BIJAH (_turns_). Bless my soul! if here isn't a sweet lass now. What! ho! my pretty maid; where are you going? POLLY (_disguises voice; courtesying_). If you please, sir, I have cakes to sell. (_Uncovers basket._) BIJAH. Here's luck. Just what I've been looking for. I'll take half a dozen. (_Gives coin; bites cake._) My! what cakes! “Is this heaven, Uncle Tom?” (_Bites again._) These bring to me visions of Polly's kitchen and her pies. Where'er I roam, where'er I be, No cakes can equal Polly P's. This is richness. (_To_ POLLY.) Why do you hide your face? Let me look at you. POLLY. Indeed I can't. BIJAH. You can't. Wal, I can. (_Tries to raise her head._) Come now, give me a kiss. (POLLY _suddenly raises head, throws back hood and discloses herself to_ BIJAH'S _astonished gaze_.) BIJAH. Polly—Polly Primrose! POLLY (_indignantly_). Yes, Polly—Polly Primrose. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You're a nice kind of a man, you are, pretending to be fond of me. BIJAH. Oh, come, Polly, I didn't mean any harm. POLLY. Oh no, no harm, of course not. Kissing every girl you meet. Don't speak to me—I'll never trust you or any other man again. (_Enter_ POTTS _and_ ROGER.) POTTS. What is this? An indignation meeting? Bijah quarrelling with a pretty woman? No, yes, it is—Polly Primrose; but who is this? (_Looking at_ DOR.) POLLY. That's my aunt, she came with me. ROGER. Poor old lady; she seems tired. POLLY. That she is; but she's never too tired to tell fortunes; wouldn't you like to hear yours? ROGER. Anything to kill time. (_Goes to_ DOR.) Come, let's hear it. My time is short. (_Looking about._) No danger of the colonel's appearance, is there, Potts? POTTS. No, Roger, he is busily engaged. I've looked out for that. ROGER. Good! Now, what is the wheel of fortune to bring me? Oh! (_Crosses_ DOR.'S _palm with silver_.) I remember, no golden treasure disclosed, unless the key be silver. DOR. (_taking_ ROGER'S _hand; disguised voice_). Young man, you have had serious trouble; some cloud hangs over you. You are suspected of some crime. ROGER (_starting_). What witchcraft is here? DOR. But you are innocent. If you have patience, your name will soon be cleared. ROGER. I hope so with all my heart. DOR. You have a good heart, and, let me see—yes—that line is crossed—you have given it to some one. (_Exeunt_ POLLY _and_ BIJAH _through trees_, L.) POTTS (_slapping_ ROGER _on back; laughs_). You are hard hit, old man. Even the witches can read your heart. DOR. (_addressing_ POTTS). Your time is coming, sir. “He laughs best who laughs last.” ROGER. Ha, ha! Potts, some time that heart of yours won't stand the fire. Then I will charter a Gatling gun to return all your volleys. DOR. (_looking at_ ROGER'S _hand_). But what is this? Some danger lurks near a friend; perhaps a brother. ROGER. I have no brother. DOR. No; not a real brother, but— ROGER. The colonel?