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.