Mrs. Bartlett—[With a forced smile.] Run along, Nat. It’s all right. I want to speak with your Pa.
Bartlett—[Uneasily.] Ye’d best go up with Nat, Sarah. I’ve work to do.
Mrs. Bartlett—[Fixing her eyes on her husband.] I want to talk with you alone, Isaiah.
Bartlett—[Grimly—as if he were accepting a challenge.] As ye like, then.
Mrs. Bartlett—[Dismissing Nat with a feeble attempt at a smile.] Tell Sue I’ll be comin’ up directly, Nat.
Nat—[Hesitates for a moment, looking from one to the other uneasily.] All right, Ma. [He goes out.]
Bartlett—[Waits for Nat to get out of hearing.] Won’t ye set, Sarah? [She comes forward and sits by the table. He sits by the other side.]
Mrs. Bartlett—[Shuddering as she sees the bottle on the table.] Will drinkin’ this poison make you forget, Isaiah?
Bartlett—[Gruffly.] I’ve naught to forget—leastways naught that’s in your mind. But they’s things about the stubborn will o’ woman I’d like to forget. [They look at each other across the table. There is a pause. Finally he cannot stand her accusing glance. He looks away, gets to his feet, walks about, then sits down again, his face set determinedly—with a grim smile.] Well, here we be, Sarah—alone together for the first time since—
Mrs. Bartlett—[Quickly.] Since that night, Isaiah.