I've got eyes in my head.

To Rhoda.

Where did you meet up with him, anyway?

Rhoda, plunged in thought, does not answer.

Beeler.

Wake up, Rhody! Marthy asked you where you met up with our new boarder.

Rhoda.

On the road, coming home from the village.

Beeler.

What made you bring him here?

Rhoda.

He wanted a quiet place to stay, and this was the best I knew.

Martha.

Guess it was!—A snap for him.

She goes out by the hall door.

Rhoda.

Rises, takes the lamp off the mantel, and during the following cleans and refills it.

Beeler.

As he takes off his coat, and hangs it up.

Rhody, ain't this religious business rather a new thing with you? Up there in St. Louis, didn't go in for it much up there, did you?

Rhoda.

Looks at him quickly.

Why do you ask that?

Beeler.

Oh, I gathered, from things I heard, that you cared more about dancin' than about prayin', up there.

She turns away.

That young fellow that was so sweet on you in St. Louis year before last, he wa'n't much in the psalm-singin' line, was he?

Rhoda.

Startled and pale.

Who told you about him?

Beeler.

Oh, Mary's friends, the Higginses, used to write us about your affairs. We thought it would be a hitch-up, sure as shootin'. Studyin' to be a doctor, wasn't he?

Rhoda.

Uncle, please never speak to me about him again!

Beeler.

All right, all right, my girl. I've been young myself, and I know youth is touchy as a gumboil when it comes to love affairs. So it's all off, is it?

Rhoda.

Yes.

Beeler.

Sits down to mend the harness.

If you're partial to the pill trade, we've got a brand new doctor in town now. Took old Doctor Martin's place. He'll be up here to see Mary in a day or two, and you can look him over.

Rhoda.

What is his name?

Beeler.

Tries in vain to recall it.

Blamed if I can remember. Only seen him once. But I tell you, he's smart as tacks. Chuck full of Jamaica ginger. The very kind I'd have swore you'd take to, a while back, before you lost your fun and your spirit. When I first saw you on your father's farm out in Kansas, you was as wild a little gypsy as I ever set eyes on. I said then to your dad, "There's a filly that'll need a good breakin'." I never thought I'd see you takin' up with these Gospel pedlers.

Martha comes in from the hall and fusses about, dusting, etc. She points in the direction of Mrs. Beeler's room.

Martha.

They're prayer-meetin' it again. And Mary lyin' there as if she saw the pearly gates openin' before her eyes.

Beeler.

Half to himself as he works.

Poor Mary!—Mary's a strange woman.

Martha.

To Rhoda.

Your mother was the same way, Rhody. The whole Beardsley tribe, for that matter. But Mary was the worst. It begun with Mary as soon as her brother Seth got drowned.

Beeler.

Looks up, angry.

None of that, Sis!

Martha.

I guess my tongue's my own.

Beeler.

No, it ain't. I won't have any more of that talk around me, do you hear? I put my foot down a year ago.

Martha.

Points to his foot derisively.

It's big enough and ugly enough, Heaven knows, but you can put it down as hard as you like, it won't keep a man's sperrit in his grave—not when he's a mind to come out!

Beeler.

Astonished.

Martha Beeler!

Martha.

That's my name.

She flounces out into the kitchen, covering her retreat with her last speech.

Beeler.

Looking after her.

My kingdom! Martha! I thought she had some horse sense left.

Rhoda.

Slowly, as the finishes with the lamp.

Uncle, it's hard to live side by side with Aunt Mary and not—

Beeler.

In angry challenge.

And not what?

Rhoda.

And not believe there's something more in these matters than "horse sense" will account for.

Beeler.

Hotly, as if a sort point has been touched upon.

There's nothing more than science will account for.

He points to a shelf of books.

You can read it up any day you like. Read that book yonder, chapter called Hallucinations. Pathological, that's what it is, pathological.

Rhoda.

What does that mean?

Beeler taps his forehead significantly.

Uncle, you know that's not true!

Beeler.

Growls to himself.

Pathological, up and down.

Rhoda replaces the lamp on the mantel.

Martha opens the kitchen door and calls in.

Martha.

Here's Uncle Abe!

Beeler.

Uncle Abe? Thought he was a goner.

Uncle Abe enters. He is an old negro, with gray hair and thin, gray beard. He is somewhat bowed, and carries a stick, but he is not decrepit. His clothes are spattered with mud. Martha enters with him; she is stirring something in a bowl, and during the following continues to do so, though more and more interruptedly and absent-mindedly.

Beeler.

Hello, Uncle Abe.

Uncle Abe.

Good-mawnin', Mista Beeler.

Beeler.

Where've you been all winter? Thought you'd gone up Salt River.

Uncle Abe.

Shakes his head reassuringly.

Ain' nevah goin' up no Salt River, yo' Uncle Abe ain't.

Beeler.

Indicating Rhoda.

Make you acquainted with my wife's niece, Miss Williams.

Uncle Abe bows.

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.

How's the ginseng crop this year?

Uncle Abe.

They ain' no mo' gimsing!

Beeler.

No more ginseng? What do you mean?

Uncle Abe.

De good Lawd, he ain' goin' fool roun' no mo' wif no gimsing!

Beeler.

Amused.

Why, I thought your ginseng bitters was His main holt.

Uncle Abe.

With a touch of regret.

Use to be, Mars' Beeler. It shore use to be.—Yes, sah. Bless de Lawd!

Shakes his head in reminiscence.

He sartinly did set sto' by them thah bitters.