Laura Secord, the Heroine of 1812 | Page 8

gone.?(To Mrs. Secord.) My woman longs to see thee, Mistress. Good-bye to all.
The Little Girls (rising). Good-bye, sir.
Mrs. Secord. Good-bye, John,?'Twould please me much to see my friend again,?But war blots out the sweet amenities?Of life. Give her my love.
Quaker. I will.
Mr. Secord (rising and taking his crutch).?I'll walk a piece with you, friend Penn,?And see you past the lines.
[His little daughter_, HARRIET, _hands him his hat.
Quaker. That's right, 'twill do thee good:?Thy wounds have left thee like an ailing girl,?So poor and pale.
[Exeunt_ Quaker _and MR. SECORD.
Charlotte. Oh, dear, I wish I were a man, to fight?In such brave times as these!
Enter_ MARY, _a girl of fourteen.
Mary. Were wishing aught?Soon should another sword strike for the King,?And those dear rights now rudely overlooked.
Mrs. Secord. My child?
Mary. Oh naught, mamma, save the old tale: no nook?That's not invaded, even one's books?Borrowed without one's leave. I hate it all!
Mrs. Secord. We must be patient, dear, it cannot last.
Harriet. Oh, if we girls were boys, or Charles a man!
Mrs. Secord. Poor baby Charles! See, he's asleep; and now, Dear girls, seeing we cannot fight, we'll pray?That peace may come again, for strife and blood,?Though wisely spent, are taxes hard to pay.?But come, 'tis late! See Charlie's dropt asleep;?Sing first your evening hymn, and then to bed.?I'll lay the darling down.
Exit_ MRS. SECORD, _with the child in her arms.
Charlotte. You start it, Mary.
Children sing--
HYMN.
Softly as falls the evening shade,?On our bowed heads Thy hands be laid;?Surely as fades the parting light,?Our sleep be safe and sweet to-night?Calmly, securely, may we rest,?As on a tender father's breast.
Let War's black pinions soar away,?And dove-like Peace resume her sway,?Our King, our country, be Thy care,?Nor ever fail of childhood's prayer.?Calmly, securely, may we rest?As on a tender father's breast.
[Exeunt.

SCENE 2.--The same place and the same hour.
Enter MRS. SECORD.
After a weary day the evening falls?With gentle benison of peace and rest.?The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round,?And gives the soul a twilight of its own;?A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews,?And subtle essences of memory?And reflection. O gentle peace, when--
Enter_ PETE, _putting his head in at the door.
Pete. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!
Mrs. Secord. What now, Pete?
Pete. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer--?Dat sassy un what call me "Woolly-bear."?An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me:--?"You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord?I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens."?He did jes' so--a sassy scamp.
Mrs. Secord. To-night? At this hour?
Pete. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos?Ter put her bes' leg fus', fer I mus' go?An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.
Mrs. Secord. Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll stay And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos?Left single-handed by your cowardice.
Pete. I aint a coward-ef I hed a club;?Dat poo', sick hoss--
Mrs. Secord. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play no tricks to-night.
Pete. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [Aside. Ef I'd a club!] He calls from the door: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.
_Mrs. Secord (spreading a cloth upon the table)_. God help us if these men much longer live?Upon our failing stores.
Enter FLOS.
What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?
Flos. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread,?An' two--three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin',?An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.
Pete. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer,?And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come?An' tell me kick 'em out.
Flos. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.
[Footsteps are heard without.
Pete. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--
[He makes for the door.
Mrs. Secord. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth,?And wait at table properly with Flos.
Enter a_ Sergeant, _a_ Corporal _and four Privates.
_Sergeant (striking Pete on the head with his cane)_. That's for your ugly phiz and impudence.
[Exit Pete, howling.
(To Mrs. Secord.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.
Mrs. Secord. Well, sir!
Sergeant. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes, You see. You got my message: what's to eat?
Mrs. Secord. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is, Nor inn, to take your orders.
[FLOS and_ PETE _enter, carrying dishes.
Sergeant. O, bless you, we don't order; we command.?Here, men, sit down.
[_He seats himself at the head of the table, and the others
take their places, some of them greeting_ MRS. SECORD
with a salute of respect.
Boy, fill those jugs. You girl,?Set that dish down by me, and haste with more.?Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season.?Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?
Mrs. Secord. 'Tis a child's pet.
Sergeant. O, pets be hanged!
[Exit MRS. SECORD.
Corporal. Poor thing! I'm sure none of us