One-Act Plays Part 34

You're feelin' smart to-day.

LINK. Smart!--Wall, if I could git a hull man to swap legs with me, mebbe I'd arn my keep. But this here settin'

dead an' alive, without no legs, day in, day out, don't make an old hoss wuth his oats.

POLLY [_cheerfully_].

I guess you'll soon be walkin' round.

LINK. Not if that doctor feller has his say: He says I can't never go agin this side o' Jordan; and looks like he's 'bout right.--Nine months to-morrer, Polly, gal, sence I had that stroke.

POLLY [_pointing to the ox-yoke_].

You're fitter sittin' than most folks standin'.

LINK [_briskly_]. Oh, they can't keep my two hands from makin' ox-yokes. That's my second natur' sence I was a boy.

[_Again in the distance a bugle sounds. LINK starts._]

What's that?

POLLY. Why, that's the army veterans down to the graveyard. This is Decoration mornin': you ain't forgot?

LINK. So 'tis, so 'tis.

Roger, your young man--ha! [_Chuckling._] He come and axed me was I agoin' to the cemetery.

"Me? Don't I look it?" says I. Ha! "Don't I look it?"

POLLY He meant--to decorate the graves.

LINK. O' course; but I must take my little laugh. I told him I guessed I wa'n't persent'ble anyhow, my mustache and my boots wa'n't blacked this mornin'.

I don't jest like t' talk about my legs.-- Be you a-goin' to take your young school folks, Polly?

POLLY.

Dear no! I told my boys and girls to march up this way with the band. I said I'd be a-stayin' home and learnin' how to keep school in the woodpile here with you.

LINK [_looking up at her proudly_].

Schoolma'am at seventeen! Some smart, I tell ye!

POLLY [_caressing him_].

School-master, you, past seventy; that's smarter!

I tell 'em I learn from you, so's I can teach my young folks what the study-books leave out.

LINK.

Sure ye don't want to jine the celebratin'?

POLLY.

No _Sir_! We're goin' to celebrate right here, and you're to teach me to keep school some more.

[_She holds ready for him the blue coat and hat._]

LINK [_looking up_].

What's thar?

POLLY. Your teachin' rig.

[_She helps him on with it._]

LINK. The old blue coat!-- My, but I'd like to see the boys: [_Gazing at the hat._] the Grand Old Army Boys! [_Dreamily._] Yes, we was boys: jest boys!

Polly, you tell your young folks, when they study the books, that we was nothin' else but boys jest fallin' in love, with best gals left t' home-- the same as you; and when the shot was singin', we pulled their pictur's out, and prayed to them 'most more 'n the Allmighty.

[_LINK looks up suddenly--a strange light in his face. Again, to a far strain of music, the bugle sounds._]

Thar she blows Agin!

POLLY.

They're marchin' to the graves with flowers.

LINK.

My G.o.dfrey! 't ain't so much thinkin' o' flowers and the young folks, their faces, and the blue line of old fellers marchin'--it's the music!

that old bra.s.s voice a-callin'! Seems as though, legs or no legs, I'd have to up and foller to G.o.d-knows-whar, and holler--holler back to guns roarin' in the dark. No; durn it, no!

I jest can't stan' the music.

POLLY [_goes to the work-bench, where the box is steaming_].

Uncle Link, you want that I should steam this longer?

LINK [_absently_].

Oh, A kittleful, a kittleful.

POLLY [_coming over to him_].

Now, then, I'm ready for school.--I hope I've drawed the map all right.

LINK.

Map? Oh, the map!

[_Surveying the woodpile reminiscently, he nods._]

Yes, thar she be: old Gettysburg!

POLLY.

I know the places--most.

LINK.

So, _do_ ye? Good, now: whar's your marker?

POLLY [_taking up the hoe_].

Here.

LINK.

Willoughby Run: whar's that?

POLLY [_points with the hoe toward the left of the woodpile_].

That's farthest over next the barn door.