e"?

Lona: I and the child, of course.

The Ladies (with a cry): The child!

Hilmar: What?

Rorlund: I really must say--!

Mrs. Bernick: But what do you mean, Lona?

Lona: I mean John, of course; I have no other child, as far as I know,
but John, or Johan as you used to call him.

Mrs. Bernick: Johan--

Mrs. Rummel (in an undertone to MRS. LYNGE): The scapegrace brother!

Bernick (hesitatingly): Is Johan with you?

Lona: Of course he is; I certainly would not come without him. Why do
you look so tragical? And why are you sitting here in the gloom, sewing
white things? There has not been a death in the family, has there?

Rorlund: Madam, you find yourself in the Society for Fallen Women.

Lona (half to herself): What? Can these nice, quiet-looking ladies
possibly be--?

Mrs. Rummel: Well, really--!

Lona: Oh, I understand! But, bless my soul, that is surely Mrs. Rummel?
And Mrs. Holt sitting there too! Well, we three have not grown younger
since the last time we met. But listen now, good people; let the Fallen
Women wait for a day--they will be none the worse for that. A joyful
occasion like this--

Rorlund: A home-coming is not always a joyful occasion.

Lona: Indeed? How do you read your Bible, Mr. Parson?

Rorlund: I am not a parson.

Lona: Oh, you will grow into one, then. But--faugh!--this moral linen
of yours smells tainted, just like a winding-sheet. I am accustomed to
the air of the prairies, let me tell you.

Bernick (wiping his forehead): Yes, it certainly is rather close in
here.

Lona: Wait a moment; we will resurrect ourselves from this vault.
(Pulls the curtains to one side) We must have broad daylight in here
when the boy comes. Ah, you will see a boy then that has washed himself.

Hilmar: Ugh!

Lona (opening the verandah door and window): I should say, when he has
washed himself, up at the hotel--for on the boat he got piggishly dirty.

Hilmar: Ugh, ugh!

Lona: Ugh? Why, surely isn't that--? (Points at HILDAR and asks the
others): Is he still loafing about here saying "Ugh"?

Hilmar: I do not loaf; it is the state of my health that keeps me here.

Rorlund: Ahem! Ladies, I do not think--

Lona (who has noticed OLAF): Is he yours, Betty? Give me a paw, my boy!
Or are you afraid of your ugly old aunt?

Rorlund (putting his book under his arm): Ladies, I do not think any of
us is in the mood for any more work today. I suppose we are to meet
again tomorrow?

Lona (whi