Bijah. Back to camp. I've had a taste of Polly's pies. That's joy enough for one day.
Roger (giving him papers). Take these to the captain, and I will soon follow.
Bijah. All right. (Takes flag.) Polly, should I on the cold earth lie, remember this—I loved your pie.
(Exit Bijah.)
Polly. Pity sakes alive! Mr. Roger, how shall I break the news to Miss Dorothy?
Roger. Your wits were always lively, Polly. I shall leave it to you.
Polly. Dear me, she may come at any moment. Here, hide behind this. (Roger goes behind portière, C.)
Polly. Oh, dear, every idea in my brain is playing tag with the other. Such a horrid sensation I feel, as if some one had proposed and I had said “No,” when I meant “Yes.” (Raises eyes.) Shade of my departed grandsire, aid me. (Draws herself up, makes to door R., exits calling, “Miss Dorothy, Miss Dorothy.”)
Roger (drawing portière aside). Oh, how good to be in my own home again. They say that stolen goods are always the sweetest; one look and kiss from Dorothy will indeed be worth the stealing—hark, they are coming. (Hides. Enter Dorothy and Polly.)
Dor. What is the matter, Polly? From the vigorous manner in which you called my name, I should think the house was on fire, or besieged by burglars.