George (_enters at right_): Dat air Clementina Diana's jes' too much for my institution. She dinks 'case Miss' Em'line told her she done play de fife's good as a man dat she's de bigges' pickanninny on dis yere plantation. But I'll show her she cain't come none o' her friskom-fa'i'cation ovah Gawge Washington Augustus. Dis yere niggah ain't no slave no moah, an' he's gwine show dat li'l' niggah gal what's what. (_Fife behind scenes._) Dah she's at it ag'in. (_Enter_ Clementina _at right, running and waving fife in air and shouting_, Hurrah!) What's de matta, you crazy niggah gal? Ye des done gone out o' yore senses (_runs to her and shakes her_). Clementina: Git yore dwum, Gawge Washington 'Gustus, and come on wif me: de marsa's a-comin'! George: O, go 'long wif yore crazy talk, de massa's done gone de'd befoh dis yere. Ye s'pose he lib an' not sen' a perscripshun to de mist'ess befoh dis yere? No, dem mis'able reb bullets get him foh dis yere. I knows. (_Pointing finger at her_): Go 'long wid ye now! (_Goes up stage._) Clementina: Now, doan ye be so sma't, Gawge Washington 'Gustus; he's comin' foh suah--I seed 'im. George (_comes down quickly_): Seed 'im? Ya mis'able good-foh-nuthin' lyin' niggah gal, how could ye seed 'im? Clementina (_slowly and solemnly_): I seed a tramp comin' 'way obah de fields. I kin'a sca'd an' 'spishus. I tak Miss' Em'line's spy-glass and I looked and I seed 'twas marsa. (_Dances a few steps, singing_, "Marsa's come." _They both run out at right. Fife and drum is heard, playing_ YANKEE DOODLE _behind scenes._) Mrs. Mortimer (_with_ Sally, _run in at left_): I was sure I heard Clem's voice singing, "Marsa come," but there's no one here. O, why did she do it? (_Drops into rocking-chair at left-front._ Sally _runs to her._) It was wicked of her to do a thing like that. And that dreadful tune! Sally Caroline, I think you'll have to go out and make them keep still. (_Music grows fainter._) Sally: Never mind, mother dear, they are going away now. They'll soon be out of hearing. I'll see what they are about. (_Exits at right._) Mrs. Mortimer: I never, never, want to hear that tune again. I shall always associate it with this bitter disappointment. O, I was so sure my poor husband had come. I wonder what made the child think of singing that? But, then, she is only a child; she cannot understand (_buries her face in handkerchief and sobs_).