The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 46

POLLY (_caressing him_)

Schoolmaster, 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 picters out, and prayed to them 'most morn'n the Almighty.

(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 (_pointing with the hoe toward the left of the woodpile_)

That's farthest over next the barn door.

LINK My, how we fit the Johnnies thar, the fust mornin'! Jest behind them willers, acrost the Run, that's whar we captur'd Archer.

My, my!

POLLY Over there--that's Seminary Ridge.

(_She points to different heights and depressions, as_ LINK _nods his approval._)

Peach Orchard, Devil's Den, Round Top, the Wheatfield--

LINK Lord, Lord, the Wheatfield!

POLLY (_continuing_)

Cemetery Hill, Little Round Top, Death Valley, and this here is Cemetery Ridge.

LINK (_pointing to the little flag_)

And colors flyin'!

We _kep_ 'em flyin' thar, too, all three days, From start to finish.

POLLY Have I learned 'em right?

LINK _A_ number One, chick! Wait a mite: Culp's Hill: I don't jest spy Culp's Hill.

POLLY There wa'n't enough kindlin's to spare for that. It ought to lay east there, towards the kitchen.

LINK Let it go!

That's whar us Yanks left our back door ajar and Johnson stuck his foot in: kep' it thar, too, till he got it squoze off by old Sloc.u.m.

Let Culp's Hill lay for now.--Lend me your marker.

(POLLY _hands him the hoe. From his chair, he reaches with it and digs in the chips._) Death Valley needs some scoopin' deeper. So: smooth off them chips.

(POLLY _does so with her foot._)

You better guess't was deep As h.e.l.l, that second day, come sundown.--Here, (_He hands back the hoe to her._) flat down the Wheatfield yonder.