Classic Poem

SCENE 2. — The same place and the same hour .

Enter MRS. SECORD.

After a weary day the evening falls
With gentle benison of peace and rest.
The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round,
And gives the soul a twilight of its own;
A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews,
And subtle essences of memory
And reflection. O gentle peace, when —

Enter PETE, putting his head in at the door .

Pete . O, mistis! Heh, mistis!

Mrs. Secord . What now, Pete?

Pete . Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer —
Dat sassy un what call me " Woolly-bear. "

An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me: —
" You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord
I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens. "
He did jes' so — a sassy scamp.

Mrs. Secord . To-night? At this hour?

Pete . Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos
Ter put her bes' leg fus', fer I mus' go
An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.

Mrs. Secord . Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll stay
And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos
Left single-handed by your cowardice.

Pete . I aint a coward-ef I hed a club;
Dat poo, sick hoss —

Mrs. Secord . Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play no tricks to-night.

Pete . No, mistis, no; no tricks. [ Aside . Ef I'd a club!]

He calls from the door : Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.

Mrs. Secord ( spreading a cloth upon the table ). God help us if these men much longer live Upon our failing stores.

Enter FLOS.

What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?

Flos . De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,
An' two — three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',
An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.

Pete . Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,
And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come
An' tell me kick 'em out.

Flos . You! — jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.

Pete . Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss —

Mrs. Secord . You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,
And wait at table properly with Flos.

Enter a Sergeant, a Corporal and four Privates.

Sergeant ( striking Pete on the head with his cane ). That's for your ugly phiz and impudence.

( To Mrs. Secord .) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.

Mrs. Secord . Well, sir!

Sergeant . None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes,
You see. You got my message: what's to eat?

Mrs. Secord . My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is,
Nor inn, to take your orders.

Sergeant . O, bless you, we don't order; we command.
Here, men, sit down.

Boy, fill those jugs. You girl,
Set that dish down by me, and haste with more.
Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season.
Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?

Mrs. Secord . 'Tis a child's pet.

Sergeant . O, pets be hanged!

Corporal . Poor thing! I'm sure none of us want the lamb.

A Private . We'll have it, though, and more, if Boerstler —

Corporal . Hold your tongue, you —

Second Private ( drinking ). Here's good luck, my boys, to that surprise —

Corporal (aside) . Fool!

Sergeant (drinking) . Here's to to-morrow and a cloudy night.
Fill all your glasses, boys.