saw. “’Lo!
  yourself,” I said. “What are you doing, and who are you anyway?”
  “I’m Jimmy; and I’m widing to New York on the choo-choo tars.”
  As he looked entirely too young to be going such a distance by
  himself, I asked him if I might go too. For a minute or two he
  considered the question and me very seriously, and then he said,
  “’Es,” and made room for me on the step beside him. We’ve been
  everywhere: New York, Chicago, Boston, London, Paris and Oshkosh.
  I wish you could have heard him say that last place. I suggested
  going there just to hear him. Now, Ma dear, is it any wonder I am
  late? See all the places we have been in just one “teeny, weeny”
  hour? We would have been traveling yet, but his horrid, little
  mother came out and called him in. They’re in the flat below, the
  new people. But before he went, Ma dear, he said the “cunningest”
  thing. He said, “Will you tum out an’ p’ay wif me aden in two
  minutes?” I nearly hugged him to death, and it’s a wonder my hat is
  on my head at all. Hats are such unimportant nuisances anyway!

MRS. LOVING: Unimportant nuisances! What ridiculous language you do
  use, Rachel! Well, I’m no prophet, but I see very distinctly what
  is going to happen. This little brown baby will be living here
  night and day. You’re not happy unless some child is trailing along
  in your rear.

RACHEL (_Mischievously_): Now, Ma dear, whose a hypocrite? What? I
  suppose you don’t like children! I can tell you one thing, though,
  it won’t be my fault if he isn’t here night and day. Oh, I wish he
  were all mine, every bit of him! Ma dear, do you suppose that “she
  woman” he calls mother would let him come up here until it is time
  for him to go to bed? I’m going down there this minute. (_Rises
  impetuously_).

MRS. LOVING: Rachel, for Heaven’s sake! No! I am entirely too busy
  and tired today without being bothered with a child romping around
  in here.

RACHEL (_Reluctantly and a trifle petulantly_): Very well, then.
  (_For several moments she watches her mother, who has begun to sew
  again. The displeasure vanishes from her face_). Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Well.

RACHEL: Is there anything wrong today?

MRS. LOVING: I’m just tired, chickabiddy, that’s all.

RACHEL (_Moves over to the table. Mechanically takes off her hat
  and coat and carries them out into the entryway of the flat. She
  returns and goes to the looking glass over the fireplace and tucks
  in the tendrils of her hair in rather a preoccupied manner. The
  electric doorbell rings. She returns to the speaking tube in the
  vestibule. Her voice is heard answering_): Yes!--Yes!--No, I’m not
  Mrs. Loving. She’s here, yes!--What? Oh! come right up! (_Appearing
  in the doorway_). Ma dear, it’s some man, who is coming for Mrs.
  Strong’s waist.

MRS. LOVING (_Pausing and looking at Rachel_): It is probably her
  son. She said she would send for it this afternoon. (_Rachel
  disappears. A door is heard opening and closing. There is the sound
  of a man’s voice. Rachel ushers in Mr. John Strong._)

STRONG (_Bowing pleasantly to Mrs. Loving_): Mrs. Loving? (_Mrs.
  Loving bows, puts down her sewing, rises and goes toward Strong_).
  My name is Strong. My mother asked me to come by and get her waist
  this afternoon. She hoped it would be finished.

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Mr. Strong, it is all ready. If you’ll sit down a
  minute, I’ll wrap it up for you. (_She goes into hallway leading to
  other rooms in flat_).

RACHEL (_Manifestly ill at ease at being left alone with a stranger;
  attempting, however, to be the polite hostess_): Do sit down, Mr.
  Strong. (_They both sit_).

RACHEL (_Nervously after a pause_): It’s a very pleasant day, isn’t
  it, Mr. Strong?

STRONG: Yes, very. (_He leans back composedly, his hat on his knee,
  the faintest expression of amusement in his eyes_).

RACHEL (_After a pause_): It’s quite a climb up to our flat, don’t
  you think?

STRONG: Why, no! It didn’t strike me so. I’m not old enough yet to
  mind stairs.

RACHEL: (_Nervously_): Oh! I didn’t mean that you are old! Anyone
  can see you are quite young, that is, of course, not too young,
  but,--(_Strong laughs quietly_). There! I don’t blame you for
  laughing. I’m always clumsy just like that.

MRS. LOVING (_Calling from the other room_): Rachel, bring me a
  needle and the sixty cotton, please.

RACHEL: All right, Ma dear! (_Rummages for the cotton in the machine
  drawer, and upsets several spools upon the floor. To Strong_): You
  see! I can’t even get a spool of cotton without spilling things
  all over the floor. (_Strong smiles, Rachel picks up the spools
  and finally gets the cotton and needle_). Excuse me! (_Goes out
  door leading to other rooms. Strong left to himself, looks around
  casually. The “Golden Stairs” interests him and the “Sistine
  Madonna.”_)

RACHEL (_Reenters, evidently continuing her function of hostess_):
  We were talking about the climb to our flat, weren’t we? You
  see, when you’re poor, you have to live in a top flat. There is
  always a compensation, though; we have bully--I mean nice air,
  better light, a lovely view, and nobody “thud-thudding” up and
  down over our heads night and day. The people below have our
  “thud-thudding,” and it must be something _awful_, especially when
  Tom and I play “Ivanhoe” and have a tournament up here. We’re
  entirely too old, but we still play. Ma dear rather dreads the
  climb up three flights, so Tom and I do all the errands. We don’t
  mind climbing the stairs, particularly when we go up two or three
  at a time,--that is--Tom still does. I can’t, Ma dear stopped me.
  (_Sighs_). I’ve got to grow up it seems.

STRONG (_Evidently amused_): It is rather hard being a girl, isn’t
  it?

RACHEL: Oh, no! It’s not hard at all. That’s the trouble; they won’t
  let me be a girl. I’d love to be.

MRS. LOVING (_Reentering with parcel. She smiles_): My Chatterbox, I
  see, is entertaining you, Mr. Strong. I’m sorry to have kept you
  waiting, but I forgot, I found, to sew the ruching in the neck. I
  hope everything is satisfactory. If it isn’t, I’ll be glad to make
  any changes.

STRONG (_Who has risen upon her entrance_): Thank you, Mrs. Loving,
  I’m sure everything is all right. (_He takes the package and bows
  to her and Rachel. He moves towards the vestibule, Mrs. Loving
  following him. She passes through the doorway first. Before
  leaving, Strong turns for a second and looks back quietly at
  Rachel. He goes out too. Rachel returns to the mirror, looks at
  her face for a second, and then begins to touch and pat her hair
  lightly and delicately here and there. Mrs. Loving returns_).

RACHEL (_Still at the glass_): He _was_ rather nice, wasn’t he, Ma
  dear?--for a man? (_Laughs_). I guess my reason’s a vain one,--he
  let me do all the talking. (_Pauses_). Strong? Strong? Ma dear, is
  his mother the little woman with the sad, black eyes?

MRS. LOVING (_Resuming her sewing; sitting before the machine_). Yes.
  I was rather curious, I confess, to see this son of hers. The whole
  time I’m fitting her she talks of nothing else. She worships him.
  (_Pauses_). It’s rather a sad case, I believe. She is a widow. Her
  husband was a doctor and left her a little money. She came up from
  the South to educate this boy. Both of them worked hard and the boy
  got through college. Three months he hunted for work that a college
  man might expect to get. You see he had the tremendous handicap of
  being colored. As the two of them had to live, one day, without her
  knowing it, he hired himself out as a waiter. He has been one now
  for two years. He is evidently goodness itself to his mother.

RACHEL (_Slowly and thoughtfully_): Just because he is _colored_!
  (_Pauses_). We sing a song at school, I believe, about “The land of
  the free and the home of the brave.” What an amusing nation it is.

MRS. LOVING (_Watching Rachel anxiously_): Come, Rachel, you haven’t
  time for “amusing nations.” Remember, you haven’t practised any
  this afternoon. And put your books away; don’t leave them on the
  table. You didn’t practise any this morning either, did you?

RACHEL: No, Ma dear,--didn’t wake up in time. (_Goes to the table and
  in an abstracted manner puts books on the bookcase; returns to the
  table; picks up the roll of sheet music she has brought home with
  her; brightens; impulsively_) Ma dear, just listen to this lullaby.
  It’s the sweetest thing. I was so “daffy” over it, one of the girls
  at school lent it to me. (_She rushes to the piano with the music
  and plays the accompaniment through softly and then sings, still
  softly and with great expression, Jessie Gaynor’s “Slumber Boat”_)--

      Baby’s boat’s the silver moon;
        Sailing in the sky,
      Sailing o’er the sea of sleep,
        While the clouds float by.

      Sail, baby, sail,
        Out upon that sea,
      Only don’t forget to sail
        Back again to me.

      Baby’s fishing for a dream,
        Fishing near and far,
      His line a silver moonbeam is,
        His bait a silver star.

      Sail, baby, sail, etc.

Listen, Ma dear, right here. Isn’t it lovely? (_Plays and sings very
  softly and slowly_):

      “Only don’t forget to sail
            Back again to me.”

  (_Pauses; in hushed tones_) Ma dear, it’s so beautiful--it--it
  hurts.

MRS. LOVING (_Quietly_): Yes, dear, it is pretty.

RACHEL (_For several minutes watches her mother’s profile from the
  piano stool. Her expression is rather wistful_): Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: What’s the matter?

MRS. LOVING (_Without turning_): Matter! What do you mean?

RACHEL: I don’t know. I just _feel_ something is not quite right with
  you.

MRS. LOVING: I’m only tired--that’s all.

RACHEL: Perhaps. But--(_Watches her mother a moment or two longer;
  shakes her head; turns back to the piano. She is thoughtful; looks
  at her hands in her lap_). Ma dear, wouldn’t it be nice if we could
  keep all the babies in the world--always little babies? Then they’d
  be always little, and cunning, and lovable; and they could never
  grow up, then, and--and--be bad. I’m so sorry for mothers, whose
  little babies--grow up--and--and--are bad.

MRS. LOVING (_Startled; controlling herself, looks at Rachel
  anxiously, perplexedly. Rachel’s eyes are still on her hands.
  Attempting a light tone_): Come, Rachel, what experience have you
  had with mothers whose babies have grown up to be bad? You--you
  talk like an old, old woman.

RACHEL (_Without raising her eyes, quietly_): I know I’m not old;
  but, just the same I know that is true. (_Softly_) And I’m so sorry
  for the mothers.

MRS. LOVING (_With a forced laugh_): Well, Miss Methuselah, how do
  you happen to know all this? Mothers whose babies grow up to be bad
  don’t, as a rule, parade their faults before the world.

RACHEL: That’s just it--that’s _how_ you know. They don’t talk at all.

MRS. LOVING (_Involuntarily_): Oh! (_Ceases to sew; looks at Rachel
  sharply; she is plainly worried. There is a long silence. Presently
  Rachel raises her eyes to Raphael’s “Madonna” over the piano. Her
  expression becomes rapt; then, very softly, her eyes still on the
  picture, she plays and sings Nevin’s “Mighty Lak A Rose”_)--

      Sweetest li’l feller,
        Ev’rybody knows;
      Dunno what to call him,
        But he mighty lak’ a rose!
      Lookin’ at his Mammy
        Wid eyes so shiny blue,
      Mek’ you think that heav’n
        Is comin’ clost ter you!

      W’en his dar a sleepin’
        In his li’l place
      Think I see de angels
        Lookin’ thro’ de lace.
      W’en de dark is fallin’,
        W’en de shadders creep,
      Den dey comes on tip-toe,
        Ter kiss him in his sleep.

      Sweetest li’l feller, etc.

  (_With head still raised, after she has finished, she closes her
  eyes. Half to herself and slowly_) I think the loveliest thing of
  all the lovely things in this world is just (_almost in a whisper_)
  being a mother!

MRS. LOVING (_Turns and laughs_): Well, of all the startling
  children, Rachel! I am getting to feel, when you’re around as
  though I’m shut up with dynamite. What next? (_Rachel rises, goes
  slowly to her mother, and kneels down beside her. She does not
  touch her mother_). Why so serious, chickabiddy?

RACHEL (_Slowly and quietly_): It is not kind to laugh at sacred
  things. When you laughed, it was as though you laughed--at God!

MRS. LOVING (_Startled_): Rachel!

RACHEL (_Still quietly_): It’s true. It was the best in me that
  said that--it was God! (_Pauses_). And, Ma dear, if I believed
  that I should grow up and not be a mother, I’d pray to die now.
  I’ve thought about it a lot, Ma dear, and once I dreamed, and a
  voice said to me--oh! it was so real--“Rachel, you are to be a
  mother to little children.” Wasn’t that beautiful? Ever since
  I have known how Mary felt at the “Annunciation.” (_Almost in
  a whisper_) _God spoke to me through some one, and I believe._
  And it has explained so much to me. I know now why I just can’t
  resist any child. I have to love it--it calls me--it--draws me. I
  want to take care of it, wash it, dress it, live for it. I want
  the feel of its little warm body against me, its breath on my
  neck, its hands against my face. (_Pauses thoughtfully for a few
  moments_). Ma dear, here’s something I don’t understand: I love
  the little black and brown babies best of all. There is something
  about them that--that--clutches at my heart. Why--why--should they
  be--oh!--pathetic? I don’t understand. It’s dim. More than the
  other babies, I feel that I must protect them. They’re in danger,
  but from what? I don’t know. I’ve tried so hard to understand,
  but I can’t. (_Her face radiant and beautiful_). Ma dear, I think
  their white teeth and the clear whites of their big black eyes and
  their dimples everywhere--are--are (_Breaks off_). And, Ma dear,
  because I love them best, I pray God every night to give me, when
  I grow up, little black and brown babies--to protect and guard.
  (_Wistfully_). Now, Ma dear, don’t you see why you must never laugh
  at me again? Dear, dear, Ma dear? (_Buries her head in her mother’s
  lap and sobs_).

MRS. LOVING (_For a few seconds, sits as though dazed, and then
  instinctively begins to caress the head in her lap. To herself_)
  And I suppose my experience is every mother’s. Sooner or later--of
  a sudden she finds her own child a stranger to her. (_To Rachel,
  very tenderly_) Poor little girl! Poor little chickabiddy!

RACHEL (_Raising her head_): Why do you say, “Poor little girl,” like
  that? I don’t understand. Why, Ma dear, I never saw tears in your
  eyes before. Is it--is it--because you know the things I do not
  understand? Oh! it _is_ that.

MRS. LOVING (_Simply_): Yes, Rachel, and I cannot save you.

RACHEL: Ma dear, you frighten me. Save me from _what_?

MRS. LOVING: Just life, my little chickabiddy!

RACHEL: Is life so terrible? I had found it mostly beautiful. How can
  life be terrible, when the world is full of little children?

MRS. LOVING (_Very sadly_): Oh, Rachel! Rachel!

RACHEL: Ma dear, what have I said?

MRS. LOVING (_Forcing a smile_): Why, the truth, of course,
  Rachel. Life is not terrible when there are little children--and
  you--and Tom--and a roof over our heads--and work--and food--and
  clothes--and sleep at night. (_Pauses_). Rachel, I am not myself
  today. I’m tired. Forget what I’ve said. Come, chickabiddy, wipe
  your eyes and smile. That’s only an imitation smile, but it’s
  better than none. Jump up now, and light the lamp for me, will you?
  Tom’s late, isn’t he? I shall want you to go, too, for the rolls
  and pie for supper.

RACHEL (_Rises rather wearily and goes into the kitchenette. While
  she is out of the room Mrs. Loving does not move. She sits staring
  in front of her. The room for some time has been growing dark.
  Mrs. Loving can just be seen when Rachel reenters with the lamp.
  She places it on the small table near her mother, adjusts it, so
  the light falls on her mother’s work, and then lowers the window
  shades at the windows. She still droops. Mrs. Loving, while Rachel
  is in the room, is industrious. Rachel puts on her hat and coat
  listlessly. She does not look in the glass_). Where is the money,
  Ma dear? I’m ready.

MRS. LOVING: Before you go, Rachel, just give a look at the meat and
  see if it is cooking all right, will you, dearie?

RACHEL (_Goes out into the kitchenette and presently returns_): It’s
  all right, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING (_While Rachel is out of the room, she takes her
  pocket-book out of the machine-drawer, opens it, takes out money
  and gives it to Rachel upon her return_): A dozen brown rolls,
  Rachel. Be sure they’re brown! And, I guess,--an apple pie. As you
  and Tom never seem to get enough apple pie, get the largest she
  has. And here is a quarter. Get some candy--any kind _you_ like,
  Chickabiddy. Let’s have a party tonight, I feel extravagant. Why,
  Rachel! why are you crying?

RACHEL: Nothing, dear Ma dear. I’ll be all right when I get in the
  air. Goodbye! (_Rushes out of the flat. Mrs. Loving sits idle.
  Presently the outer door of the flat opens and shuts with a bang,
  and Tom appears. Mrs. Loving begins to work as soon as she hears
  the banging door_).

TOM: ’Lo, Ma! Where’s Sis,--out? The door’s off the latch. (_Kisses
  his mother and hangs hat in entryway_).

MRS. LOVING (_Greeting him with the same beautiful smile with which
  she greeted Rachel_): Rachel just went after the rolls and pie.
  She’ll be back in a few minutes. You’re late, Tommy.

TOM: No, Ma--you forget--it’s pay day. (_With decided shyness and
  awkwardness he hands her his wages_). Here, Ma!

MRS. LOVING (_Proudly counting it_): But, Tommy, this is every bit of
  it. You’ll need some.

TOM: Not yet! (_Constrainedly_) I only wish--. Say, Ma, I hate to see
  you work so hard. (_Fiercely_) Some day--some day--. (_Breaks off_).

MRS. LOVING: Son, I’m as proud as though you had given me a million
  dollars.

TOM (_Emphatically_): I may some day,--you see. (_Abruptly changing
  the subject_): Gee! Ma, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner? Smell’s good.

