There, little boys and girls—
Off to the kitchen! Now there's fun for you.
Play blind-man's-buff until you break your heads;
And then sit down beside the roaring fire,
And with wild stories scare yourselves to death.
We'll all be out there, by and by. Meanwhile,
I'll try the cellar; and if David, here,
Will promise good behavior, he shall be
My candle-bearer, basket-bearer, and—
But no! The pitcher I will bear myself.
I'll never trust a pitcher to a man
Under this house, and—seventy years of age.
[The children rush out of the room with a
shout, which wakes the baby.]
That noisy little youngster on the floor
Slept through theology but wakes with mirth—
Precocious little creature! He must go
Up to his chamber. Come, Grace, take him off—
Basket and all. Mary will lend a hand,
And keep you company until he sleeps.
[GRACE and MARY remove the cradle to the chamber,
and DAVID and RUTH retire to the cellar_.]
John.
[Rising and yawning]
Isn't she the strangest girl you ever saw?
Prudence.
Queer, rather, I should say. Grace, now, is strange.
I think she treats her husband shamefully.
I can't imagine what possesses her,
Thus to toss taunts at him with every word.
If in his doctrines there be truth enough,
He'll be a saint.
Patience.