_Same as Act Two, Scene One--The sitting room of the farm house about six o’clock in the morning of a day toward the end of October five years later. It is not yet dawn, but as the action progresses the darkness outside the windows gradually fades to gray._ _The room, seen by the light of the shadeless oil lamp with a smoky chimney which stands on the table, presents an appearance of decay, of dissolution. The curtains at the windows are torn and dirty and one of them is missing. The closed desk is gray with accumulated dust as if it had not been used in years. Blotches of dampness disfigure the wall paper. Threadbare trails, leading to the kitchen and outer doors, show in the faded carpet. The top of the coverless table is stained with the imprints of hot dishes and spilt food. The rung of one rocker has been clumsily mended with a piece of plain board. A brown coating of rust covers the unblacked stove. A pile of wood is stacked up carelessly against the wall by the stove._ _The whole atmosphere of the room, contrasted with that of former years, is one of an habitual poverty too hopelessly resigned to be any longer ashamed or even conscious of itself._ _At the rise of the curtain_ RUTH _is discovered sitting by the stove, with hands outstretched to the warmth as if the air in the room were damp and cold. A heavy shawl is wrapped about her shoulders, half-concealing her dress of deep mourning. She has aged horribly. Her pale, deeply lined face has the stony lack of expression of one to whom nothing more can ever happen, whose capacity for emotion has been exhausted. When she speaks her voice is without timbre, low and monotonous. The negligent disorder of her dress, the slovenly arrangement of her hair, now streaked with gray, her muddied shoes run down at the heel, give full evidence of the apathy in which she lives._ _Her mother is asleep in her wheel chair beside the stove toward the rear, wrapped up in a blanket._ _There is a sound from the open bedroom door in the rear as if someone were getting out of bed._ RUTH _turns in that direction, with a look of dull annoyance. A moment later_ ROBERT _appears in the doorway, leaning weakly against it for support. His hair is long and unkempt, his face and body emaciated. There are bright patches of crimson over his check bones and his eyes are burning with fever. He is dressed in corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and wears worn carpet slippers on his bare feet._ RUTH. (_dully_) S-s-s-h-! Ma’s asleep. ROBERT. (_speaking with an effort_) I won’t wake her. (_He walks weakly to a rocker by the side of the table and sinks down in it exhausted_). RUTH. (_staring at the stove_) You better come near the fire where it’s warm. ROBERT. No. I’m burning up now. RUTH. That’s the fever. You know the doctor told you not to get up and move round. ROBERT. (_irritably_) That old fossil! He doesn’t know anything. Go to bed and stay there--that’s his only prescription.