MRS. LOVING: Lamb and dumplings and rice.

TOM: Gee! I’m glad I’m living--and a pie too?

MRS. LOVING: Apple pie, Tommy.

TOM: Say, Ma, don’t wake me up. And shall “muzzer’s” own little boy
  set the table?

MRS. LOVING: Thank you, Son.

TOM (_Folds the green cloth, hangs it over the back of the arm-chair,
  gets white table-cloth from kitchenette and sets the table. The
  whole time he is whistling blithely a popular air. He lights one of
  the gas jets over the table_): Ma!

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Son.

TOM: I made “squad” today,--I’m quarterback. Five other fellows tried
  to make it. We’ll all have to buy new hats, now.

MRS. LOVING (_With surprise_): Buy new hats! Why?

TOM (_Makes a ridiculous gesture to show that his head and hers are
  both swelling_): Honest, Ma, I had to carry my hat in my hand
  tonight,--couldn’t even get it to perch aloft.

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): Well, I for one, Son, am not going to say
  anything to make you more conceited.

TOM: You don’t _have_ to say anything. Why, Ma, ever since I told
  you, you can almost look down your own back your head is so high.
  What? (_Mrs. Loving laughs. The outer door of the flat opens and
  shuts. Rachel’s voice is heard_).

RACHEL (_Without_): My! that was a “drefful” climb, wasn’t it? Ma,
  I’ve got something here for you. (_Appears in the doorway carrying
  packages and leading a little boy by the hand. The little fellow
  is shy but smiling_). Hello, Tommy! Here, take these things for
  me. This is Jimmy. Isn’t he a dear? Come, Jimmy. (_Tom carries the
  packages into the kitchenette. Rachel leads Jimmy to Mrs. Loving_).
  Ma dear, this is my brown baby. I’m going to take him right down
  stairs again. His mother is as sweet as can be, and let me bring
  him up just to see you. Jimmy, this is Ma dear. (_Mrs. Loving turns
  expectantly to see the child. Standing before her, he raises his
  face to hers with an engaging smile. Suddenly, without word or
  warning, her body stiffens; her hands grip her sewing convulsively;
  her eyes stare. She makes no sound_).

RACHEL (_Frightened_): Ma dear! What is the matter? Tom! Quick! (_Tom
  reenters and goes to them_).

MRS. LOVING (_Controlling herself with an effort and breathing
  hard_): Nothing, dears, nothing. I must be--I am--nervous
  tonight. (_With a forced smile_) How do-you-do, Jimmy? Now,
  Rachel--perhaps--don’t you think--you had better take him back to
  his mother? Good-night, Jimmy! (_Eyes the child in a fascinated
  way the whole time he is in the room. Rachel, very much perturbed,
  takes the child out_). Tom, open that window, please! There! That’s
  better! (_Still breathing deeply_). What a fool I am!

TOM (_Patting his mother awkwardly on the back_): You’re all pegged
  out, that’s the trouble--working entirely too hard. Can’t you stop
  for the night and go to bed right after supper?

MRS. LOVING: I’ll see, Tommy dear. Now, I must look after the supper.

Tom: Huh! Well, I guess not. How old do you think Rachel and I are
  anyway? I see; you think we’ll break some of this be-au-tiful
  Hav-i-land china, we bought at the “Five and Ten Cent Store.”
  (_To Rachel who has just reentered wearing a puzzled and worried
  expression. She is without hat and coat_). Say, Rachel, do you
  think you’re old enough?

RACHEL: Old enough for what, Tommy?

TOM: To dish up the supper for Ma.

RACHEL (_With attempted sprightliness_): Ma dear thinks nothing
  can go on in this little flat unless she does it. Let’s show her
  a thing or two. (_They bring in the dinner. Mrs. Loving with
  trembling hands tries to sew. Tom and Rachel watch her covertly.
  Presently she gets up._)

MRS. LOVING: I’ll be back in a minute, children. (_Goes out the door
  that leads to the other rooms of the flat. Tom and Rachel look at
  each other_).

RACHEL (_In a low voice keeping her eyes on the door_): Why do you
  suppose she acted so strangely about Jimmy?

TOM: Don’t know--nervous, I guess,--worn out. I wish--(_Breaks off_).

RACHEL (_Slowly_): It may be that; but she hasn’t been herself this
  afternoon. I wonder--. Look out! Here she comes!

TOM (_In a whisper_): Liven her up. (_Rachel nods. Mrs. Loving
  reenters. Both rush to her and lead her to her place at the right
  end of the table. She smiles and tries to appear cheerful. They sit
  down, Tom opposite Mrs. Loving and Rachel at the side facing front.
  Mrs. Loving asks grace. Her voice trembles. She helps the children
  bountifully, herself sparingly. Every once in a while she stops
  eating and stares blankly into her plate; then, remembering where
  she is suddenly, looks around with a start and goes on eating. Tom
  and Rachel appear not to notice her_).

TOM: Ma’s “some” cook, isn’t she?

RACHEL: Is she! Delmonico’s isn’t in it.

TOM (_Presently_): Say, Rachel, do you remember that Reynolds boy in
  the fourth year?

RACHEL: Yes. You mean the one who is flat-nosed, freckled, and who
  squints and sneers?

TOM (_Looking at Rachel admiringly_): The same.

RACHEL (_Vehemently_): I hate him!

MRS. LOVING: Rachel, you do use such violent language. Why hate him?

RACHEL: I do--that’s all.

TOM: Ma, if you saw him just once, you’d understand. No one likes
  him. But, then, what can you expect? His father’s in “quod” doing
  time for something, I don’t know just what. One of the fellows says
  he has a real decent mother, though. She never mentions him in any
  way, shape or form, he says. Hard on her, isn’t it? Bet I’d keep my
  head shut too;--you’d never get a yap out of me. (_Rachel looks up
  quickly at her mother; Mrs. Loving stiffens perceptibly, but keeps
  her eyes on her plate. Rachel catches Tom’s eye; silently draws his
  attention to their mother; and shakes her head warningly at him_).

TOM (_Continuing hastily and clumsily_): Well, anyway, he called me
  “Nigger” today. If his face isn’t black, his eye is.

RACHEL: Good! Oh! Why did you let the other one go?

TOM (_Grinning_): I knew he said things behind my back; but today he
  was hopping mad, because I made quarter-back. He didn’t!

RACHEL: Oh, Tommy! How lovely! Ma dear, did you hear that? (_Chants_)
  Our Tommy’s on the team! Our Tommy’s on the team!

TOM (_Trying not to appear pleased_): Ma dear, what did I say about
  er--er “capital” enlargements?

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): You’re right, Son.

TOM: I hope you got that “capital,” Rachel. How’s that for Latin
  knowledge? Eh?

RACHEL: I don’t think much of your knowledge, Tommy dear; but
  (_continuing to chant_) Our Tommy’s on the team! Our Tommy’s on the
  team! Our--(_Breaks off_). I’ve a good mind to kiss you.

TOM (_Threateningly_): Don’t you dare.

RACHEL (_Rising and going toward him_): I will! I will! I will!

TOM (_Rising, too, and dodging her_): No, you don’t, young lady. (_A
  tremendous tussle and scuffle ensues_).

MRS. LOVING (_Laughing_): For Heaven’s sake! children, do stop
  playing and eat your supper. (_They nod brightly at each other
  behind her back and return smiling to the table_).

RACHEL (_Sticking out her tongue at Tom_): I will!

TOM (_Mimicking her_): You won’t!

MRS. LOVING: Children! (_They eat for a time in silence_).

RACHEL: Ma dear, have you noticed Mary Shaw doesn’t come here much
  these days?

MRS. LOVING: Why, that’s so, she doesn’t. Have you two quarreled?

RACHEL: No, Ma dear. (_Uncomfortably_). I--think I know the
  reason--but I don’t like to say, unless I’m certain.

TOM: Well, I know. I’ve seen her lately with those two girls who have
  just come from the South. Twice she bowed stiffly, and the last
  time made believe she didn’t see me.

RACHEL: Then you think--? Oh! I was afraid it was that.

TOM (_Bitterly_): Yes--we’re “niggers”--that’s why.

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly and sadly_): Rachel, that’s one of the things
  I can’t save you from. I worried considerably about Mary, at
  first--you do take your friendships so seriously. I knew exactly
  how it would end. (_Pauses_). And then I saw that if Mary Shaw
  didn’t teach you the lesson--some one else would. They don’t want
  you, dearies, when you and they grow up. You may have everything in
  your favor--but they don’t _dare_ to like you.

RACHEL: I know all that is generally true--but I had hoped that
  Mary--(_Breaks off_).

TOM: Well, I guess we can still go on living even if people don’t
  speak to us. I’ll never bow to _her_ again--that’s certain.

MRS. LOVING: But, Son, that wouldn’t be polite, if she bowed to you
  first.

TOM: Can’t help it. I guess I can be blind, too.

MRS. LOVING (_Wearily_): Well--perhaps you are right--I don’t know.
  It’s the way I feel about it too--but--but I wish my son always to
  be a _gentleman_.

TOM: If being a _gentleman_ means not being a _man_--I don’t wish to
  be one.

RACHEL: Oh! well, perhaps we’re wrong about Mary--I hope we are.
  (_Sighs_). Anyway, let’s forget it. Tommy guess what I’ve got.
  (_Rises, goes out into entryway swiftly, and returns holding up a
  small bag_). Ma dear treated. Guess!

TOM: Ma, you’re a thoroughbred. Well, let’s see--it’s--a dozen dill
  pickles?

RACHEL: Oh! stop fooling.

TOM: I’m not. Tripe?

RACHEL: Silly!

TOM: Hog’s jowl?

RACHEL: Ugh! Give it up--quarter-back.

TOM: Pig’s feet?

RACHEL (_In pretended disgust_): Oh! Ma dear--send him from the
  table. It’s CANDY!

TOM: Candy? Funny, I never thought of that! And I was just about to
  say some nice, delicious chitlings. Candy! Well! Well! (_Rachel
  disdainfully carries the candy to her mother, returns to her own
  seat with the bag and helps herself. She ignores Tom_).

TOM (_In an aggrieved voice_): You see, Ma, how she treats me. (_In
  affected tones_) I have a good mind, young lady to punish you,
  er--er corporeally speaking. Tut! Tut! I have a mind to master
  thee--I mean--you. Methinks that if I should advance upon you,
  apply, perchance, two or three digits to your glossy locks and
  extract--aha!--say a strand--you would no more defy me. (_He
  starts to rise_).

MRS. LOVING (_Quickly and sharply_): Rachel! give Tom the candy
  and stop playing. (_Rachel obeys. They eat in silence. The old
  depression returns. When the candy is all gone, Rachel pushes her
  chair back, and is just about to rise, when her mother, who is
  very evidently nerving herself for something, stops her_). Just a
  moment, Rachel. (_Pauses, continuing slowly and very seriously_).
  Tom and Rachel! I have been trying to make up my mind for some time
  whether a certain thing is my duty or not. Today--I have decided it
  is. You are old enough, now,--and I see you ought to be told. Do
  you know what day this is? (_Both Tom and Rachel have been watching
  their mother intently_). It’s the sixteenth of October. Does that
  mean anything to either of you?

TOM and RACHEL (_Wonderingly_): No.

MRS. LOVING (_Looking at both of them thoughtfully, half to
  herself_): No--I don’t know why it should. (_Slowly_) Ten years
  ago--today--your father and your half-brother died.

TOM: I do remember, now, that you told us it was in October.

RACHEL (_With a sigh_): That explains--today.

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel. (_Pauses_). Do you know--how they--died?

TOM and RACHEL: Why, no.

MRS. LOVING: Did it ever strike you as strange--that they--died--the
  same day?

TOM: Well, yes.

RACHEL: We often wondered, Tom and I; but--but somehow we never quite
  dared to ask you. You--you--always refused to talk about them, you
  know, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: Did you think--that--perhaps--the reason--I--I--wouldn’t
  talk about them--was--because, because--I was ashamed--of them?
  (_Tom and Rachel look uncomfortable_).

RACHEL: Well, Ma dear--we--we--did--wonder.

MRS. LOVING (_Questioningly_): And you thought?

RACHEL (_Haltingly_): W-e-l-l--

MRS. LOVING (_Sharply_): Yes?

TOM: Oh! come, now, Rachel, you know we haven’t bothered about it at
  all. Why should we? We’ve been happy.

MRS. LOVING: But when you have thought--you’ve been ashamed?
  (_Intensely_) Have you?

TOM: Now, Ma, aren’t you making a lot out of nothing?

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly_): No. (_Half to herself_) You evade--both--of
  you. You _have_ been ashamed. And I never dreamed until today you
  _could_ take it this way. How blind--how almost criminally blind, I
  have been.

RACHEL (_Tremulously_): Oh! Ma dear, don’t! (_Tom and Rachel watch
  their mother anxiously and uncomfortably. Mrs. Loving is very
  evidently nerving herself for something_).

MRS. LOVING (_Very slowly, with restrained emotion_): Tom--and Rachel!

TOM: Ma!

RACHEL: Ma dear! (_A tense, breathless pause_).

MRS. LOVING (_Bracing herself_): They--they--were lynched!!

TOM and RACHEL (_In a whisper_): Lynched!

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly, laboring under strong but restrained emotion_):
  Yes--by Christian people--in a Christian land. We found out
  afterwards they were all church members in good standing--the best
  people. (_A silence_). Your father was a man among men. He was a
  fanatic. He was a Saint!

TOM (_Breathing with difficulty_): Ma--can you--will you--tell
  us--about it?

MRS. LOVING: I believe it to be my duty. (_A silence_). When I
  married your father I was a widow. My little George was seven years
  old. From the very beginning he worshiped your father. He followed
  him around--just like a little dog. All children were like that
  with him. I myself have never seen anybody like him. “Big” seems to
  fit him better than any other word. He was big-bodied--big-souled.
  His loves were big and his hates. You can imagine, then, how the
  wrongs of the Negro--ate into his soul. (_Pauses_). He was utterly
  fearless. (_A silence_). He edited and owned, for several years,
  a small negro paper. In it he said a great many daring things. I
  used to plead with him to be more careful. I was always afraid for
  him. For a long time, nothing happened--he was too important to
  the community. And then--one night--ten years ago--a mob made up
  of the respectable people in the town lynched an innocent black
  man--and what was worse--they knew him to be innocent. A white man
  was guilty. I never saw your father so wrought up over anything: he
  couldn’t eat; he couldn’t sleep; he brooded night and day over it.
  And then--realizing fully the great risk he was running, although
  I begged him not to--and all his friends also--he deliberately and
  calmly went to work and published a most terrific denunciation of
  that mob. The old prophets in the Bible were not more terrible
  than he. A day or two later, he received an anonymous letter, very
  evidently from an educated man, calling upon him to retract his
  words in the next issue. If he refused his life was threatened. The
  next week’s issue contained an arraignment as frightful, if not
  more so, than the previous one. Each word was white-hot, searing.
  That night, some dozen masked men came to our house.

RACHEL (_Moaning_): Oh, Ma dear! Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING (_Too absorbed to hear_): We were not asleep--your father
  and I. They broke down the front door and made their way to our
  bedroom. Your father kissed me--and took up his revolver. It was
  always loaded. They broke down the door. (_A silence. She continues
  slowly and quietly_) I tried to shut my eyes--I could not. Four
  masked men fell--they did not move any more--after a little.
  (_Pauses_). Your father was finally overpowered and dragged out.
  In the hall--my little seventeen-year-old George tried to rescue
  him. Your father begged him not to interfere. He paid no attention.
  It ended in their dragging them both out. (_Pauses_). My little
  George--was--a man! (_Controls herself with an effort_). He never
  made an outcry. His last words to me were: “Ma, I am glad to go
  with Father.” I could only nod to him. (_Pauses_). While they were
  dragging them down the steps, I crept into the room where you were.
  You were both asleep. Rachel, I remember, was smiling. I knelt down
  by you--and covered my ears with my hands--and waited. I could not
  pray--I couldn’t for a long time--afterwards. (_A silence_). It was
  very still when I finally uncovered my ears. The only sounds were
  the faint rustle of leaves and the “tap-tapping of the twig of a
  tree” against the window. I hear it still--sometimes in my dreams.
  _It was the tree--where they were._ (_A silence_). While I had
  knelt there waiting--I had made up my mind what to do. I dressed
  myself and then I woke you both up and dressed you. (_Pauses_). We
  set forth. It was a black, still night. Alternately dragging you
  along and carrying you--I walked five miles to the house of some
  friends. They took us in, and we remained there until I had seen my
  dead laid comfortably at rest. They lent me money to come North--I
  couldn’t bring you up--in the South. (_A silence_). Always remember
  this: There never lived anywhere--or at any time--any two whiter
  or more beautiful souls. God gave me one for a husband and one for
  a son and I am proud. (_Brokenly_) You--must--be--proud--too. (_A
  long silence. Mrs. Loving bows her head in her hands. Tom controls
  himself with an effort. Rachel creeps softly to her mother, kneels
  beside her and lifts the hem of her dress to her lips. She does not
  dare touch her. She adores her with her eyes_).

MRS. LOVING (_Presently raising her head and glancing at the clock_):
  Tom, it’s time, now, for you to go to work. Rachel and I will
  finish up here.

TOM (_Still laboring under great emotion goes out into the entryway
  and comes back and stands in the doorway with his cap. He twirls
  it around and around nervously_): I want you to know, Ma, before I
  go--how--how proud I am. Why, I didn’t believe two people could be
  like that--and live. And then to find out that one--was your own
  father--and one--your own brother.--It’s wonderful! I’m--not much
  yet, Ma, but--I’ve--I’ve just got to be something now. (_Breaks
  off_). (_His face becomes distorted with passion and hatred_). When
  I think--when I think--of those devils with white skins--living
  somewhere today--living and happy--I--see--red! I--I--good-bye!
  (_Rushes out, the door bangs_).

