Tom. Ah! I had forgotten our Moselle. She loves him; and he, villain that he is, has trifled with her. She must be protected, saved, though justice overtake him. (Darts up run.)
(Enter Jube, R. 2 E.)
Jube. Say, Tom, Thomas, whar's de fire? Say! so he's off: yas, so's ole Vermont. Nebber did see sich carrin's on in de 'hole course ob my life. Jes took dat ar tender hoof, de whitewasher, into his cabin, gib him de best cheer,—on de floor,—de best china, den fill him up wid bacon, chock up to de muzzle: den tender hoof was tired—too much bacon—laid down on de bench, an' went to sleep, ole man settin' dar watchin' him. Bym-by de ole man get up sofly, git a blankit, kivers him up, tucks him in. Seed it all fro a crack. Ole man jes clean gone on dat ar tender hoof.
(Enter Mother, from cabin.)
Mother. Jube, where's Moselle?
Jube. Oh, she's in anoder scrape.
Mother. What kind of a scrape?
Jube. Candy-scrape, I guess. She an' Dandy Dick havin' a sweet time up dar onto de rocks.
Moselle (coming down run). O mother, mother! (Throws her arms about Mother's neck.)
Mother. Why, what's the matter, child?