BIJAH. That was the best piece of pie, Polly. If I could only have my knapsack as a receptacle for such samples of your cooking, I wouldn't need drum and fife to spur me on. POLLY (_sees_ DOR.). Hush, Bijah, Miss Dorothy is here. DOR. (_raises head; comes forward_). A visitor, Polly? POLLY. Yes ma'am. A friend from Oldtown; and only think, Miss Dorothy, he knows your Mr. Roger. DOR. Knows my Roger? (_Goes to_ BIJAH.) Oh, tell me of him; where is he? BIJAH. That I cannot tell you (_takes letter from pocket_), but here is a letter, which he bade me give you should I ever come to Baltimore. (DOR. _takes letter; breaks seal_. BIJAH _and_ POLLY _retire to window; music_.) DOR. (_reads_). MY DARLING DOROTHY.—That you still have faith in me I have no doubt. Your heart is too pure for anything else. I have enlisted in the army, and only as private will serve my country with heart and soul. When the war is over, I will return to you; my innocence established, and the foe, not only my country's but my own, defeated and trodden under foot. Bijah Bright, the bearer of this letter, is a true and loyal friend. He is worthy of your greatest respect, for he stood by me in my darkest hours. My love to dear sister Ruth. Until we meet again, yours in life or in death. ROGER. DOR. (_kisses letter_). Mr. Bright, I am more than grateful to you for bringing this letter; it fills my heart with renewed hope. Believe me (_gives hand to_ BIJAH), your loyalty to Roger makes us warm and steadfast friends. BIJAH. I shall see him again, Miss Dorothy, and, when I do, I shall say to him, that the stars in heaven never shone brighter than the love in your eyes when you spoke his name. DOR. You are a true knight. Will you take an answer to this letter? BIJAH. Indeed, I will. DOR. Thank you so much. BIJAH. No thanks, Miss Dorothy, the pleasure's mine. (DOROTHY _exit_ R.) POLLY. Isn't she just sweet, Bijah? BIJAH. You've hit it this time; were it not for the dazzling brightness of the orbs of fascinating Miss Polly Primrose the palpitation of my heart would be greatly increased; as it is— There's only one maid, and Polly's her name, Of my love, my heart, she surely makes game; But some time or other, so sorry she'll be, She'll sigh for her Bijah, the bear of Old T. POLLY. Indeed, I won't. There's plenty of fish in the sea, Mr. B., Who'd bite at my hook with the greatest of glee: You think, as you've writ, sir, my heart is your own, That over your absence I sigh and I moan, Indeed, I do not, sir; pray hear me aright, I wouldn't give that (_snaps fingers_), sir, to be Mrs. Bright. BIJAH. Ha, ha, Polly, that wee brain of yours isn't an idle one. It won't do for us to separate, but make a stock company and spring our poetic effusions upon the public together. (_Enter_ ROGER, _without disguise_.) ROGER. Is Miss Dorothy at home? BIJAH. Why—Mr. Roger here? POLLY. Land of living! Where did you come from?