of a desolate farmyard is seen in the moonlight.

When the curtain rises, THADDEUS TRASK, a man of fifty or sixty
years of age, short and thick set, slow in speech and movement,
yet in perfect health, sits lazily smoking his pipe in a chair at
the right of the centre table.

After a moment, MARY TRASK, a tired, emaciated woman, whose years
equal her husband's, enters from the yard, carrying a pail of
water and a lantern. She puts the pail on the bench and hangs the
lantern above it; then crosses to the stove.

MARY. Ain't got wood 'nough fer breakfast, Thad.

THADDEUS. I'm too tired to go out now; wait till mornin'.

[Pause. MARY lays the fire in the stove.]

Did I tell ye that old man Reed saw three Southern troopers pass
his house this mornin'?

MARY [takes coffee pot from stove, crosses to bench, fills pot
with water]. I wish them soldiers would git out o' the
neighborhood. Whenever I see 'em passin', I have t' steady myself
'gainst somethin' or I'd fall. I couldn't hardly breathe
yesterday when the Southerners came after fodder. I'd die if they
spoke t' me.

THADDEUS. Ye needn't be afraid of Northern soldiers.