looking on, is busy putting up the pictures
which he has taken down in the preceding act. Martha enters from the
hall._

BEELER.

_To Martha._

Is Mary up?

MARTHA.

Yes. Wants to go out on the porch and watch the sun rise, same as she's
done every Easter morning since Seth died.

BEELER.

Won't hurt her, I reckon, bad off as she is.--A reg'lar old-fashioned,
sunshiny, blossomy spring mornin'--summer here with a jump and fine
growin' weather.

_Pause._

All the same, sun might as well stay in China this Easter!

MARTHA.

Is that why you're tackin' up them fool pictures again?

BEELER.

Yes, ma'am. That's just why. Religion!

MARTHA.

You wa'n't so sure yesterday, when you saw your wife stand up on her
two dead feet and walk.

BEELER.

Well, she ain't walkin' now.

MARTHA.

No, she ain't, poor thing.

BEELER.

Natural cure, natural relapse. Doctor says the new medical books
explain it.

MARTHA.

Give it a name, maybe!

BEELER.

_Bursts out petulantly._

You women don't want things explained, any more'n Abe here! You prefer
hocus-pocus. And nothin' will teach you. Take Rhody! Sees Michaelis
flunk his job miserable. Sees Mary go down like a woman shot, hands and
legs paralyzed again,--Doctor says, for good, this time. And what does
the girl do about it? Spends the night out yonder laborin' with them
benighted sick folks, tellin' 'em the healer will make good. Lots of
makin' good he'll do!

_He points at the ceiling._

A fine picture of a healer he makes.

MARTHA.

_Looking up._

Still as a stone! I'd rather have him ragin' round same as yesterday,
like a lion with the epizootic.

BEELER.

He's a dead one. Rhody might as well give up tryin' to make folks think
different.

MARTHA.

Maybe Rhody holds she's to blame.

BEELER.

To blame? To blame for what?

MARTHA.

For him a-peterin' out.

BEELER.

What's she got to do with it?

MARTHA.

Maybe she ain't got nothin' to do with it, and maybe she's got a whole
lot.

BEELER.

Marthy, I don't want it to get out, but you're a plum' luny sentimental
old maid fool!

_Uncle Abe has been hovering, with superstitions interest, near the
picture of Pan and the Pilgrim. With side glances at it, he speaks,
taking advantage of the lull in conversation which follows Beeler's
outburst._

UNCLE ABE.

Mistah Beelah, 'scuse me troublin' you, but--'scuse me troublin' you.

BEELER.