MRS. LOVING (_Half to herself_): I was afraid--of just that. I
  wonder--if I did the wise thing--after all.

RACHEL (_With a gesture infinitely tender, puts her arms around her
  mother_): Yes, Ma dear, you did. And, hereafter, Tom and I share
  and share alike with you. To think, Ma dear, of ten years of
  this--all alone. It’s wicked! (_A short silence_).

MRS. LOVING: And, Rachel, about that dear, little boy, Jimmy.

RACHEL: Now, Ma dear, tell me tomorrow. You’ve stood enough for one
  day.

MRS. LOVING: No, it’s better over and done with--all at once. If I
  had seen that dear child suddenly any other day than this--I might
  have borne it better. When he lifted his little face to me--and
  smiled--for a moment--I thought it was the end--of all things.
  Rachel, he is the image of my boy--my George!

RACHEL: Ma dear!

MRS. LOVING: And, Rachel--it will hurt--to see him again.

RACHEL: I understand, Ma dear. (_A silence. Suddenly_) Ma dear,
  I am beginning to see--to understand--so much. (_Slowly and
  thoughtfully_) Ten years ago, all things being equal, Jimmy might
  have been--George? Isn’t that so?

MRS. LOVING: Why--yes, if I understand you.

RACHEL: I guess that doesn’t sound very clear. It’s only getting
  clear to me, little by little. Do you mind my thinking out loud to
  you?

MRS. LOVING: No, chickabiddy.

RACHEL: If Jimmy went South now--and grew up--he might be--a George?

MRS. LOVING: Yes.

RACHEL: Then, the South is full of tens, hundreds, thousands
  of little boys, who, one day may be--and some of them with
  certainty--Georges?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: And the little babies, the dear, little, helpless babies,
  being born today--now--and those who will be, tomorrow, and all
  the tomorrows to come--have _that_ sooner or later to look forward
  to? They will laugh and play and sing and be happy and grow up,
  perhaps, and be ambitious--just for _that_?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, Rachel.

RACHEL: Then, everywhere, everywhere, throughout the South, there are
  hundreds of dark mothers who live in fear, terrible, suffocating
  fear, whose rest by night is broken, and whose joy by day in
  their babies on their hearts is three parts--pain. Oh, I know
  this is true--for this is the way I should feel, if I were little
  Jimmy’s mother. How horrible! Why--it would be more merciful--to
  strangle the little things at birth. And so this nation--this
  white Christian nation--has deliberately set its curse upon
  the most beautiful--the most holy thing in life--motherhood!
  Why--it--makes--you doubt--God!

MRS. LOVING: Oh, hush! little girl. Hush!

RACHEL (_Suddenly with a great cry_): Why, Ma dear, _you know. You
  were a mother, George’s mother._ So, this is what it means. Oh, Ma
  dear! Ma dear! (_Faints in her mother’s arms_).




                               ACT II




                               ACT II.


  TIME: _October sixteenth, four years later; seven o’clock in the
    morning_.

  SCENE: _The same room. There have been very evident improvements
    made. The room is not so bare; it is cosier. On the shelf, before
    each window, are potted red geraniums. At the windows are green
    denim drapery curtains covering fresh white dotted Swiss inner
    curtains. At each doorway are green denim portieres. On the wall
    between the kitchenette and the entrance to the outer rooms of
    the flat, a new picture is hanging, Millet’s “The Man With the
    Hoe.” Hanging against the side of the run that faces front is
    Watts’s “Hope.” There is another easy-chair at the left front.
    The table in the center is covered with a white table-cloth.
    A small asparagus fern is in the middle of this. When the
    curtain rises there is the clatter of dishes in the kitchenette.
    Presently Rachel enters with dishes and silver in her hands.
    She is clad in a bungalow apron. She is noticeably all of four
    years older. She frowns as she sets the table. There is a set
    expression about the mouth. A child’s voice is heard from the
    rooms within._

JIMMY (_Still unseen_): Ma Rachel!

RACHEL (_Pauses and smiles_): What is it, Jimmy boy?

JIMMY (_Appearing in rear doorway, half-dressed, breathless and
  tremendously excited over something. Rushes toward Rachel_): Three
  guesses! Three guesses! Ma Rachel!

RACHEL (_Her whole face softening_): Well, let’s see--maybe there is
  a circus in town.

JIMMY: No siree! (_In a sing-song_) You’re not right! You’re not
  right!

RACHEL: Well, maybe Ma Loving’s going to take you somewhere.

JIMMY: No! (_Vigorously shaking his head_) It’s--

RACHEL (_Interrupting quickly_): You said I could have three guesses,
  honey. I’ve only had two.

JIMMY: I thought you had three. How many are three?

RACHEL (_Counting on her fingers_): One! Two! Three! I’ve only had
  one! two!--See? Perhaps Uncle Tom is going to give you some candy.

JIMMY (_Dancing up and down_): No! No! No! (_Catches his breath_) I
  leaned over the bath-tub, way over, and got hold of the chain with
  the button on the end, and dropped it into the little round place
  in the bottom. And then I runned lots and lots of water in the
  tub and climbed over and fell in splash! just like a big stone;
  (_Loudly_) and took a bath all by myself alone.

RACHEL (_Laughing and hugging him_): All by yourself, honey? You ran
  the water, too, boy, not “runned” it. What I want to know is, where
  was Ma Loving all this time?

JIMMY: I stole in “creepy-creep” and looked at Ma Loving and she was
  awful fast asleep. (_Proudly_) Ma Rachel, I’m a “nawful,” big boy
  now, aren’t I? I are almost a man, aren’t I?

RACHEL: Oh! Boy, I’m getting tired of correcting you--“I am almost a
  man, am I not?” Jimmy, boy, what will Ma Rachel do, if you grow up?
  Why, I won’t have a little boy any more! Honey, you mustn’t grow
  up, do you hear? You mustn’t.

JIMMY: Oh, yes, I must; and you’ll have me just the same, Ma Rachel.
  I’m going to be a policeman and make lots of money for you and Ma
  Loving and Uncle Tom, and I’m going to buy you some trains and
  fire-engines, and little, cunning ponies, and some rabbits, and
  some great ’normous banks full of money--lots of it. And then, we
  are going to live in a great, big castle and eat lots of ice cream,
  all the time, and drink lots and lots of nice pink lemonade.

RACHEL: What a generous Jimmy boy! (_Hugs him_). Before I give you
  “morning kiss,” I must see how clean my boy is. (_Inspects teeth,
  ears and neck_). Jimmy, you’re sweet and clean enough to eat.
  (_Kisses him; he tries to strangle her with hugs_). Now the hands.
  Oh! Jimmy, look at those nails! Oh! Jimmy! (_Jimmy wriggles and
  tries to get his hands away_). Honey, get my file off of my bureau
  and go to Ma Loving; she must be awake by this time. Why, honey,
  what’s the matter with your feet?

JIMMY: I don’t know. I thought they looked kind of queer, myself.
  What’s the matter with them?

RACHEL (_Laughing_): You have your shoes on the wrong feet.

JIMMY (_Bursts out laughing_): Isn’t that most ’normously funny? I’m
  a case, aren’t I--(_pauses thoughtfully_) I mean--am I not, Ma
  Rachel?

RACHEL: Yes, honey, a great big case of molasses. Come, you must
  hurry now, and get dressed. You don’t want to be late for school,
  you know.

JIMMY: Ma Rachel! (_Shyly_) I--I have been making something for
  you all the morning--ever since I waked up. It’s awful nice.
  It’s--stoop down, Ma Rachel, please--a great, big (_puts both arms
  about her neck and gives her a noisy kiss. Rachel kisses him in
  return, then pushes his head back. For a long moment they look at
  each other; and, then, laughing joyously, he makes believe he is a
  horse, and goes prancing out of the room. Rachel, with a softer,
  gentler expression, continues setting the table. Presently, Mrs.
  Loving, bent and worn-looking, appears in the doorway in the rear.
  She limps a trifle._)

MRS. LOVING: Good morning, dearie. How’s my little girl, this
  morning? (_Looks around the room_). Why, where’s Tom? I was certain
  I heard him running the water in the tub, sometime ago. (_Limps
  into the room_).

RACHEL (_Laughing_): Tom isn’t up yet. Have you seen Jimmy?

MRS. LOVING: Jimmy? No. I didn’t know he was awake, even.

RACHEL (_Going to her mother and kissing her_): Well! What do you
  think of that! I sent the young gentleman to you, a few minutes
  ago, for help with his nails. He is very much grown up this
  morning, so I suppose that explains why he didn’t come to you.
  Yesterday, all day, you know, he was a puppy. No one knows what
  he will be by tomorrow. All of this, Ma dear, is preliminary to
  telling you that Jimmy boy has stolen a march on you, this morning.

MRS. LOVING: Stolen a march! How?

RACHEL: It appears that he took his bath all by himself and, as a
  result, he is so conceited, peacocks aren’t in it with him.

MRS. LOVING: I heard the water running and thought, of course, it
  was Tom. Why, the little rascal! I must go and see how he has left
  things. I was just about to wake him up.

RACHEL: Rheumatism’s not much better this morning, Ma dear.
  (_Confronting her mother_). Tell me the truth, now, did you or did
  you not try that liniment I bought you yesterday?

MRS. LOVING (_Guiltily_): Well, Rachel, you see--it was this way, I
  was--I was so tired, last night,--I--I really forgot it.

RACHEL: I thought as much. Shame on you!

MRS. LOVING: As soon as I walk around a bit it will be all right.
  It always is. It’s bad, when I first get up--that’s all. I’ll
  be spry enough in a few minutes. (_Limps to the door; pauses_)
  Rachel, I don’t know why the thought should strike me, but how
  very strangely things turn out. If any one had told me four years
  ago that Jimmy would be living with us, I should have laughed at
  him. Then it hurt to see him; now it would hurt not to. (_Softly_)
  Rachel, sometimes--I wonder--if, perhaps, God--hasn’t relented a
  little--and given me back my boy,--my George.

RACHEL: The whole thing was strange, wasn’t it?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, God’s ways are strange and often very beautiful;
  perhaps all would be beautiful--if we only understood.

RACHEL: God’s ways are certainly very mysterious. Why, of all the
  people in this apartment-house, should Jimmy’s father and mother be
  the only two to take the smallpox, and the only two to die. It’s
  queer!

MRS. LOVING: It doesn’t seem like two years ago, does it?

RACHEL: Two years, Ma dear! Why it’s three the third of January.

MRS. LOVING: Are you sure, Rachel?

RACHEL (_Gently_): I don’t believe I could ever forget that, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: No, I suppose not. That is one of the differences
  between youth and old age--youth attaches tremendous importance to
  dates,--old age does not.

RACHEL (_Quickly_): Ma dear, don’t talk like that. You’re not old.

MRS. LOVING: Oh! yes, I am, dearie. It’s sixty long years since I was
  born; and I am much older than that, much older.

RACHEL: Please, Ma dear, please!

MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): Very well, dearie, I won’t say it any more.
  (_A pause_). By the way,--how--does Tom strike you, these days?

RACHEL (_Avoiding her mother’s eye_): The same old, bantering,
  cheerful Tom. Why?

MRS. LOVING: I know he’s all that, dearie, but it isn’t possible for
  him to be really cheerful. (_Pauses; goes on wistfully_) When you
  are little, we mothers can kiss away all the trouble, but when you
  grow up--and go out--into the world--and get hurt--we are helpless.
  There is nothing we can do.

RACHEL: Don’t worry about Tom, Ma dear, he’s game. He doesn’t show
  the white feather.

MRS. LOVING: Did you see him, when he came in, last night?

RACHEL: Yes.

MRS. LOVING: Had he had--any luck?

RACHEL: No. (_Firmly_) Ma dear, we may as well face it--it’s
  hopeless, I’m afraid.

MRS. LOVING: I’m afraid--you are right. (_Shakes her head sadly_)
  Well, I’ll go and see how Jimmy has left things and wake up Tom, if
  he isn’t awake yet. It’s the waking up in the mornings that’s hard.
  (_Goes limping out rear door. Rachel frowns as she continues going
  back and forth between the kitchenette and the table. Presently Tom
  appears in the door at the rear. He watches Rachel several moments
  before he speaks or enters. Rachel looks grim enough_).

TOM (_Entering and smiling_): Good-morning, “Merry Sunshine”! Have
  you, perhaps, been taking a--er--prolonged draught of that very
  delightful beverage--vinegar? (_Rachel, with a knife in her hand,
  looks up unsmiling. In pretended fright_) I take it all back,
  I’m sure. May I request, humbly, that before I press my chaste,
  morning salute upon your forbidding lips, that you--that you--that
  you--er--in some way rid yourself of that--er--knife? (_Bows as
  Rachel puts it down_). I thank you. (_He comes to her and tips her
  head back; gently_) What’s the matter with my little Sis?

RACHEL (_Her face softening_): Tommy dear, don’t mind me. I’m getting
  wicked, I guess. At present I feel just like---- like curdled milk.
  Once upon a time, I used to have quite a nice disposition, didn’t
  I, Tommy?

TOM (_Smiling_): Did you, indeed! I’m not going to flatter you. Well,
  brace yourself, old lady. Ready, One! Two! Three! Go! (_Kisses her,
  then puts his hands on either side of her face, and raising it,
  looks down into it_). You’re a pretty, decent little sister, Sis,
  that’s what T. Loving thinks about it; and he knows a thing or two.
  (_Abruptly looking around_) Has the paper come yet?

RACHEL: I haven’t looked, it must have, though, by this time. (_Tom,
  hands in his pockets, goes into the vestibule. He whistles. The
  outer door opens and closes, and presently he saunters back,
  newspaper in hand. He lounges carelessly in the arm-chair and looks
  at Rachel_).

TOM: May T. Loving be of any service to you?

RACHEL: Service! How?

TOM: May he run, say, any errands, set the table, cook the breakfast?
  Anything?

RACHEL (_Watching the lazy figure_): You look like working.

TOM (_Grinning_): It’s at least--polite--to offer.

RACHEL: You can’t do anything; I don’t trust you to do it right.
  You may just sit there, and read your paper--and try to behave
  yourself.

TOM (_In affectedly meek tones_): Thank you, ma’am. (_Opens the
  paper, but does not read. Jimmy presently enters riding around the
  table on a cane. Rachel peeps in from the kitchenette and smiles.
  Tom puts down his paper_). ’Lo! Big Fellow, what’s this?

JIMMY (_Disgustedly_): How can I hear? I’m miles and miles away yet.
  (_Prances around and around the room; presently stops near Tom,
  attempting a gruff voice_) Good-morning!

TOM (_Lowering his paper again_): Bless my stars! Who’s this? Well,
  if it isn’t Mr. Mason! How--do--you--do, Mr. Mason? That’s a
  beautiful horse you have there. He limps a trifle in his left,
  hind, front foot, though.

JIMMY: He doesn’t!

TOM: He does!

JIMMY (_Fiercely_): He doesn’t!

TOM (_As fiercely_): I say he does!

MRS. LOVING (_Appearing in the doorway in the rear_): For Heaven’s
  sake! What is this? Good-morning, Tommy.

TOM (_Rising and going toward his mother, Jimmy following astride
  of the cane in his rear_): Good-morning, Ma. (_Kisses her; lays
  his head on her shoulder and makes believe he is crying; in a high
  falsetto_) Ma! Jimmy says his horse doesn’t limp in his hind, front
  right leg, and I say he does.

JIMMY (_Throws his cane aside, rolls on the floor and kicks up his
  heels. He roars with laughter_): I think Uncle Tom is funnier than
  any clown in the “Kickus.”

TOM (_Raising his head and looking down at Jimmy; Rachel stands in
  the kitchenette doorway_): In the _what_, Jimmy?

JIMMY: In the “kickus,” of course.

TOM: “Kickus”! “Kickus”! Oh, Lordy! (_Tom and Rachel shriek with
  laughter; Mrs. Loving looks amused; Jimmy, very much affronted,
  gets upon his feet again. Tom leans over and swings Jimmy high in
  the air_). Boy, you’ll be the death of me yet. Circus, son! Circus!

JIMMY (_From on high, soberly and with injured dignity_): Well, I
  thinks “Kickus” and circus are very much alike. Please put me down.

RACHEL (_From the doorway_): We laugh, honey, because we love you so
  much.

JIMMY (_Somewhat mollified, to Tom_): Is that so, Uncle Tom?

TOM: Surest thing in the world! (_Severely_) Come, get down, young
  man. Don’t you know you’ll wear my arms out? Besides, there is
  something in my lower vest pocket, that’s just dying to come to
  you. Get down, I say.

JIMMY (_Laughing_): How can I get down? (_Wriggles around_).

TOM: How should I know? Just get down, of course. (_Very suddenly
  puts Jimmy down on his feet. Jimmy tries to climb up over him_).

JIMMY: Please sit down, Uncle Tom?

TOM (_In feigned surprise_): Sit down! What for?

JIMMY (_Pummeling him with his little fists, loudly_): Why, you said
  there was something for me in your pocket.

TOM (_Sitting down_): So I did. How forgetful I am!

JIMMY (_Finding a bright, shiny penny, shrieks_): Oh! Oh! Oh!
  (_Climbs up and kisses Tom noisily_).

TOM: Why, Jimmy! You embarrass me. My! My!

JIMMY: What is ’barrass?

TOM: You make me blush.

JIMMY: What’s that?

MRS. LOVING: Come, come, children! Rachel has the breakfast on the
  table. (_Tom sits in Jimmy’s place and Jimmy tries to drag him
  out_).

TOM: What’s the matter, now?

JIMMY: You’re in _my_ place.

TOM: Well, can’t you sit in mine?

JIMMY (_Wistfully_): I wants to sit by my Ma Rachel.

TOM: Well, so do I.

RACHEL: Tom, stop teasing Jimmy. Honey, don’t you let him bother you;
  ask him please prettily.

JIMMY: Please prettily, Uncle Tom.

TOM: Oh! well then. (_Gets up and takes his own place. They sit as
  they did in Act I. only Jimmy sits between Tom, at the end, and
  Rachel_).

