DICK. Joy!
JOY. I want Uncle Tom.
DICK. [In consternation.] But ought you to have got up—I thought you were ill in bed; oughtn't you to be lying down?
JOY. If have n't been in bed. Where's Uncle Tom?
DICK. But where have you been?-your dress is all torn. Look! [He touches the torn skirt.]
JOY. [Tearing it away.] In the fields. Where's Uncle Tom?
DICK. Are n't you really ill then?
[Joy shakes her head.]
DICK, [showing her the irises.] Look at these. They were the best I could get.
JOY. Don't! I want Uncle Tom!