_There is another door, down Right, giving on a flight of stairs which lead to the one upper room of the house. Near the door, Left Center, and toward the front stands a battered table on which lie, in disordered array newspapers and one or two dog-eared books with their backs off. It is evening and a lighted oil lamp, with the chimney badly smoked, rests in the center. The wick is turned low and the guttering flame causes countless shadows to disport themselves eerily about the room. Between the door, Left Center, and the door, up Left, stands a fancy cupboard. There is a large easy chair between the table and the wall, Left Center. Both of these pieces of furniture look out of place in the room._ _Flamboyant lithographs, a gilt-framed picture of Jack Johnson, wearing his golden smile, a framed engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and several grotesque crayon portraits of members of the family adorn the dirty and discolored walls. An old corset, a half-eaten roll, and a doll, with its head off, lie about on the floor. A horseshoe is nailed over the center of the door, Back._ _Aunt Rebecca, an old coal-black Negress, enters, Back. She wears no hat and has just a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She presents the appearance of an animated mummy. Her eyes are small and bead-like and shine with an uncanny lustre; her hands are long and bony, resembling the talons of a hawk. She glances about inquiringly, gives an impatient grunt, then turns and slowly closes the door._ AUNT REBECCA (_in high-pitched raspy tones as she moves to the Center_) Lucy Belle! Oh, Lucy Belle! LUCY BELLE (_from the next room_) Dat yo’, Aun’ Becky? AUNT REBECCA Yas, honey. LUCY BELLE Jes’ a minute. Changin’ mah skirt. (_Aunt Rebecca drops into a chair, Left Center, and begins a weird and doleful chant._) AUNT REBECCA Um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a! Trouble in mah soul! Um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a! Trouble! (_High treble_) Um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a! Trouble in mah soul! Um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a! Trouble in mah soul! Um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a--um--a! (_Lucy Belle enters, Left. She is a frail, light brown young Negress of about twenty-eight. She has a nervous, hesitant--and sometimes wistful--manner. She wears a plain black waist and a black skirt, patched in several places._) LUCY BELLE (_feelingly, as she kisses Aunt Rebecca_) Aun’ Becky! I’se so glad ter see yo’ agin! ’Deed I is! (_Draws up a chair and sits near her._) AUNT REBECCA (_affectionately_) Po’ful glad ter see yo’, honey! LUCY BELLE Seem like ole times--seein’ yo’! Lessee--how-some long yo’ all been ’way? AUNT REBECCA (_reflectively_) Um! Um! (_Puts a hand to her head and purses her lips._) Dat gin got mah haid all tangle up! Um! Keep tellin’ G’orge whiskey suit me bettah--but he like gin. How long? Um! Um! Gawd-a-massy! Be a yeah in Feb-wary!