JIMMY (_Loudly_): Oh, goody! goody! goody! We’ve got sau-sa-ges.

MRS. LOVING: Sh!

JIMMY (_Silenced for a few moments; Rachel ties a big napkin around
  his neck, and prepares his breakfast. He breaks forth again
  suddenly and excitedly_): Uncle Tom!

TOM: Sir?

JIMMY: I took a bath this morning, all by myself alone, in the
  bath-tub, and I ranned, no (_Doubtfully_) I runned, I think--the
  water all in it, and got in it all by myself; and Ma Loving thought
  it was you; but it was _me_.

TOM (_In feignedly severe tones_): See here, young man, this won’t
  do. Don’t you know I’m the only one who is allowed to do that here?
  It’s a perfect waste of water--that’s what it is.

JIMMY (_Undaunted_): Oh! no, you’re not the only one, ’cause Ma
  Loving and Ma Rachel and me--alls takes baths every single morning.
  So, there!

TOM: You ’barrass me. (_Jimmy opens his mouth to ask a question; Tom
  quickly_) Young gentleman, your mouth is open. Close it, sir; close
  it.

MRS. LOVING: Tom, you’re as big a child exactly as Jimmy.

TOM (_Bowing to right and left_): You compliment me. I thank you, I
  am sure.

                     (_They finish in silence._)

JIMMY (_Sighing with contentment_): I’m through, Ma Rachel.

MRS. LOVING: Jimmy, you’re a big boy, now, aren’t you? (_Jimmy nods
  his head vigorously and looks proud._) I wonder if you’re big
  enough to wash your own hands, this morning?

JIMMY (_Shrilly_): Yes, ma’am.

MRS. LOVING: Well, if they’re beautifully clean, I’ll give you
  another penny.

JIMMY (_Excitedly to Rachel_): Please untie my napkin, Ma Rachel!
  (_Rachel does so._) “Excoose” me, please.

MRS. LOVING AND RACHEL: Certainly. (_Jimmy climbs down and rushes out
  at the rear doorway._)

MRS. LOVING (_Solemnly and slowly; breaking the silence_): Rachel, do
  you know what day this is?

RACHEL (_Looking at her plate; slowly_): Yes, Ma dear.

MRS. LOVING: Tom.

TOM (_Grimly and slowly_): Yes, Ma.

                           (_A silence._)

MRS. LOVING (_Impressively_): We must never--as long--as we
  live--forget this day.

RACHEL: No, Ma dear.

TOM: No, Ma.

                        (_Another silence._)

TOM (_Slowly; as though thinking aloud_): I hear people talk about
  God’s justice--and I wonder. There, are you, Ma. There isn’t a
  sacrifice--that you haven’t made. You’re still working your fingers
  to the bone--sewing--just so all of us may keep on living. Rachel
  is a graduate in Domestic Science; she was high in her class; most
  of the girls below her in rank have positions in the schools.
  I’m an electrical engineer--and I’ve tried steadily for several
  months--to practice my profession. It seems our educations aren’t
  of much use to us: we aren’t allowed to make good--because our
  skins are dark. (_Pauses_) And, in the South today, there are
  white men--(_Controls himself_). They have everything; they’re
  well-dressed, well-fed, well-housed; they’re prosperous in
  business; they’re important politically; they’re pillars in the
  church. I know all this is true--I’ve inquired. Their children
  (our ages, some of them) are growing up around them; and they are
  having a square deal handed out to them--college, position, wealth,
  and best of all, freedom, without galling restrictions, to work
  out their own salvations. With ability, they may become--anything;
  and all this will be true of their children’s children after
  them. (_A pause_). Look at us--and look at them. We are destined
  to failure--they, to success. Their children shall grow up in
  hope; ours, in despair. Our hands are clean;--theirs are red with
  blood--red with the blood of a noble man--and a boy. They’re
  nothing but low, cowardly, bestial murderers. The scum of the earth
  shall succeed.--God’s justice, I suppose.

MRS. LOVING (_Rising and going to Tom; brokenly_): Tom, promise
  me--one thing.

TOM (_Rises gently_): What is it, Ma?

MRS. LOVING: That--you’ll try--not to lose faith--in God. I’ve been
  where you are now--and it’s black. Tom, we don’t understand God’s
  ways. My son, I know, now--He is beautiful. Tom, won’t you try to
  believe, again?

TOM (_Slowly, but not convincingly_): I’ll try, Ma.

MRS. LOVING (_Sighs_): Each one, I suppose, has to work out his own
  salvation. (_After a pause_) Rachel, if you’ll get Jimmy ready,
  I’ll take him to school. I’ve got to go down town shopping for
  a customer, this morning. (_Rachel rises and goes out the rear
  doorway; Mrs. Loving, limping very slightly now, follows. She
  turns and looks back yearningly at Tom, who has seated himself
  again, and is staring unseeingly at his plate. She goes out. Tom
  sits without moving until he hears Mrs. Loving’s voice within and
  Rachel’s faintly; then he gets the paper, sits in the arm-chair and
  pretends to read_).

MRS. LOVING (_From within_): A yard, you say, Rachel? You’re
  sure that will be enough. Oh! you’ve measured it. Anything
  else?--What?--Oh! all right. I’ll be back by one o’clock, anyway.
  Good-bye. (_Enters with Jimmy. Both are dressed for the street. Tom
  looks up brightly at Jimmy_).

TOM: Hello! Big Fellow, where are you taking _my_ mother, I’d like to
  know? This is a pretty kettle of fish.

JIMMY (_Laughing_): Aren’t you funny, Uncle Tom! Why, I’m not taking
  her anywhere. She’s taking me. (_Importantly_) I’m going to school.

TOM: Big Fellow, come here. (_Jimmy comes with a rush_). Now, where’s
  that penny I gave you? No, I don’t want to see it. All right. Did
  Ma Loving give you another? (_Vigorous noddings of the head from
  Jimmy_). I wish you to promise me solemnly--Now, listen! Here,
  don’t wriggle so! not to buy--Listen! too many pints of ice-cream
  with my penny. Understand?

JIMMY (_Very seriously_): Yes, Uncle Tom, cross my “tummy”! I promise.

TOM: Well, then, you may go. I guess that will be all for the
  present. (_Jimmy loiters around looking up wistfully into his
  face_). Well?

JIMMY: Haven’t you--aren’t you--isn’t you--forgetting something?

TOM (_Grabbing at his pockets_): Bless my stars! what now?

JIMMY: If you could kind of lean over this way. (_Tom leans
  forward_). No, not that way. (_Tom leans toward the side away from
  Jimmy_). No, this way, this way! (_Laughs and pummels him with his
  little fists_). This way!

TOM (_Leaning toward Jimmy_): Well, why didn’t you say so, at first?

JIMMY (_Puts his arms around Tom’s neck and kisses him_): Good-bye,
  dear old Uncle Tom. (_Tom catches him and hugs him hard_). I likes
  to be hugged like that--I can taste--sau-sa-ges.

TOM: You ’barrass me, son. Here, Ma, take your boy. Now remember all
  I told you, Jimmy.

JIMMY: I ’members.

MRS. LOVING: God bless you, Tom. Good luck.

JIMMY (_To Tom_): God bless you, Uncle Tom. Good luck!

TOM (_Much affected, but with restraint, rising_): Thank
  you--Good-bye. (_Mrs. Loving and Jimmy go out through the
  vestibule. Tom lights a cigarette and tries to read the paper. He
  soon sinks into a brown study. Presently Rachel enters humming. Tom
  relights his cigarette; and Rachel proceeds to clear the table. In
  the midst of this, the bell rings three distinct times_).

RACHEL and TOM: John!

TOM: I wonder what’s up--It’s rather early for him.--I’ll go. (_Rises
  leisurely and goes out into the vestibule. The outer door opens
  and shuts. Men’s voices are heard. Tom and John Strong enter.
  During the ensuing conversation Rachel finishes clearing the table,
  takes the fern off, puts on the green table-cloth, places a doily
  carefully in the centre, and replaces the fern. She apparently pays
  no attention to the conversation between her brother and Strong.
  After she has finished, she goes to the kitchenette. The rattle of
  dishes can be heard now and then_).

RACHEL (_Brightly_): Well, stranger, how does it happen you’re out so
  early in the morning?

STRONG: I hadn’t seen any of you for a week, and I thought I’d come
  by, on my way to work, and find out how things are going. There is
  no need of asking how you are, Rachel. And the mother and the boy?

RACHEL: Ma dear’s rheumatism still holds on.--Jimmy’s fine.

STRONG: I’m sorry to hear that your mother is not well. There isn’t
  a remedy going that my mother doesn’t know about. I’ll get her
  advice and let you know. (_Turning to Tom_) Well, Tom, how goes it?
  (_Strong and Tom sit_).

TOM (_Smiling grimly_): There’s plenty of “go,” but no “git there.”
                                                (_There is a pause_).

STRONG: I was hoping for better news.

TOM: If I remember rightly, not so many years ago, you tried--and
  failed. Then, a colored man had hardly a ghost of a show;--now he
  hasn’t even the ghost of a ghost. (_Rachel has finished and goes
  into the kitchenette_).

STRONG: That’s true enough. (_A pause_). What are you going to do?

TOM (_Slowly_): I’ll do this little “going act” of mine the rest of
  the week; (_pauses_) and then, I’ll do anything I can get to do. If
  necessary, I suppose, I can be a “White-wing.”

STRONG: Tom, I came--(_Breaks off; continuing slowly_) Six years ago,
  I found I was up against a stone wall--your experience, you see, to
  the letter. I couldn’t let my mother starve, so I became a waiter.
  (_Pauses_). I studied waiting; I made a science of it, an art. In
  a comparatively short time, I’m a head-waiter and I’m up against
  another stonewall. I’ve reached my limit. I’m thirty-two now, and
  I’ll die a head-waiter. (_A pause_). College friends, so-called,
  and acquaintances used to come into the restaurant. One or two at
  first--attempted to commiserate with me. They didn’t do it again. I
  waited upon them--I did my best. Many of them tipped me. (_Pauses
  and smiles grimly_). I can remember my first tip, still. They
  come in yet; many of them are already powers, not only in this
  city, but in the country. Some of them make a personal request
  that I wait upon them. I am an artist, now, in my proper sphere.
  They tip me well, extremely well--the larger the tip, the more
  pleased they are with me. Because of me, in their own eyes, they’re
  philanthropists. Amusing, isn’t it? I can stand their attitude now.
  My philosophy--learned hard, is to make the best of everything you
  can, and go on. At best, life isn’t so very long. You’re wondering
  why I’m telling you all this. I wish you to see things exactly
  as they are. There are many disadvantages and some advantages in
  being a waiter. My mother can live comfortably; I am able, even, to
  see that she gets some of the luxuries. Tom, it’s this way--I can
  always get you a job as a waiter; I’ll teach you the art. If you
  care to begin the end of the week--all right. And remember this, as
  long as I keep my job--this offer holds good.

TOM: I--I--(_Breaks off_) Thank you. (_A pause; then smiling wryly_)
  I guess it’s safe enough to say, you’ll see me at the end of the
  week. John you’re--(_Breaking off again. A silence interrupted
  presently by the sound of much vigorous rapping on the outer door
  of the flat. Rachel appears and crosses over to the vestibule_).
  Hear the racket! My kiddies gently begging for admittance. It’s
  about twenty minutes of nine, isn’t it? (_Tom nods_). I thought
  so. (_Goes into the entryway; presently reappears with a group
  of six little girls ranging in age from five to about nine. All
  are fighting to be close to her; and all are talking at once.
  There is one exception: the smallest tot is self-possessed and
  self-sufficient. She carries a red geranium in her hand and gives
  it her full attention_).

LITTLE MARY: It’s my turn to get “Morning kiss” first, this morning,
  Miss Rachel. You kissed Louise first yesterday. You said you’d
  kiss us “alphebettically.” (_Ending in a shriek_). You promised!
  (_Rachel kisses Mary, who subsides_).

LITTLE NANCY (_Imperiously_): Now, me. (_Rachel kisses her, and then
  amid shrieks, recriminations, pulling of hair, jostling, etc., she
  kisses the rest. The small tot is still oblivious to everything
  that is going on_).

RACHEL (_Laughing_): You children will pull me limb from limb; and
  then I’ll be all dead; and you’ll be sorry--see, if you aren’t.
  (_They fall back immediately. Tom and John watch in amused silence.
  Rachel loses all self-consciousness, and seems to bloom in the
  children’s midst_). Edith! come here this minute, and let me tie
  your hair-ribbon again. Nancy, I’m ashamed of you, I saw you trying
  to pull it off. (_Nancy looks abashed but mischievous_). Louise,
  you look as sweet as sweet, this morning; and Jenny, where did you
  get the pretty, pretty dress?

LITTLE JENNY (_Snuffling, but proud_): My mother made it. (_Pauses
  with more snuffles_). My mother says I have a very bad cold.
  (_There is a brief silence interrupted by the small tot with the
  geranium_).

LITTLE MARTHA (_In a sweet, little voice_): I--have--a--pitty--’ittle
  flower.

RACHEL: Honey, it’s beautiful. Don’t you want “Morning kiss” too?

LITTLE MARTHA: Yes, I do.

RACHEL: Come, honey. (_Rachel kisses her_). Are you going to give the
  pretty flower to Jenny’s teacher? (_Vigorous shakings of the head
  in denial_). Is it for--mother? (_More shakings of the head_). Is
  it for--let’s see--Daddy? (_More shakings of the head_). I give up.
  To whom are you going to give the pretty flower, honey?

LITTLE MARTHA (_Shyly_): “Oo.”

RACHEL: You, darling!

LITTLE MARTHA: Muzzer and I picked it--for “oo.” Here ’tis. (_Puts
  her finger in her mouth, and gives it shyly_).

RACHEL: Well, I’m going to pay you with three big kisses. One! Two!
  Three!

LITTLE MARTHA: I can count, One! Two! Free! Tan’t I? I am going to
  school soon; and I wants to put the flower in your hair.

RACHEL (_Kneels_): All right, baby. (_Little Martha fumbles and
  Rachel helps her_).

LITTLE MARTHA (_Dreamily_): Miss Rachel, the ’ittle flower loves
  you. It told me so. It said it wanted to lie in your hair. It is
  going to tell you a pitty ’ittle secret. You listen awful hard--and
  you’ll hear. I wish I were a fairy and had a little wand, I’d turn
  everything into flowers. Wouldn’t that be nice, Miss Rachel?

RACHEL: Lovely, honey!

LITTLE JENNY (_Snuffling loudly_): If I were a fairy and had a wand,
  I’d turn you, Miss Rachel, into a queen--and then I’d always be
  near you and see that you were happy.

RACHEL: Honey, how beautiful!

LITTLE LOUISE: I’d make my mother happy--if I were a fairy. She cries
  all the time. My father can’t get anything to do.

LITTLE NANCY: If I were a fairy, I’d turn a boy in my school into a
  spider. I hate him.

RACHEL: Honey, why?

LITTLE NANCY: I’ll tell you sometime--I hate him.

LITTLE EDITH: Where’s Jimmy, Miss Rachel?

RACHEL: He went long ago; and chickies, you’ll have to clear out,
  all of you, now, or you’ll be late. Shoo! Shoo! (_She drives them
  out prettily before her. They laugh merrily. They all go into the
  vestibule_).

TOM (_Slowly_): Does it ever strike you--how pathetic and tragic a
  thing--a little colored child is?

STRONG: Yes.

TOM: Today, we colored men and women, everywhere--are up against
  it. Every year, we are having a harder time of it. In the South,
  they make it as impossible as they can for us to get an education.
  We’re hemmed in on all sides. Our one safeguard--the ballot--in
  most states, is taken away already, or is being taken away.
  Economically, in a few lines, we have a slight show--but at what
  a cost! In the North, they make a pretence of liberality: they
  give us the ballot and a good education, and then--snuff us out.
  Each year, the problem just to live, gets more difficult to solve.
  How about these children--if we’re fools enough to have any?
  (RACHEL _reenters. Her face is drawn and pale. She returns to the
  kitchenette._)

STRONG (_Slowly, with emphasis_): That part--is damnable! (_A
  silence._)

TOM (_Suddenly looking at the clock_): It’s later than I thought.
  I’ll have to be pulling out of here now, if you don’t mind.
  (_Raising his voice_) Rachel! (_Rachel still drawn and pale,
  appears in the doorway of the kitchenette. She is without her
  apron_). I’ve got to go now, Sis. I leave John in your hands.

STRONG: I’ve got to go, myself, in a few minutes.

TOM: Nonsense, man! Sit still. I’ll begin to think, in a minute,
  you’re afraid of the ladies.

STRONG: I am.

TOM: What! And not ashamed to acknowledge it?

STRONG: No.

TOM: You’re lots wiser than I dreamed. So long! (_Gets hat out in the
  entry-way and returns; smiles wryly._) “Morituri Salutamus”. (_They
  nod at him--Rachel wistfully. He goes out. There is the sound of an
  opening and closing door. Rachel sits down. A rather uncomfortable
  silence, on the part of Rachel, ensues. Strong is imperturbable._)

RACHEL (_Nervously_): John!

STRONG: Well?

RACHEL: I--I listened.

STRONG: Listened! To what?

RACHEL: To you and Tom.

STRONG: Well,--what of it?

RACHEL: I didn’t think it was quite fair not to tell you. It--it
  seemed, well, like eavesdropping.

STRONG: Don’t worry about it. Nonsense!

RACHEL: I’m glad--I want to thank you for what you did for Tom. He
needs you, and will need you. You’ll help him?

STRONG: (_Thoughtfully_): Rachel, each one--has his own little
  battles. I’ll do what I can. After all, an outsider doesn’t help
  much.

RACHEL: But friendship--just friendship--helps.

STRONG: Yes. (_A silence_). Rachel, do you hear anything encouraging
  from the schools? Any hope for you yet?

