Rhoda.
Pushing forward a chair.
Sit down, Uncle. I don't see how you found your way in this dreadful fog.
Uncle Abe.
Fawg don' matta' nothin' to me, honey. Don' mean nothin' 'tall.
He speaks with exaltation and restrained excitement.
Yo' ol' Uncle keeps on tellin' 'em, dis hyah fawg an' darkness don' mean nothin' 'tall!
Rhoda and Martha look at him puzzled.
Beeler, busy over his harness, has not been struck by the old negro's words.
Beeler.