u, dear?

ANNIE.

_Fidgeting._

Forget what?

MRS. BEELER.

Tell me that whatever happens to you in the world, you won't forget
that once, when you were a little girl, you saw the heavens standing
open, and felt that God was very near, and full of pity for His
children.

ANNIE.

I don't know what you're talking about! I can't hardly breathe the way
people are in this house.

MRS. BEELER.

You will understand, some day, what wonderful things your childish eyes
looked on.

_Annie retreats to Uncle Abe, who bends over the child and whispers
in her ear. She grows amused, and begins to sway as to a tune, then
chants._

ANNIE.

"Mary an' a' Martha's jus' gone along,
Mary an' a' Martha's jus' gone along,
Mary an' a' Martha's jus' gone along,
Ring dem charmin' bells."

_As she finishes the rhyme she runs out into the hall. Mrs. Beeler
begins again to read her Testament. The old negro approaches Mrs.
Beeler and Rhoda, and speaks mysteriously._

UNCLE ABE.

That thah chil' she's talkin' sense. They's sumpin' ain't right about
dis hyah house.

MRS. BEELER.

Not right? What do you mean?

UNCLE ABE.

_Shakes his head dubiously._

Dunno, Mis' Beeler. I's jes' a ole fool colored pusson, been waitin'
fer de great day what de 'Postle done promise. En hyah's de great day
'bout to dawn, an' de Lawd's Chosen 'bout to show Hisse'f in clouds o'
glory 'fore de worl', an' lo 'n' behol'--

_He leans closer and whispers._

de Lawd's Chosen One, he's done got a spell on 'im!

MRS. BEELER.

_Shocked and startled._

Uncle Abe!

UNCLE ABE.

_Pointing at the Pan and the Pilgrim._

Why do you keep that thah pictuh nail up thah fur?

MRS. BEELER.

My husband likes it.

UNCLE ABE.

Mighty funny kin' o' man, like to hev de Black Man lookin' pop-eyed at
folks all day an' all night, puttin' de spell on folks!

MRS. BEELER.

That's not the Black Man.

UNCLE ABE.

That's him, shore's yo' born! Jes' what he looks like. I's seen 'im,
more'n once.

RHODA.

Seen the Black Man, Uncle?

UNCLE ABE.

Yais, ma'am. I's spied 'im, sittin' in de paw-paw bushes in de
springtime, when de snakes a-runnin', an' de jays a-hollerin', and de
crick a-talkin' sassy to hisse'f.

_He leans nearer, more mysteriously._

En what you s'pose I heerd him whis'lin', for all de worl' lak dem
scan'lous bluejays?

_Chants in a high, trilling voice._