RACHEL: No, nor ever will be. I know that now. There’s no more chance
  for me than there is for Tom,--or than there was for you--or for
  any of us with dark skins. It’s lucky for me that I love to keep
  house, and cook, and sew. I’ll never get anything else. Ma dear’s
  sewing, the little work Tom has been able to get, and the little
  sewing I sometimes get to do--keep us from the poorhouse. We live.
  According to your philosophy, I suppose, make the best of it--it
  might be worse.

STRONG (_Quietly_): You don’t want to get morbid over these things,
  you know.

RACHEL (_Scornfully_): That’s it. If you see things as they are,
  you’re either pessimistic or morbid.

STRONG: In the long run, do you believe, that attitude of mind--will
  be--beneficial to you? I’m ten years older than you. I tried your
  way. I know. Mine is the only sane one. (_Goes over to her slowly;
  deliberately puts his hands on her hair, and tips her head back. He
  looks down into her face quietly without saying anything_).

RACHEL (_Nervous and startled_): Why, John, don’t! (_He pays no
  attention, but continue to look down into her face_).

STRONG (_Half to himself_): Perhaps--if you had--a little more fun in
  your life, your point of view would be--more normal. I’ll arrange
  it so I can take you to some theatre, one night, this week.

RACHEL (_Irritably_): You talk as though I were a--a jellyfish.
  You’ll take me, how do you know _I’ll_ go?

STRONG: You will.

RACHEL (_Sarcastically_): Indeed! (STRONG _makes no reply_). I wonder
  if you know how--how--maddening you are. Why, you talk as though my
  will counts for nothing. It’s as if you’re trying to master me. I
  think a domineering man is detestable.

STRONG (_Softly_): If he’s, perhaps, _the_ man?

RACHEL (_Hurriedly, as though she had not heard_): Besides, some of
  these theatres put you off by yourself as though you had leprosy.
  I’m not going.

STRONG (_Smiling at her_): You know I wouldn’t ask you to go, under
  those circumstances. (_A silence_). Well, I must be going now.
  (_He takes her hand, and looks at it reverently. Rachel, at first
  resists; but he refuses to let go. When she finds it useless,
  she ceases to resist. He turns his head and smiles down into her
  face_). Rachel, I am coming back to see you, this evening.

RACHEL: I’m sure _we’ll_ all be very glad to see you.

STRONG (_Looking at her calmly_): I said--_you_. (_Very deliberately,
  he turns her hand palm upwards, leans over and kisses it; then
  he puts it back into her lap. He touches her cheek lightly_).
  Good-bye--little Rachel. (_Turns in the vestibule door and looks
  back, smiling_). Until tonight. (_He goes out. Rachel sits for
  some time without moving. She is lost in a beautiful day-dream.
  Presently she sighs happily, and after looking furtively around the
  room, lifts the palm John has kissed to her lips. She laughs shyly
  and jumping up, begins to hum. She opens the window at the rear of
  the room and then commences to thread the sewing-machine. She hums
  happily the whole time. A light rapping is heard at the outer door.
  Rachel listens. It stops, and begins again. There is something
  insistent, and yet hopeless in the sound. Rachel looking puzzled,
  goes out into the vestibule.... The door closes. Rachel, a black
  woman, poorly dressed, and a little ugly, black child come in.
  There is the stoniness of despair in the woman’s face. The child is
  thin, nervous, suspicious, frightened_).

MRS. LANE (_In a sharp, but toneless voice_): May I sit down? I’m
  tired.

RACHEL (_Puzzled, but gracious; draws up a chair for her_): Why,
  certainly.

MRS. LANE: No, you don’t know me--never even heard of me--nor I
  of you. I was looking at the vacant flat on this floor--and saw
  your name--on your door,--“Loving!” It’s a strange name to come
  across--in this world.--I thought, perhaps, you might give me some
  information. (_The child hides behind her mother and looks around
  at Rachel in a frightened way_).

RACHEL (_Smiling at the woman and child in a kindly manner_): I’ll be
  glad to tell you anything, I am able Mrs.--

MRS. LANE: Lane. What I want to know is, how do they treat the
  colored children in the school I noticed around the corner? (_The
  child clutches at her mother’s dress_).

RACHEL (_Perplexed_): Very well--I’m sure.

MRS. LANE (_Bluntly_): What reason have you for being sure?

RACHEL: Why, the little boy I’ve adopted goes there; and he’s very
  happy. All the children in this apartment-house go there too; and I
  know they’re happy.

MRS. LANE: Do you know how many colored children there are in the
  school?

RACHEL: Why, I should guess around thirty.

MRS. LANE: I see. (_Pauses_). What color is this little adopted boy
  of yours?

RACHEL (_Gently_): Why--he’s brown.

MRS. LANE: Any black children there?

RACHEL (_Nervously_): Why--yes.

MRS. LANE: Do you mind if I send Ethel over by the piano to sit?

RACHEL: N--no, certainly not. (_Places a chair by the piano and goes
  to the little girl holding out her hand. She smiles beautifully.
  The child gets farther behind her mother_).

MRS. LANE: She won’t go to you--she’s afraid of everybody now but her
  father and me. Come Ethel. (_Mrs. Lane takes the little girl by the
  hand and leads her to the chair. In a gentler voice_) Sit down,
  Ethel. (_Ethel obeys. When her mother starts back again toward
  Rachel, she holds out her hands pitifully. She makes no sound_).
  I’m not going to leave you, Ethel. I’ll be right over here. You
  can see me. (_The look of agony on the child’s face, as her mother
  leaves her, makes Rachel shudder_). Do you mind if we sit over here
  by the sewing-machine? Thank you. (_They move their chairs_).

RACHEL (_Looking at the little, pitiful figure watching its mother
  almost unblinkingly_): Does Ethel like apples, Mrs. Lane?

MRS. LANE: Yes.

RACHEL: Do you mind if I give her one?

MRS. LANE: No. Thank you, very much.

RACHEL (_Goes into the kitchenette and returns with a fringed napkin,
  a plate, and a big, red apple, cut into quarters. She goes to the
  little girl, who cowers away from her; very gently_). Here, dear,
  little girl, is a beautiful apple for you. (_The gentle tones have
  no appeal for the trembling child before her_).

MRS. LANE (_Coming forward_): I’m sorry, but I’m afraid she won’t
  take it from you. Ethel, the kind lady has given you an apple.
  Thank her nicely. Here! I’ll spread the napkin for you, and put the
  plate in your lap. Thank the lady like a good little girl.

ETHEL (_Very low_): Thank you. (_They return to their seats. Ethel
  with difficulty holds the plate in her lap. During the rest of the
  interview between Rachel and her mother, she divides her attention
  between the apple on the plate and her mother’s face. She makes
  no attempt to eat the apple, but holds the plate in her lap with
  a care that is painful to watch. Often, too, she looks over her
  shoulder fearfully. The conversation between Rachel and her mother
  is carried on in low tones_).

MRS. LANE: I’ve got to move--it’s _Ethel_.

RACHEL: What is the matter with that child? It’s--it’s heartbreaking
  to see her.

MRS. LANE: I understand how you feel,--I don’t feel anything, myself,
  any more. (_A pause_). My husband and I are poor, and we’re ugly
  and we’re black. Ethel looks like her father more than she does
  like me. We live in 55th Street--near the railroad. It’s a poor
  neighborhood, but the rent’s cheap. My husband is a porter in a
  store; and, to help out, I’m a caretaker. (_Pauses_). I don’t know
  why I’m telling you all this. We had a nice little home--and the
  three of us were happy. Now we’ve got to move.

RACHEL: Move! Why?

MRS. LANE: It’s Ethel. I put her in school this September. She stayed
  two weeks. (_Pointing to Ethel_) That’s the result.

RACHEL (_In horror_): You mean--that just two weeks--in school--did
  that?

MRS. LANE: Yes. Ethel never had a sick day in her life--before. (_A
  brief pause_). I took her to the doctor at the end of the two
  weeks. He says she’s a nervous wreck.

RACHEL: But what could they have done to her?

MRS. LANE (_Laughs grimly and mirthlessly_): I’ll tell you what they
  did the first day. Ethel is naturally sensitive and backward.
  She’s not assertive. The teacher saw that, and, after I had left,
  told her to sit in a seat in the rear of the class. She was alone
  there--in a corner. The children, immediately feeling there was
  something wrong with Ethel because of the teacher’s attitude,
  turned and stared at her. When the teacher’s back was turned they
  whispered about her, pointed their fingers at her and tittered. The
  teacher divided the class into two parts, divisions, I believe,
  they are called. She forgot all about Ethel, of course, until the
  last minute, and then, looking back, said sharply: “That little
  girl there may join this division,” meaning the group of pupils
  standing around her. Ethel naturally moved slowly. The teacher
  called her sulky and told her to lose a part of her recess. When
  Ethel came up--the children drew away from her in every direction.
  She was left standing alone. The teacher then proceeded to give a
  lesson about kindness to animals. Funny, isn’t it, _kindness_ to
  _animals_? The children forgot Ethel in the excitement of talking
  about their pets. Presently, the teacher turned to Ethel and said
  disagreeably: “Have you a pet?” Ethel said, “Yes,” very low. “Come,
  speak up, you sulky child, what is it?” Ethel said: “A blind
  puppy.” They all laughed, the teacher and all. Strange, isn’t it,
  but Ethel loves that puppy. She spoke up: “It’s mean to laugh at a
  little blind puppy. I’m glad he’s blind.” This remark brought forth
  more laughter. “Why are you glad,” the teacher asked curiously.
  Ethel refused to say. (_Pauses_). When I asked her why, do you know
  what she told me? “If he saw me, he might not love me any more.”
  (_A pause_). Did I tell you that Ethel is only seven years old?

RACHEL (_Drawing her breath sharply_): Oh! I didn’t believe any one
  could be as cruel as that--to a little child.

MRS. LANE: It isn’t very pleasant, is it? When the teacher found out
  that Ethel wouldn’t answer, she said severely: “Take your seat!” At
  recess, all the children went out. Ethel could hear them playing
  and laughing and shrieking. Even the teacher went too. She was
  made to sit there all alone--in that big room--because God made
  her ugly--and black. (_Pauses_). When the recess was half over the
  teacher came back. “You may go now,” she said coldly. Ethel didn’t
  stir. “Did you hear me?” “Yes’m.” “Why don’t you obey?” “I don’t
  want to go out, please.” “You don’t, don’t you, you stubborn child!
  Go immediately!” Ethel went. She stood by the school steps. No one
  spoke to her. The children near her moved away in every direction.
  They stopped playing, many of them, and watched her. They stared as
  only children can stare. Some began whispering about her. Presently
  one child came up and ran her hand roughly over Ethel’s face. She
  looked at her hand and Ethel’s face and ran screaming back to the
  others, “It won’t come off! See!” Other children followed the
  first child’s example. Then one boy spoke up loudly: “I know what
  she is, she’s a nigger!” Many took up the cry. God or the devil
  interfered--the bell rang. The children filed in. One boy boldly
  called her “Nigger!” before the teacher. She said, “That isn’t
  nice,”--but she smiled at the boy. Things went on about the same
  for the rest of the day. At the end of school, Ethel put on her hat
  and coat--the teacher made her hang them at a distance from the
  other pupils’ wraps; and started for home. Quite a crowd escorted
  her. They called her “Nigger!” all the way. I _made_ Ethel go the
  next day. I complained to the authorities. They treated me lightly.
  I was determined not to let them force my child out of school. At
  the end of two weeks--I had to take her out.

RACHEL (_Brokenly_): Why,--I never--in all my life--heard
  anything--so--pitiful.

MRS. LANE: Did you ever go to school here?

RACHEL: Yes. I was made to feel my color--but I never had an
  experience like that.

MRS. LANE: How many years ago were you in the graded schools?

RACHEL: Oh!--around ten.

MRS. LANE (_Laughs grimly_): Ten years! Every year things are getting
  worse. Last year wasn’t as bad as this. (_Pauses._) So they treat
  the children all right in this school?

RACHEL: Yes! Yes! I know that.

MRS. LANE: I can’t afford to take this flat here, but I’ll take it.
  I’m going to have Ethel educated. Although, when you think of
  it,--it’s all rather useless--this education! What are our children
  going to do with it, when they get it? We strive and save and
  sacrifice to educate them--and the whole time--down underneath, we
  know--they’ll have no chance.

RACHEL (_Sadly_): Yes, that’s true, all right.--God seems to have
  forgotten us.

MRS. LANE: God! It’s all a lie about God. I know.--This fall I
  sent Ethel to a white Sunday-school near us. She received the
  same treatment there she did in the day school. Her being there,
  nearly broke up the school. At the end, the superintendent called
  her to him and asked her if she didn’t know of some nice colored
  Sunday-school. He told her she must feel out of place, and
  uncomfortable there. That’s your Church of God!

RACHEL: Oh! how unspeakably brutal. (_Controls herself with an
  effort; after a pause_) Have you any other children?

MRS. LANE (_Dryly_): Hardly! If I had another--I’d kill it. It’s
  kinder. (_Rising presently_) Well, I must go, now. Thank you,
  for your information--and for listening. (_Suddenly_) You aren’t
  married, are you?

RACHEL: No.

MRS. LANE: Don’t marry--that’s my advice. Come, Ethel. (_Ethel gets
  up and puts down the things in her lap, carefully upon her chair.
  She goes in a hurried, timid way to her mother and clutches her
  hand_). Say good-bye to the lady.

ETHEL (_Faintly_): Good-bye.

RACHEL _(Kneeling by the little girl--a beautiful smile on her
  face_) Dear little girl, won’t you let me kiss you good-bye? I
  love little girls. (_The child hides behind her mother; continuing
  brokenly_) Oh!--no child--ever did--that to me--before!

MRS. LANE (_In a gentler voice_): Perhaps, when we move in here,
  the first of the month, things may be better. Thank you, again.
  Good-morning! You don’t belie your name. (_All three go into the
  vestibule. The outside door opens and closes. Rachel as though
  dazed and stricken returns. She sits in a chair, leans forward, and
  clasping her hands loosely between her knees, stares at the chair
  with the apple on it where Ethel Lane has sat. She does not move
  for some time. Then she gets up and goes to the window in the rear
  center and sits there. She breathes in the air deeply and then goes
  to the sewing-machine and begins to sew on something she is making.
  Presently her feet slow down on the pedals; she stops; and begins
  brooding again. After a short pause, she gets up and begins to pace
  up and down slowly, mechanically, her head bent forward. The sharp
  ringing of the electric bell breaks in upon this. Rachel starts and
  goes slowly into the vestibule. She is heard speaking dully through
  the tube_).

RACHEL: Yes!--All right! Bring it up! (_Presently she returns with
  a long flower box. She opens it listlessly at the table. Within
  are six, beautiful crimson rosebuds with long stems. Rachel looks
  at the name on the card. She sinks down slowly on her knee and
  leans her head against the table. She sighs wearily_) Oh! John!
  John!--What are we to do?--I’m--I’m--afraid! Everywhere--it is
  the same thing. My mother! My little brother! Little, black,
  crushed Ethel! (_In a whisper_) Oh! God! You who I have been
  taught to believe are so good, so beautiful how could--You
  permit--these--things? (_Pauses, raises her head and sees the
  rosebuds. Her face softens and grows beautiful, very sweetly_).
  Dear little rosebuds--you--make me think--of sleeping, curled
  up, happy babies. Dear beautiful, little rosebuds! (_Pauses;
  goes on thoughtfully to the rosebuds_) When--I look--at you--I
  believe--God is beautiful. He who can make a little exquisite thing
  like this, and this can’t be cruel. Oh! He can’t mean me--to give
  up--love--and the hope of little children. (_There is the sound of
  a small hand knocking at the outer door. Rachel smiles_). My Jimmy!
  It must be twelve o’clock. (_Rises_). I didn’t dream it was so
  late. (_Starts for the vestibule_). Oh! the world can’t be so bad.
  I don’t believe it. I won’t. I _must_ forget that little girl. My
  little Jimmy is happy--and today John--sent me beautiful rosebuds.
  Oh, there are lovely things, yet. (_Goes into the vestibule. A
  child’s eager cry is heard; and Rachel carrying Jimmy in her arms
  comes in. He has both arms about her neck and is hugging her. With
  him in her arms, she sits down in the armchair at the right front_).

RACHEL: Well, honey, how was school today?

JIMMY (_Sobering a trifle_): All right, Ma Rachel. (_Suddenly sees
  the roses_) Oh! look at the pretty flowers. Why, Ma Rachel, you
  forgot to put them in water. They’ll die.

RACHEL: Well, so they will. Hop down this minute, and I’ll put them
  in right away. (_Gathers up box and flowers and goes into the
  kitchenette. Jimmy climbs back into the chair. He looks thoughtful
  and serious. Rachel comes back with the buds in a tall, glass vase.
  She puts the fern on top of the piano, and places the vase in the
  centre of the table_). There, honey, that’s better, isn’t it?
  Aren’t they lovely?

JIMMY: Yes, that’s lots better. Now they won’t die, will they?
  Rosebuds are just like little “chilyun,” aren’t they, Ma Rachel?
  If you are good to them, they’ll grow up into lovely roses, won’t
  they? And if you hurt them, they’ll die. Ma Rachel do you think
  all peoples are kind to little rosebuds?

RACHEL (_Watching Jimmy shortly_): Why, of course. Who could hurt
  little children? Who would have the heart to do such a thing?

JIMMY: If you hurt them, it would be lots kinder, wouldn’t it, to
  kill them all at once, and not a little bit and a little bit?

RACHEL (_Sharply_): Why, honey boy, why are you talking like this?

JIMMY: Ma Rachel, what is a “Nigger”?

          (_Rachel recoils as though she had been struck_).

RACHEL: Honey boy, why--why do you ask that?

