Spile ’im as I spile ’im.
[She casts the mannikin and the sticks with ferocity into the fire on the tripod and then bends down staring intently into the fire. There is a moment’s silence and then she gives a cry, as she looks into the fire.]
Sam! Is dat you in da? You instid er he? W’ut dis? Is we bin trick? ’Tain’t you—’tis you—Sam! Ah-h!
[With a cry she snatches the blazing mannikin from the brazier and folds it in her caught-up apron, staggering and beating the air as though battling with unseen forces. Suddenly a gust of wind blows open the door at the right and a breeze fills the room, blowing the smoke and fluttering the garments of the women. The drum and rattle cease and fall to the floor. Immediately Granny raises her face in awe, seeing a vision. She stretches out her arms toward it, speaking brokenly.]
Sam! Yes, I sees yo’. I heahs yo’. Yes, my Babe-um.—Talk on.—Tell me.—W’at!
[She pauses, listening intently, with eyes fixed on the unseen.]
Leave ’im go!—Oh, how kin I?—Gi’ me stren’th.
[She pauses again and bows her head. After a moment she again raises her face to the vision.]
I knows.—I fuhgot. I’ll do hit.—I des wen’ backerds but I’m wif yo’ now.—Yas—Ez we fuhgives uthehs—yas—I knows—we’ll do hit.—We will be tuhgetheh.—Ez we fuhgives uthehs.
[A knocking is heard on the door back, at left of the fireplace. Granny turns her head and listens. After a pause the knocking begins again more imperatively. She turns, seizes the tripod brazier, casts it into the fireplace, and staggers toward the door, taking her stand beside it. The knocking pauses.]