Child. No; do your sums. All those on the four pages I showed you—all of them. (Opens boxes.) Now I’m going to put all of these on—all the rings and all the bracelets. (Tries them on.)
CURTAIN.
Scene III—Evening. Mother reading, Child sitting upright and nodding, trying to keep awake. After three or four hard nods she yawns and says:
Child. Mary, it’s time you went to bed. I’d have sent you long ago, only papa was away and I was lone—I mean—I missed him.
Mother. Shall I go to bed now?
Child. No. My head aches.
Mother. Shall I smooth it? Little girls can’t help much when folks don’t feel well, can they?
Child (snappishly). Don’t talk like that to me. I’m feeling real mizzable. (Sighs, leans back in chair.) Read to me. Quick.
Mother. What shall I read?
Child. Oh, for goodness sake! You ask foolish questions. Read what mammas like, of course.