JIMMY: Some big boys called me that when I came out of school just
  now. They said: “Look at the little nigger!” And they laughed. One
  of them runned, no ranned, after me and threw stones; and they all
  kept calling “Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!” One stone struck me hard in
  the back, and it hurt awful bad; but I didn’t cry, Ma Rachel. I
  wouldn’t let them make me cry. The stone hurts me there, Ma Rachel;
  but what they called me hurts and hurts here. What is a “Nigger,”
  Ma Rachel?

RACHEL (_Controlling herself with a tremendous effort. At last she
  sweeps down upon him and hugs and kisses him_): Why, honey boy,
  those boys didn’t mean anything. Silly, little, honey boy! They’re
  rough, that’s all. How _could_ they mean anything?

JIMMY: You’re only saying that, Ma Rachel, so I won’t be hurt. I
  know. It wouldn’t ache here like it does--if they didn’t mean
  something.

RACHEL (_Abruptly_): Where’s Mary, honey?

JIMMY: She’s in her flat. She came in just after I did.

RACHEL: Well, honey, I’m going to give you two big cookies and two to
  take to Mary; and you may stay in there and play with her, till I
  get your lunch ready. Won’t that be jolly?

JIMMY (_Brightening a little_): Why, you never give me but one at a
  time. You’ll give me two?--One? Two? (_Rachel gets the cookies and
  brings them to him. Jimmy climbs down from the chair_). Shoo! now,
  little honey boy. See how many laughs you can make for me, before I
  come after you. Hear? Have a good time, now. (_Jimmy starts for the
  door quickly; but he begins to slow down. His face gets long and
  serious again. Rachel watches him_).

RACHEL (_Jumping at him_): Shoo! Shoo! Get out of here quickly,
  little chicken. (_She follows him out. The outer door opens and
  shuts. Presently she returns. She looks old and worn and grey;
  calmly. Pauses_). First, it’s little, black Ethel--and then’s
  it’s Jimmy. Tomorrow, it will be some other little child. The
  blight--sooner or later--strikes all. My little Jimmy, only
  seven years old poisoned! (_Through the open window comes the
  laughter of little children at play. Rachel, shuddering, covers
  her ears_). And once I said, centuries ago, it must have been:
  “How can life be so terrible, when there are little children in
  the world?” Terrible! Terrible! (_In a whisper, slowly_) That’s
  the reason it is so terrible. (_The laughter reaches her again;
  this time she listens_). And, suddenly, some day, from out of the
  black, the blight shall descend, and shall still forever--the
  laughter on those little lips, and in those little hearts. (_Pauses
  thoughtfully_). And the loveliest thing--almost, that ever happened
  to me, that beautiful voice, in my dream, those beautiful words:
  “Rachel, you are to be the mother to little children.” (_Pauses,
  then slowly and with dawning surprise_). Why, God, you were making
  a mock of me; you were laughing at me. I didn’t believe God could
  laugh at our sufferings, but He can. We are accursed, accursed!
  We have nothing, absolutely nothing. (_Strong’s rosebuds attract
  her attention. She goes over to them, puts her hand out as if to
  touch them, and then shakes her head, very sweetly_) No, little
  rosebuds, I may not touch you. Dear, little, baby rosebuds,--I
  am accursed. (_Gradually her whole form stiffens, she breathes
  deeply; at last slowly_). You God!--You terrible, laughing God!
  Listen! I swear--and may my soul be damned to all eternity,
  if I do break this oath--I swear--that no child of mine shall
  ever lie upon my breast, for I will not have it rise up, in the
  terrible days that are to be--and call me cursed. (_A pause, very
  wistfully; questioningly_). Never to know the loveliest thing in
  all the world--the feel of a little head, the touch of little
  hands, the beautiful utter dependence--of a little child? (_With
  sudden frenzy_) You can laugh, Oh God! Well, so can I. (_Bursts
  into terrible, racking laughter_) But I can be kinder than You.
  (_Fiercely she snatches the rosebuds from the vase, grasps them
  roughly, tears each head from the stem, and grinds it under her
  feet. The vase goes over with a crash; the water drips unheeded
  over the table-cloth and floor_). If I kill, You Mighty God, I kill
  at once--I do not torture. (_Falls face downward on the floor. The
  laughter of the children shrills loudly through the window_).




                               ACT III




                              ACT III.


  TIME: _Seven o’clock in the evening, one week later_.

  PLACE: _The same room. There is a coal fire in the grate. The
    curtains are drawn. A lighted oil lamp with a dark green
    porcelain shade is in the center of the table. Mrs. Loving and
    Tom are sitting by the table, Mrs. Loving sewing, Tom reading.
    There is the sound of much laughter and the shrill screaming of
    a child from the bedrooms. Presently Jimmy clad in a flannelet
    sleeping suit, covering all of him but his head and hands, chases
    a pillow, which has come flying through the doorway at the rear.
    He struggles with it, finally gets it in his arms, and rushes as
    fast as he can through the doorway again. Rachel jumps at him
    with a cry. He drops the pillow and shrieks. There is a tussle
    for possession of it, and they disappear. The noise grows louder
    and merrier. Tom puts down his paper and grins. He looks at his
    mother._

TOM: Well, who’s the giddy one in this family now?

MRS. LOVING (_Shaking her head in a troubled manner_): I don’t like
  it. It worries me. Rachel--(_Breaks off_).

TOM: Have you found out, yet--

MRS. LOVING (_Turning and looking toward the rear doorway, quickly
  interrupting him_): Sh! (_Rachel, laughing, her hair tumbling over
  her shoulders, comes rushing into the room. Jimmy is in close
  pursuit. He tries to catch her, but she dodges him. They are both
  breathless_).

MRS. LOVING (_Deprecatingly_): Really, Rachel, Jimmy will be so
  excited he won’t be able to sleep. It’s after his bedtime, now.
  Don’t you think you had better stop?

RACHEL: All right, Ma dear. Come on, Jimmy; let’s play “Old Folks”
  and sit by the fire. (_She begins to push the big armchair over to
  the fire. Tom jumps up, moves her aside, and pushes it himself.
  Jimmy renders assistance._)

TOM: Thanks, Big Fellow, you are “sure some” strong. I’ll remember
  you when these people around here come for me to move pianos and
  such things around. Shake! (_They shake hands_).

JIMMY (_Proudly_): I am awful strong, am I not?

TOM: You “sure” are a Hercules. (_Hurriedly, as Jimmy’s mouth and
  eyes open wide_). And see here! don’t ask me tonight who that was.
  I’ll tell you the first thing tomorrow morning. Hear? (_Returns to
  his chair and paper_).

RACHEL (_Sitting down_): Come on, honey boy, and sit in my lap.

JIMMY (_Doubtfully_): I thought we were going to play “Old Folks.”

RACHEL: We are.

JIMMY: Do old folks sit in each other’s laps?

RACHEL: Old folks do anything. Come on.

JIMMY (_Hesitatingly climbs into her lap, but presently snuggles
  down and sighs audibly from sheer content; Rachel starts to bind
  up her hair_): Ma Rachel, don’t please! I like your hair like
  that. You’re--you’re pretty. I like to feel of it; and it smells
  like--like--oh!--like a barn.

RACHEL: My! how complimentary! I like that. Like a barn, indeed!

JIMMY: What’s “complimentry”?

RACHEL: Oh! saying nice things about me. (_Pinching his cheek and
  laughing_) That my hair is like a barn, for instance.

JIMMY (_Stoutly_): Well, that is “complimentary.” It smells like
  hay--like the hay in the barn you took me to, one day, last summer.
  ’Member?

RACHEL: Yes honey.

JIMMY (_After a brief pause_): Ma Rachel!

RACHEL: Well?

JIMMY: Tell me a story, please. It’s “story-time,” now, isn’t it?

RACHEL: Well, let’s see. (_They both look into the fire for a space;
  beginning softly_) Once upon a time, there were two, dear, little
  boys, and they were all alone in the world. They lived with a
  cruel, old man and woman, who made them work hard, very hard--all
  day, and beat them when they did not move fast enough, and always,
  every night, before they went to bed. They slept in an attic on
  a rickety, narrow bed, that went screech! screech! whenever they
  moved. And, in summer, they nearly died with the heat up there,
  and in winter, with the cold. One wintry night, when they were
  both weeping very bitterly after a particularly hard beating, they
  suddenly heard a pleasant voice saying: “Why are you crying, little
  boys?” They looked up, and there, in the moonlight, by their bed,
  was the dearest, little old lady. She was dressed all in gray,
  from the peak of her little pointed hat to her little, buckled
  shoes. She held a black cane much taller than her little self.
  Her hair fell about her ears in tiny, grey corkscrew curls, and
  they bobbed about as she moved. Her eyes were black and bright--as
  bright as--well, as that lovely, white light there. No, there! And
  her cheeks were as red as the apple I gave you yesterday. Do you
  remember?

JIMMY (_Dreamily_): Yes.

RACHEL: “Why are you crying, little boys?” she asked again, in a
  lovely, low, little voice. “Because we are tired and sore and
  hungry and cold; and we are all alone in the world; and we don’t
  know how to laugh any more. We should so like to laugh again.”
  “Why, that’s easy,” she said, “it’s just like this.” And she
  laughed a little, joyous, musical laugh. “Try!” she commanded.
  They tried, but their laughing boxes were very rusty, and they
  made horrid sounds. “Well,” she said, “I advise you to pack up,
  and go away, as soon as you can, to the Land of Laughter. You’ll
  soon learn there, I can tell you.” “Is there such a land?” they
  asked doubtfully. “To be sure there is,” she answered the least bit
  sharply. “We never heard of it,” they said. “Well, I’m sure there
  must be plenty of things you never heard about,” she said just
  the “leastest” bit more sharply. “In a moment you’ll be telling
  me flowers don’t talk together, and the birds.” “We never heard
  of such a thing,” they said in surprise, their eyes like saucers.
  “There!” she said, bobbing her little curls. “What did I tell you?
  You have much to learn.” “How do you get to the Land of Laughter?”
  they asked. “You go out of the eastern gate of the town, just as
  the sun is rising; and you take the highway there, and follow it;
  and if you go with it long enough, it will bring you to the very
  gates of the Land of Laughter. It’s a long, long way from here;
  and it will take you many days.” The words had scarcely left her
  mouth, when, lo! the little lady disappeared, and where she had
  stood was the white square of moonlight--nothing else. And without
  more ado these two little boys put their arms around each other
  and fell fast asleep. And in the grey, just before daybreak, they
  awoke and dressed; and, putting on their ragged caps and mittens,
  for it was a wintry day, they stole out of the house and made for
  the eastern gate. And just as they reached it, and passed through,
  the whole east leapt into fire. All day they walked, and many
  days thereafter, and kindly people, by the way, took them in and
  gave them food and drink and sometimes a bed at night. Often they
  slept by the roadside, but they didn’t mind that for the climate
  was delightful--not too hot, and not too cold. They soon threw away
  their ragged little mittens. They walked for many days, and there
  was no Land of Laughter. Once they met an old man, richly dressed,
  with shining jewels on his fingers, and he stopped them and asked:
  “Where are you going so fast, little boys?” “We are going to the
  Land of Laughter,” they said together gravely. “That,” said the
  old man, “is a very foolish thing to do. Come with me, and I will
  take you to the Land of Riches. I will cover you with garments of
  beauty, and give you jewels and a castle to live in and servants
  and horses and many things besides.” And they said to him: “No,
  we wish to learn how to laugh again; we have forgotten how, and
  we are going to the Land of Laughter.” “You will regret not going
  with me. See, if you don’t,” he said; and he left them in quite
  a huff. And they walked again, many days, and again they met an
  old man. He was tall and imposing-looking and very dignified.
  And he said: “Where are you going so fast, little boys?” “We are
  going to the Land of Laughter,” they said together very seriously.
  “What!” he said, “that is an extremely foolish thing to do. Come
  with me, and I will give you power. I will make you great men:
  generals, kings, emperors, Whatever you desire to accomplish will
  be permitted you.” And they smiled politely: “Thank you very much,
  but we have forgotten how to laugh, and we are going there to
  learn how.” He looked upon them haughtily, without speaking, and
  disappeared. And they walked and walked more days; and they met
  another old man. And he was clad in rags, and his face was thin,
  and his eyes were unhappy. And he whispered to them: “Where are
  you going so fast, little boys?” “We are going to the Land of
  Laughter,” they answered, without a smile. “Laughter! Laughter!
  that is useless. Come with me and I will show you the beauty of
  life through sacrifice, suffering for others. That is the only
  life. I come from the Land of Sacrifice.” And they thanked him
  kindly, but said: “We have suffered long enough. We have forgotten
  how to laugh. We would learn again.” And they went on; and he
  looked after them very wistfully. They walked more days, and at
  last they came to the Land of Laughter. And how do you suppose they
  knew this? Because they could hear, over the wall, the sound of
  joyous laughter,--the laughter of men, women, and children. And one
  sat guarding the gate, and they went to her. “We have come a long,
  long distance; and we would enter the Land of Laughter.” “Let me
  see you smile, first,” she said gently. “I sit at the gate; and no
  one who does not know how to smile may enter the Land of Laughter.”
  And they tried to smile, but could not. “Go away and practice,”
  she said kindly, “and come back tomorrow.” And they went away, and
  practiced all night how to smile; and in the morning they returned,
  and the gentle lady at the gate said: “Dear little boys, have you
  learned how to smile?” And they said: “We have tried. How is this?”
  “Better,” she said, “much better. Practice some more, and come
  back tomorrow.” And they went away obediently and practiced, And
  they came the third day. And she said: “Now try again.” And tears
  of delight came into her lovely eyes. “Those were very beautiful
  smiles,” she said. “Now, you may enter.” And she unlocked the gate,
  and kissed them both, and they entered the Land--the beautiful Land
  of Laughter. Never had they seen such blue skies, such green trees
  and grass; never had they heard such birds songs. And people, men,
  women and children, laughing softly, came to meet them, and took
  them in, and made them as home; and soon, very soon, they learned
  to sleep. And they grew up here, and married, and had laughing,
  happy children. And sometimes they thought of the Land of Riches,
  and said: “Ah! well!” and sometimes of the Land of Power, and
  sighed a little; and sometimes of the Land of Sacrifice--and their
  eyes were wistful. But they soon forgot, and laughed again. And
  they grew old, laughing. And then when they died--a laugh was on
  their lips. Thus are things in the beautiful Land of Laughter.
  (_There is a long pause_).

JIMMY: I like that story, Ma Rachel. It’s nice to laugh, isn’t is? Is
  there such a land?

RACHEL (_Softly_): What do you think, honey?

JIMMY: I thinks it would be awful nice if there was. Don’t you?

RACHEL (_Wistfully_): If there only were! If there only were!

JIMMY: Ma Rachel.

RACHEL: Well?

JIMMY: It makes you think--kind of--doesn’t it--of sunshine medicine?

RACHEL: Yes, honey,--but it isn’t medicine there. It’s always
  there--just like--well--like our air here. It’s _always_ sunshine
  there.

JIMMY: Always sunshine? Never any dark?

RACHEL: No, honey.

JIMMY: You’d--never--be--afraid there, then, would you? Never afraid
  of nothing?

RACHEL: No, honey.

JIMMY (_With a big sigh_): Oh!--Oh! I _wisht_ it was here--not there.
  (_Puts his hand up to Rachel’s face; suddenly sits up and looks at
  her_). Why, Ma Rachel dear, you’re crying. Your face is all wet.
  Why! Don’t cry! Don’t cry!

RACHEL (_Gently_): Do you remember that I told you the lady at the
  gate had tears of joy in her eyes, when the two, dear, little boys
  smiled that beautiful smile?

JIMMY: Yes.

RACHEL: Well, these are tears of joy, honey, that’s all--tears of joy.

JIMMY: It must be awful queer to have tears of joy, ’cause you’re
  happy. I never did. (_With a sigh_). But, if you say they are, dear
  Ma Rachel, they must be. You knows everything, don’t you?

RACHEL (_Sadly_): Some things, honey, some things. (_A silence_).

JIMMY (_Sighing happily_): This is the beautiful-est night I ever
  knew. If you would do just one more thing, it would be lots more
  beautiful. Will you, Ma Rachel?

RACHEL: Well, what, honey?

JIMMY: Will you sing--at the piano, I mean, it’s lots prettier that
  way--the little song you used to rock me to sleep by? You know, the
  one about the “Slumber Boat”?

RACHEL: Oh! honey, not tonight. You’re too tired. It’s bedtime now.

JIMMY (_Patting her face with his little hand; wheedlingly_): Please!
  Ma Rachel, please! pretty please!

RACHEL: Well, honey boy, this once, then. Tonight, you shall have the
  little song--I used to sing you to sleep by (_half to herself_)
  perhaps, for the last time.

JIMMY: Why, Ma Rachel, why the last time?

RACHEL (_Shaking her head sadly, goes to the piano; in a whisper_):
  The last time. (_She twists up her hair into a knot at the back
  of her head and looks at the keys for a few moments; then she
  plays the accompaniment of the “Slumber Boat” through softly,
  and, after a moment, sings. Her voice is full of pent-up longing,
  and heartbreak, and hopelessness. She ends in a little sob, but
  attempts to cover it by singing, lightly and daintily, the chorus
  of “The Owl and the Moon.” ... Then softly and with infinite
  tenderness, almost against her will, she plays and sings again the
  refrain of the “Slumber Boat”_):

      “Sail, baby, sail
        Out from that sea,
      Only don’t forget to sail
        Back again to me.”

  (_Presently she rises and goes to Jimmy, who is lolling back
  happily in the big chair. During the singing, Tom and Mrs. Loving
  apparently do not listen; when she sobs, however, Tom’s hand on
  his paper tightens; Mrs. Loving’s needle poises for a moment in
  mid-air. Neither looks at Rachel. Jimmy evidently has not noticed
  the sob_).

RACHEL (_Kneeling by Jimmy_): Well, honey, how did you like it?

JIMMY (_Proceeding to pull down her hair from the twist_): It was
  lovely, Ma Rachel. (_Yawns audibly_). Now, Ma Rachel, I’m just
  beautifully sleepy. (_Dreamily_) I think that p’r’aps I’ll go to
  the Land of Laughter tonight in my dreams. I’ll go in the “Slumber
  Boat” and come back in the morning and tell you all about it. Shall
  I?

RACHEL: Yes, honey. (_Whispers_)

      “Only don’t forget to sail
        Back again to me.”

TOM (_Suddenly_): Rachel! (_Rachel starts slightly_). I nearly
  forgot. John is coming here tonight to see how you are. He told me
  to tell you so.

RACHEL (_Stiffens perceptibly, then in different tones_): Very
  well. Thank you. (_Suddenly with a little cry she puts her arms
  around Jimmy_) Jimmy! honey! don’t go tonight. Don’t go without Ma
  Rachel. Wait for me, honey. I do so wish to go, too, to the Land of
  Laughter. Think of it, Jimmy; nothing but birds always singing, and
  flowers always blooming, and skies always blue--and people, all of
  them, always laughing, laughing. You’ll wait for Ma Rachel, won’t
  you, honey?

JIMMY: Is there really and truly, Ma Rachel, a Land of Laughter?

RACHEL: Oh! Jimmy, let’s hope so; let’s pray so.

JIMMY (_Frowns_): I’ve been thinking--(_Pauses_). You have to smile
  at the gate, don’t you, to get in?

RACHEL: Yes, honey.

JIMMY: Well, I guess I couldn’t smile if my Ma Rachel wasn’t
  somewhere close to me. So I couldn’t get in after all, could I?
  Tonight, I’ll go somewhere else, and tell you all about it. And
  then, some day, we’ll go together, won’t we?

RACHEL (_Sadly_): Yes, honey, some day--some day. (_A short
  silence_). Well, this isn’t going to “sleepy-sleep,” is it? Go,
  now, and say good-night to Ma Loving and Uncle Tom.

JIMMY (_Gets down obediently, and goes first to Ma Loving. She leans
  over, and he puts his little arms around her neck. They kiss; very
  sweetly_): Sweet dreams! God keep you all the night!

MRS. LOVING: The sweetest of sweet dreams to you, dear little boy!
  Good-night! (_Rachel watches, unwatched, the scene. Her eyes are
  full of yearning_).

JIMMY (_Going to Tom, who makes believe he does not see him_): Uncle
  Tom!

TOM _(Jumps as though tremendously startled; Jimmy laughs_): My! how
  you frightened me. You’ll put my gizzard out of commission, if you
  do that often. Well, sir, what can I do for you?

JIMMY: I came to say good-night.

TOM (_Gathering Jimmy up in his arms and kissing him; gently and with
  emotion_) Good-night, dear little Big Fellow! Good-night!

JIMMY: Sweet dreams! God keep you all the night! (_Goes sedately to
  Rachel, and holds out his little hand_). I’m ready, Ma Rachel.
  (_Yawns_) I’m so nice and sleepy.

RACHEL (_With Jimmy’s hand in hers, she hesitates a moment, and then
  approaches Tom slowly. For a short time she stands looking down at
  him; suddenly leaning over him_): Why, Tom, what a pretty tie! Is
  it new?

TOM: Well, no, not exactly. I’ve had it about a month. It is rather a
  beauty, isn’t it?

RACHEL: Why, I never remember seeing it.

TOM (_Laughing_): I guess not. I saw to that.

RACHEL: Stingy!

TOM: Well, I am--where my ties are concerned. I’ve had experience.

RACHEL (_Tentatively_): Tom!

TOM: Well?

RACHEL (_Nervously and wistfully_): Are you--will you--I mean, won’t
  you be home this evening?

TOM: You’ve got a long memory, Sis. I’ve that engagement, you know.
  Why?

RACHEL (_Slowly_): I forgot; so you have.

TOM: Why?

RACHEL (_Hastily_): Oh! nothing--nothing. Come on, Jimmy boy, you can
  hardly keep those little peepers open, can you? Come on, honey.
  (_Rachel and Jimmy go out the rear doorway. There is a silence_).

MRS. LOVING (_Slowly, as though thinking aloud_): I try to make out
  what could have happened; but it’s no use--I can’t. Those four
  days, she lay in bed hardly moving, scarcely speaking. Only her
  eyes seemed alive. I never saw such a wide, tragic look in my life.
  It was as though her soul had been mortally wounded. But how? how?
  What could have happened?

TOM (_Quietly_): I don’t know. She generally tells me everything; but
  she avoids me now. If we are alone in a room--she gets out. I don’t
  know what it means.

MRS. LOVING: She will hardly let Jimmy out of her sight. While he’s
  at school, she’s nervous and excited. She seems always to be
  listening, but for what? When he returns, she nearly devours him.
  And she always asks him in a frightened sort of way, her face as
  pale and tense as can be: “Well, honey boy, how was school today?”
  And he always answers, “Fine, Ma Rachel, fine! I learned--”; and
  then he goes on to tell her everything that has happened. And when
  he has finished, she says in an uneasy sort of way: “Is--is that
  all?” And when he says “Yes,” she relaxes and becomes limp. After a
  little while she becomes feverishly happy. She plays with Jimmy and
  the children more than ever she did--and she played a good deal,
  as you know. They’re here, or she’s with them. Yesterday, I said
  in remonstrance, when she came in, her face pale and haggard and
  black hollows under her eyes: “Rachel, remember you’re just out of
  a sick-bed. You’re not well enough to go on like this.” “I know,”
  was all she would say, “but I’ve got to. I can’t help myself.
  This part of their little lives must be happy--it just must be.”
  (_Pauses_). The last couple of nights, Jimmy has awakened and cried
  most pitifully. She wouldn’t let me go to him; said I had enough
  trouble, and she could quiet him. She never will let me know why
  he cries; but she stays with him, and soothes him until, at last,
  he falls asleep again. Every time she has come out like a rag; and
  her face is like a dead woman’s. Strange isn’t it, this is the
  first time we have ever been able to talk it over? Tom, what could
  have happened?

TOM: I don’t know, Ma, but I feel, as you do; something terrible
  and sudden has hurt her soul; and, poor little thing, she’s
  trying bravely to readjust herself to life again. (_Pauses, looks
  at his watch and then rises, and goes to her. He pats her back
  awkwardly_). Well, Ma, I’m going now. Don’t worry too much. Youth,
  you know, gets over things finally. It takes them hard, that’s
  all--. At least, that’s what the older heads tell us. (_Gets his
  hat and stands in the vestibule doorway_). Ma, you know, I begin
  with John tomorrow. (_With emotion_) I don’t believe we’ll ever
  forget John. Good-night! (_Exit. Mrs. Loving continues to sew.
  Rachel, her hair arranged, reenters through the rear doorway. She
  is humming_).

RACHEL: He’s sleeping like a top. Aren’t little children, Ma dear,
  the sweetest things, when they’re all helpless and asleep? One
  little hand is under his cheek; and he’s smiling. (_Stops suddenly,
  biting her lips. A pause_) Where’s Tom?

MRS. LOVING: He went out a few minutes ago.

RACHEL (_Sitting in Tom’s chair and picking up his paper. She is
  exceedingly nervous. She looks the paper over rapidly; presently
  trying to make her tone casual_): Ma,--you--you--aren’t going
  anywhere tonight, are you?

MRS. LOVING: I’ve got to go out for a short time about half-past
  eight. Mrs. Jordan, you know. I’ll not be gone very long, though.
  Why?

RACHEL: Oh! nothing particular. I just thought it would be cosy if we
  could sit here together the rest of the evening. Can’t you--can’t
  you go tomorrow?

MRS. LOVING: Why, I don’t see how I can. I’ve made the engagement.
  It’s about a new reception gown; and she’s exceedingly exacting, as
  you know. I can’t afford to lose her.

RACHEL: No, I suppose not. All right, Ma dear. (_Presently, paper in
  hand, she laughs, but not quite naturally_). Look! Ma dear! How is
  that for fashion, anyway? Isn’t it the “limit”? (_Rises and shows
  her mother a picture in the paper. As she is in the act, the bell
  rings. With a startled cry_). Oh! (_Drops the paper, and grips her
  mother’s hand_).

MRS. LOVING (_Anxiously_): Rachel, your nerves are right on edge; and
  your hand feels like fire. I’ll have to see a doctor about you; and
  that’s all there is to it.

RACHEL (_Laughing nervously, and moving toward the vestibule_).
  Nonsense, Ma dear! Just because I let out a whoop now and then,
  and have nice warm hands? (_Goes out, is heard talking through the
  tube_) Yes! (_Her voice emitting tremendous relief_). Oh! bring
  it right up! (_Appearing in the doorway_) Ma dear, did you buy
  anything at Goddard’s today?

MRS. LOVING: Yes; and I’ve been wondering why they were so late in
  delivering it. I bought it early this morning. (_Rachel goes out
  again. A door opens and shuts. She reappears with a bundle_).

MRS. LOVING: Put it on my bed, Rachel, please. (_Exit Rachel rear
  doorway; presently returns empty-handed; sits down again at the
  table with the paper between herself and mother; sinks in a deep
  revery. Suddenly there is the sound of many loud knocks made by
  numerous small fists. Rachel drops the paper, and comes to a
  sitting posture, tense again. Her mother looks at her, but says
  nothing. Almost immediately Rachel relaxes_).

RACHEL: My kiddies! They’re late, this evening. (_Goes out into the
  vestibule. A door opens and shuts. There is the shrill, excited
  sound of childish voices. Rachel comes in surrounded by the
  children, all trying to say something to her at once. Rachel puts
  her finger on her lip and points toward the doorway in the rear.
  They all quiet down. She sits on the floor in the front of the
  stage, and the children all cluster around her. Their conversation
  takes place in a half-whisper. As they enter they nod brightly at
  Mrs. Loving, who smiles in return_). Why so late, kiddies? It’s
  long past “sleepy-time.”

LITTLE NANCY: We’ve been playing “Hide and Seek,” and having the
  mostest fun. We promised, all of us, that if we could play until
  half-past seven tonight we wouldn’t make any fuss about going to
  bed at seven o’clock the rest of the week. It’s awful hard to go. I
  _hate_ to go to bed!

LITTLE MARY, LOUISE and EDITH: So do I! So do I! So do I!

LITTLE MARTHA: I don’t. I love bed. My bed, after my muzzer tucks me
  all in, is like a nice warm bag. I just stick my nose out. When I
  lifts my head up I can see the light from the dining-room come in
  the door. I can hear my muzzer and fazzer talking nice and low; and
  then, before I know it, I’m fast asleep, and I dream pretty things,
  and in about a minute it’s morning again. I love my little bed, and
  I love to dream.

LITTLE MARY (_Aggressively_): Well, I guess I love to dream too. I
  wish I could dream, though, without going to bed.

LITTLE NANCY: When I grow up, I’m never going to bed at night!
  (_Darkly_) You see.

LITTLE LOUISE: “Grown-ups” just love to poke their heads out of
  windows and cry, “Child’run, it’s time for bed now; and you’d
  better hurry, too, I can tell you.” They “sure” are queer, for
  sometimes when I wake up, it must be about twelve o’clock, I can
  hear my big sister giggling and talking to some silly man. If it’s
  good for me to go to bed early--I should think--

RACHEL (_Interrupting suddenly_): Why, where is my little Jenny?
  Excuse me, Louise dear.

LITTLE MARTHA: Her cold is awful bad. She coughs like this (_giving a
  distressing imitation_) and snuffles all the time. She can’t talk
  out loud, and she can’t go to sleep. Muzzer says she’s fev’rish--I
  thinks that’s what she says. Jenny says she knows she could go to
  sleep, if you would come and sit with her a little while.

RACHEL: I certainly will. I’ll go when you do, honey.

LITTLE MARTHA (_Softly stroking Rachel’s arm_): You’re the very
  nicest “grown-up”, (_loyally_) except my muzzer, of course, I ever
  knew. You knows all about little chil’run and you can be one,
  although you’re all grown up. I think you would make a lovely
  muzzer. (_To the rest of the children_) Don’t you?

ALL (_In excited whispers_): Yes, I do.

RACHEL (_Winces, then says gently_): Come, kiddies, you must go now,
  or your mothers will blame me for keeping you. (_Rises, as do the
  rest. Little Martha puts her hand into Rachel’s_). Ma dear, I’m
  going down to sit a little while with Jenny. I’ll be back before
  you go, though. Come, kiddies, say good-night to my mother.

ALL (_Gravely_): Good-night! Sweet dreams! God keep you all the night.

MRS. LOVING: Good-night dears! Sweet dreams, all!

                                   (_Exeunt Rachel and the children._

  _Mrs. Loving continues to sew. The bell presently rings three
  distinct times. In a few moments, Mrs. Loving gets up and goes out
  into the vestibule. A door opens and closes. Mrs. Loving and John
  Strong come in. He is a trifle pale but his imperturbable self.
  Mrs. Loving, somewhat nervous, takes her seat and resumes her
  sewing. She motions Strong to a chair. He returns to the vestibule,
  leaves his hat, returns, and sits down_).

STRONG: Well, how is everything?

MRS. LOVING: Oh! about the same, I guess. Tom’s out. John, we’ll
  never forget you--and your kindness.

STRONG: That was nothing. And Rachel?

MRS. LOVING: She’ll be back presently. She went to sit with a sick
  child for a little while.

STRONG: And how is she?

MRS. LOVING: She’s not herself yet, but I think she is better.

STRONG (_After a short pause_): Well, what _did_ happen--exactly?

MRS. LOVING: That’s just what I don’t know.

STRONG: When you came home--you couldn’t get in--was that it?

MRS. LOVING: Yes. (_Pauses_). It was just a week ago today. I was
  down town all the morning. It was about one o’clock when I got
  back. I had forgotten my key. I rapped on the door and then called.
  There was no answer. A window was open, and I could feel the air
  under the door, and I could hear it as the draught sucked it
  through. There was no other sound. Presently I made such a noise
  the people began to come out into the hall. Jimmy was in one of the
  flats playing with a little girl named Mary. He told me he had left
  Rachel here a short time before. She had given him four cookies,
  two for him and two for Mary, and had told him he could play with
  her until she came to tell him his lunch was ready. I saw he was
  getting frightened, so I got the little girl and her mother to keep
  him in their flat. Then, as no man was at home, I sent out for
  help. Three men broke the door down. (_Pauses_). We found Rachel
  unconscious, lying on her face. For a few minutes I thought she
  was dead. (_Pauses_). A vase had fallen over on the table and the
  water had dripped through the cloth and onto the floor. There had
  been flowers in it. When I left, there were no flowers here. What
  she could have done to them, I can’t say. The long stems were lying
  everywhere, and the flowers had been ground into the floor. I could
  tell that they must have been roses from the stems. After we had
  put her to bed and called the doctor, and she had finally regained
  consciousness, I very naturally asked her what had happened. All
  she would say was, “Ma dear, I’m too--tired--please.” For four days
  she lay in bed scarcely moving, speaking only when spoken to. That
  first day, when Jimmy came in to see her, she shrank away from him.
  We had to take him out, and comfort him as best we could. We kept
  him away, almost by force, until she got up. And, then, she was
  utterly miserable when he was out of her sight. What happened, I
  don’t know. She avoids Tom, and she won’t tell me. (_Pauses_). Tom
  and I both believe her soul has been hurt. The trouble isn’t with
  her body. You’ll find her highly nervous. Sometimes she is very
  much depressed; again she is feverishly gay--almost reckless. What
  do you think about it, John?

STRONG (_Who has listened quietly_): Had anybody been here, do you
  know?

MRS. LOVING: No, I don’t. I don’t like to ask Rachel; and I can’t ask
  the neighbors.

STRONG: No, of course not. (_Pauses_). You say there were some
  flowers?

MRS. LOVING: Yes.

STRONG: And the flowers were ground into the carpet?

MRS. LOVING: Yes.

STRONG: Did you happen to notice the box? They must have come in a
  box, don’t you think?

MRS. LOVING: Yes, there was a box in the kitchenette. It was from
  “Marcy’s.” I saw no card.

STRONG (_Slowly_): It is rather strange. (_A long silence, during
  which the outer door opens and shuts. Rachel is heard singing. She
  stops abruptly. In a second or two she appears in the door. There
  is an air of suppressed excitement about her_).

RACHEL: Hello! John. (_Strong rises, nods at her, and brings forward
  for her the big arm-chair near the fire_). I thought that was your
  hat in the hall. It’s brand new, I know--but it looks--“Johnlike.”
  How are you? Ma! Jenny went to sleep like a little lamb. I don’t
  like her breathing, though. (_Looks from one to the other;
  flippantly_) Who’s dead? (_Nods her thanks to Strong for the chair
  and sits down_).

MRS. LOVING: Dead, Rachel?

RACHEL: Yes. The atmosphere here is so funereal,--it’s positively
  “crapey.”

STRONG: I don’t know why it should be--I was just asking how you are.

RACHEL: Heavens! Does the mere inquiry into my health precipitate
  such an atmosphere? Your two faces were as long, as long--(_Breaks
  off_). Kind sir, let me assure you, I am in the very best of
  health. And how are you, John?

STRONG: Oh! I’m always well. (_Sits down_).

MRS. LOVING: Rachel, I’ll have to get ready to go now. John, don’t
  hurry. I’ll be back shortly, probably in three-quarters of an
  hour--maybe less.

RACHEL: And maybe more, if I remember Mrs. Jordan. However, Ma
  dear, I’ll do the best I can--while you are away. I’ll try to be
  a credit to your training. (_Mrs. Loving smiles and goes out
  the rear doorway_). Now, let’s see--in the books of etiquette, I
  believe, the properly reared young lady, always asks the young
  gentleman caller--you’re young enough, aren’t you, to be classed
  still as a “young gentleman caller?” (_No answer_). Well, anyway,
  she always asks the young gentleman caller sweetly something about
  the weather. (_Primly_) This has been an exceedingly beautiful day,
  hasn’t it, Mr. Strong? (_No answer from Strong, who, with his head
  resting against the back of the chair, and his knees crossed is
  watching her in an amused, quizzical manner_). Well, really, every
  properly brought up young gentleman, I’m sure, ought to know, that
  it’s exceedingly rude not to answer a civil question.

STRONG (_Lazily_): Tell me what to answer, Rachel.

RACHEL: Say, “Yes, Very”; and look interested and pleased when you
  say it.

STRONG (_With a half-smile_): Yes, very.

RACHEL: Well, I certainly wouldn’t characterize that as a
  particularly animated remark. Besides, when you look at me through
  half-closed lids like that--and kind of smile--what are you
  thinking? (_No answer_) John Strong, are you deaf or--just plain
  stupid?

STRONG: Plain stupid, I guess.

RACHEL (_In wheedling tones_): What were you thinking, John?

STRONG (_Slowly_): I was thinking--(_Breaks off_).

RACHEL (_Irritably_): Well?

STRONG: I’ve changed my mind.

RACHEL: You’re not going to tell me?

STRONG: No.

          (_Mrs. Loving dressed for the street comes in_).

MRS. LOVING: Goodbye, children. Rachel, don’t quarrel so much with
  John. Let me see--if I have my key. (_Feels in her bag_) Yes, I
  have it. I’ll be back shortly. Good-bye. (_Strong and Rachel rise.
  He bows_).

RACHEL: Good-bye, Ma dear. Hurry back as soon as you can, won’t you?
  (_Exit Mrs. Loving through the vestibule. Strong leans back again
  in his chair, and watches Rachel through half-closed eyes. Rachel
  sits in her chair nervously_).

STRONG: Do you mind, if I smoke?

RACHEL: You know I don’t.

STRONG: I am trying to behave like--Reginald--“the properly reared
  young gentleman caller.” (_Lights a cigar; goes over to the fire,
  and throws his match away. Rachel goes into the kitchenette, and
  brings him a saucer for his ashes. She places it on the table near
  him_). Thank you. (_They both sit again, Strong very evidently
  enjoying his cigar and Rachel_). Now this is what I call cosy.

RACHEL: Cosy! Why?

STRONG: A nice warm room--shut in--curtains drawn--a cheerful fire
  crackling at my back--a lamp, not an electric or gas one, but one
  of your plain, old-fashioned kerosene ones--.

RACHEL (_Interrupting_): Ma dear would like to catch you, I am sure,
  talking about _her_ lamp like that. “Old-fashioned! plain!”--You
  have nerve.

STRONG (_Continuing as though he had not been interrupted_): A
  comfortable chair--a good cigar--and not very far away, a little
  lady, who is looking charming, so near, that if I reached over, I
  could touch her. You there--and I here.--It’s living.

RACHEL: Well! of all things! A compliment--and from _you_! How did it
  slip out, pray? (_No answer_). I suppose that you realize that a
  conversation between two persons is absolutely impossible, if one
  has to do her share all alone. Soon my ingenuity for introducing
  interesting subjects will be exhausted; and then will follow what,
  I believe, the story books call, “an uncomfortable silence.”

STRONG (_Slowly_): Silence--between friends--isn’t such a bad thing.

RACHEL: Thanks awfully. (_Leans back; cups her cheek in her hand,
  and makes no pretense at further conversation. The old look of
  introspection returns to her eyes. She does not move_).

STRONG (_Quietly_): Rachel! (_Rachel starts perceptibly_) You must
  remember I’m here. I don’t like looking into your soul--when you
  forget you’re not alone.

RACHEL: I hadn’t forgotten.

STRONG: Wouldn’t it be easier for you, little girl, if you could
  tell--some one?

RACHEL: No. (_A silence_).

STRONG: Rachel,--you’re fond of flowers,--aren’t you?

RACHEL: Yes.

STRONG: Rosebuds--red rosebuds--particularly?

RACHEL (_Nervously_): Yes.

STRONG: Did you--dislike--the giver?

RACHEL (_More nervously; bracing herself_): No, of course not.

STRONG: Rachel,--why--why--did you--kill the roses--then?

RACHEL (_Twisting her hands_): Oh, John! I’m so sorry, Ma dear told
  you that. She didn’t know, you sent them.

STRONG: So I gathered. (_Pauses and then leans forward; quietly_).
  Rachel, little girl, why--did you kill them?

RACHEL (_Breathing quickly_): Don’t you
  believe--it--a--a--kindness--sometimes--to kill?

STRONG (_After a pause_): You--considered--it--a--kindness--to kill
  them?

RACHEL: Yes. (_Another pause_).

STRONG: Do you mean--just--the roses?

RACHEL (_Breathing more quickly_): John!--Oh! must I say?

STRONG: Yes, little Rachel.

RACHEL (_In a whisper_): No. (_There is a long pause. Rachel leans
  back limply, and closes her eyes. Presently Strong rises, and moves
  his chair very close to hers. She does not stir. He puts his cigar
  on the saucer_).

STRONG (_Leaning forward; very gently_): Little girl, little girl,
  can’t you tell me why?

RACHEL (_Wearily_): I can’t.--It hurts--too much--to talk about it
  yet,--please.

STRONG (_Takes her hand; looks at it a few minutes and then at her
  quietly_). You--don’t--care, then? (_She winces_) Rachel!--Look at
  me, little girl! (_As if against her will, she looks at him. Her
  eyes are fearful, hunted. She tries to look away, to draw away her
  hand; but he holds her gaze and her hand steadily_). Do you?

RACHEL (_Almost sobbing_): John! John! don’t ask me. You are
  drawing my very soul out of my body with your eyes. You must not
  talk this way. You mustn’t look--John, don’t! (_Tries to shield her
  eyes_).

STRONG (_Quietly takes both of her hands, and kisses the backs
  and the palms slowly. A look of horror creeps into her face. He
  deliberately raises his eyes and looks at her mouth. She recoils
  as though she expected him to strike her. He resumes slowly_)
  If--you--do--care, and I know now--that you do--nothing else,
  _nothing_ should count.

RACHEL (_Wrenching herself from his grasp and rising. She covers
  her ears; she breathes rapidly_): No! No! No!--You _must_ stop.
  (_Laughs nervously; continues feverishly_) I’m not behaving very
  well as a hostess, am I? Let’s see. What shall I do? I’ll play
  you something, John. How will that do? Or I’ll sing to you. You
  used to like to hear me sing; you said my voice, I remember, was
  sympathetic, didn’t you? (_Moves quickly to the piano_). I’ll sing
  you a pretty little song. I think it’s beautiful. You’ve never
  heard it, I know. I’ve never sung it to you before. It’s Nevin’s
  “At Twilight.” (_Pauses, looks down, before she begins, then turns
  toward him and says quietly and sweetly_) Sometimes--in the coming
  years--I want--you to remember--I sang you this little song.--Will
  you?--I think it will make it easier for me--when I--when
  I--(_Breaks off and begins the first chords. Strong goes slowly to
  the piano. He leans there watching intently. Rachel sings_):

      “The roses of yester-year
        Were all of the white and red;
      It fills my heart with silent fear
        To find all their beauty fled.

      The roses of white are sere,
        All faded the roses red,
      And one who loves me is not here
        And one that I love is dead.”

  (_A long pause. Then Strong goes to her and lifts her from the
  piano-stool. He puts one arm around her very tenderly and pushes
  her head back so he can look into her eyes. She shuts them, but is
  passive_).

STRONG (_Gently_): Little girl, little girl, don’t you know that
  suggestions--suggestions--like those you are sending yourself
  constantly--are wicked things? You, who are so gentle, so loving,
  so warm--(_Breaks off and crushes her to him. He kisses her many
  times. She does not resist, but in the midst of his caresses she
  breaks suddenly into convulsive laughter. He tries to hush the
  terrible sound with his mouth; then brokenly_) Little girl--don’t
  laugh--like that.

RACHEL (_Interrupted throughout by her laughter_): I have to.--God
  is laughing.--We’re his puppets.--He pulls the wires,--and we’re
  so funny to Him.--I’m laughing too--because I can hear--my little
  children--weeping. They come to me generally while I’m asleep,--but
  I can hear them now.--They’ve begged me--do you understand?--begged
  me--not to bring them here;--and I’ve promised them--not to.--I’ve
  promised. I can’t stand the sound of their crying.--I have to
  laugh--Oh! John! laugh!--laugh too!--I can’t drown their weeping.

   (_Strong picks her up bodily and carries her to the armchair_).

STRONG (_Harshly_): Now, stop that!

RACHEL (_In sheer surprise_): W-h-a-t?

STRONG (_Still harshly_): Stop that!--You’ve lost your
  self-control.--find yourself again!

  (_He leaves her and goes over to the fireplace, and stands looking
  down into it for some little time. Rachel, little by little,
  becomes calmer. Strong returns and sits beside her again. She
  doesn’t move. He smoothes her hair back gently, and kisses her
  forehead--and then, slowly, her mouth, she does not resist; simply
  sits there, with shut eyes, inert, limp_).

STRONG: Rachel!--(_Pauses_). There is a little flat on 43rd Street.
  It faces south and overlooks a little park. Do you remember
  it?--it’s on the top floor?--Once I remember your saying--you
  liked it. That was over a year ago. That same day--I rented
  it. I’ve never lived there. No one knows about it--not even my
  mother. It’s completely furnished now--and waiting--do you know
  for whom? Every single thing in it, I’ve bought myself--even to
  the pins on the little bird’s-eye maple dresser. It has been the
  happiest year I have ever known. I furnished it--one room at a
  time. It’s the prettiest, the most homelike little flat I’ve ever
  seen. (_Very low_) Everything there--breathes love. Do you know
  for whom it is waiting? On the sitting-room floor is a beautiful,
  Turkish rug--red, and blue and gold. It’s soft--and rich--and do
  you know for whose little feet it is waiting? There are delicate
  curtains at the windows and a bookcase full of friendly, eager,
  little books.--Do you know for whom they are waiting? There are
  comfortable leather chairs, just the right size, and a beautiful
  piano--that I leave open--sometimes, and lovely pictures of
  Madonnas. Do you know for whom they are waiting? There is an open
  fireplace with logs of wood, all carefully piled on gleaming
  andirons--and waiting. There is a bellows and a pair of shining
  tongs--waiting. And in the kitchenette painted blue and white, and
  smelling sweet with paint is everything: bright pots and pans and
  kettles, and blue and white enamel-ware, and all kinds of knives
  and forks and spoons--and on the door--a roller-towel. Little girl,
  do you know for whom they are all waiting? And somewhere--there’s a
  big, strong man--with broad shoulders. And he’s willing and anxious
  to do anything--everything, and he’s waiting very patiently. Little
  girl, is it to be--yes or no?

RACHEL (_During Strong’s speech life has come flooding back to
  her. Her eyes are shining; her face, eager. For a moment she is
  beautifully happy_). Oh! you’re too good to me and mine, John.
  I--didn’t dream any one--could be--so good. (_Leans forward and
  puts his big hand against her cheek and kisses it shyly_).

Strong (_Quietly_): Is it--yes--or no, little girl?

RACHEL (_Feverishly, gripping his hands_): Oh, yes! yes! yes! and
  take me quickly, John. Take me before I can think any more. You
  mustn’t let me think, John. And you’ll be good to me, won’t you?
  Every second of every minute, of every hour, of every day, you’ll
  have me in your thoughts, won’t you? And you’ll be with me every
  minute that you can? And, John, John!--you’ll keep away the weeping
  of my little children. You won’t let me hear it, will you? You’ll
  make me forget everything--everything--won’t you?--Life is so short,
  John. (_Shivers and then fearfully and slowly_) And eternity
  so--long. (_Feverishly again_) And, John, after I am dead--promise
  me, promise me you’ll love me more. (_Shivers again_). I’ll need
  love then. Oh! I’ll need it. (_Suddenly there comes to their
  ears the sound of a child’s weeping. It is monotonous, hopeless,
  terribly afraid. Rachel recoils_). Oh! John!--Listen!--It’s my
  boy, again.--I--John--I’ll be back in a little while. (_Goes
  swiftly to the door in the rear, pauses and looks back. The weeping
  continues. Her eyes are tragic. Slowly she kisses her hand to him
  and disappears. John stands where she has left him looking down.
  The weeping stops. Presently Rachel appears in the doorway. She is
  haggard, and grey. She does not enter the room. She speaks as one
  dead might speak--tonelessly, slowly_).

RACHEL: Do you wish to know why Jimmy is crying?

STRONG: Yes.

RACHEL: I am twenty-two--and I’m old; you’re thirty-two--and you’re
  old; Tom’s twenty-three--and he is old. Ma dear’s sixty--and
  she said once she is much older than that. She is. We are all
  blighted; we are all accursed--all of us--, everywhere, we whose
  skins are dark--our lives blasted by the white man’s prejudice.
  (_Pauses_) And my little Jimmy--seven years old, that’s all--is
  blighted too. In a year or two, at best, he will be made old by
  suffering. (_Pauses_): One week ago, today, some white boys,
  older and larger than my little Jimmy, as he was leaving the
  school--called him “Nigger”! They chased him through the streets
  calling him, “Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!” One boy threw stones at
  him. There is still a bruise on his little back where one struck
  him. That will get well; but they bruised his soul--and that--will
  never--get well. He asked me what “Nigger” meant. I made light of
  the whole thing, laughed it off. He went to his little playmates,
  and very naturally asked them. The oldest of them is nine!--and
  they knew, poor little things--and they told him. (_Pauses_).
  For the last couple of nights he has been dreaming--about these
  boys. And he always awakes--in the dark--afraid--afraid--of the
  now--and the future--I have seen that look of deadly fear--in the
  eyes--of other little children. I know what it is myself.--I was
  twelve--when some big boys chased me and called me names.--I never
  left the house afterwards--without being afraid. I was afraid, in
  the streets--in the school--in the church, everywhere, always,
  afraid of being hurt. And I--was not--afraid in vain. (_The weeping
  begins again_). He’s only a baby--and he’s blighted. (_To Jimmy_)
  Honey, I’m right here. I’m coming in just a minute. Don’t cry.
  (_To Strong_) If it nearly kills me to hear my Jimmy’s crying, do
  you think I could stand it, when my own child, flesh of my flesh,
  blood of my blood--learned the same reason for weeping? Do you?
  (_Pauses_). Ever since I fell here--a week ago--I am afraid--to
  go--to sleep, for every time I do--my children come--and beg
  me--weeping--not to--bring them here--to suffer. Tonight, they
  came--when I was awake. (_Pauses_). I have promised them again,
  now--by Jimmy’s bed. (_In a whisper_) I have damned--my soul to
  all eternity--if I do. (_To Jimmy_) Honey, don’t! I’m coming. (_To
  Strong_) And John,--dear John--you see--it can never be--all the
  beautiful, beautiful things--you have--told me about. (_Wistfully_)
  No--they--can never be--now. (_Strong comes toward her_) No,--John
  dear,--you--must not--touch me--any more. (_Pauses_). Dear,
  this--is--“Good-bye.”

STRONG (_Quietly_): It’s not fair--to you, Rachel, to take you--at
  your word--tonight. You’re sick; you’ve brooded so long, so
  continuously,--you’ve lost--your perspective. Don’t answer, yet.
  Think it over for another week and I’ll come back.

RACHEL (_Wearily_): No,--I can’t think--any more.

STRONG: You realize--fully--you’re sending me--for always?

RACHEL: Yes.

STRONG: And you care?

RACHEL: Yes.

STRONG: It’s settled, then for all time--“Good-bye!”

RACHEL (_After a pause_): Yes.

STRONG (_Stands looking at her steadily a long time, and then moves
  to the door and turns, facing her; with infinite tenderness_):
  Good-bye, dear, little Rachel--God bless you.

RACHEL: Good-bye, John! (_Strong goes out. A door opens and
  shuts. There is finality in the sound. The weeping continues.
  Suddenly; with a great cry_) John! John! (_Runs out into the
  vestibule. She presently returns. She is calm again. Slowly_)
  No! No! John. Not for us. (_A pause; with infinite yearning_)
  Oh! John,--if it only--if it only--(_Breaks off, controls
  herself. Slowly again; thoughtfully_) No--No sunshine--no
  laughter--always, always--darkness. That is it. Even our little
  flat--(_In a whisper_) John’s and mine--the little flat--that
  calls, calls us--through darkness. It shall wait--and wait--in
  vain--in darkness. Oh, John! (_Pauses_). And my little children!
  my little children! (_The weeping ceases; pauses_). I shall
  never--see--you--now. Your little, brown, beautiful bodies--I
  shall never see.--Your dimples--everywhere--your laughter--your
  tears--the beautiful, lovely feel of you here. (_Puts her hands
  against her heart_). Never--never--to be. (_A pause, fiercely_)
  But you are somewhere--and wherever you are you are mine! You
  are mine! All of you! Every bit of you! Even God can’t take you
  away. (_A pause; very sweetly; pathetically_) Little children!--My
  little children!--No more need you come to me--weeping--weeping.
  You may be happy now--you are safe. Little weeping, voices, hush!
  hush! (_The weeping begins again. To Jimmy, her whole soul in her
  voice_) Jimmy! My little Jimmy! Honey! I’m coming.--Ma Rachel loves
  you so. (_Sobs and goes blindly, unsteadily to the rear doorway;
  she leans her head there one second against the door; and then
  stumbles through and disappears. The light in the lamp flickers
  and goes out.... It is black. The terrible, heart-breaking weeping
  continues_).


                               THE END




                         Transcriber’s Notes

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as
  “heart-breaking”/“heartbreaking” have been maintained.

  Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected
  and, except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the
  text, especially in dialogue, and inconsistent or archaic usage,
  have been retained.

  Page 47: “There is a brief silence interruped” changed to “There is
  a brief silence interrupted”.

  Page 62: “I didn’t belive” changed to “I didn’t believe”.

  Page 78: “Jimmy has awakened and cried most pitfully” changed to
  “Jimmy has awakened and cried most pitifully”.