SCENE: _Sitting-room of the Mortons' farmhouse in the Middle West--on the rolling prairie just back from the Mississippi. A room that has been long and comfortably lived in, and showing that first-hand contact with materials which was pioneer life. The hospitable table was made on the place--well and strongly made; there are braided rugs, and the wooden chairs have patchwork cushions. There is a corner closet--left rear. A picture of Abraham Lincoln. On the floor a home-made toy boat. At rise of curtain there are on the stage an old woman and a young man._ GRANDMOTHER MORTON _is in her rocking-chair near the open door, facing left. On both sides of door are windows, looking out on a generous land. She has a sewing basket and is patching a boy's pants. She is very old. Her hands tremble. Her spirit remembers the days of her strength._ SMITH _has just come in and, hat in hand, is standing by the table. This was lived in the year 1879, afternoon of Fourth of July._ SMITH: But the celebration was over two hours ago. GRANDMOTHER: Oh, celebration, that's just the beginning of it. Might as well set down. When them boys that fought together all get in one square--they have to swap stories all over again. That's the worst of a war--you have to go on hearing about it so long. Here it is--1879--and we haven't taken Gettysburg yet. Well, it was the same way with the war of 1832. SMITH: (_who is now seated at the table_) The war of 1832? GRANDMOTHER: News to you that we had a war with the Indians? SMITH: That's right--the Blackhawk war. I've heard of it. GRANDMOTHER: Heard of it! SMITH: Were your men in that war? GRANDMOTHER: I was in that war. I threw an Indian in the cellar and stood on the door. I was heavier then. SMITH: Those were stirring times. GRANDMOTHER: More stirring than you'll ever see. This war--Lincoln's war--it's all a cut and dried business now. We used to fight with anything we could lay hands on--dish water--whatever was handy. SMITH: I guess you believe the saying that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. We roiled them up considerable. They was mostly friendly when let be. Didn't want to give up their land--but I've noticed something of the same nature in white folks. SMITH: Your son has--something of that nature, hasn't he? GRANDMOTHER: He's not keen to sell. Why should he? It'll never be worth less. SMITH: But since he has more land than any man can use, and if he gets his price-- GRANDMOTHER: That what you've come to talk to him about? SMITH: I--yes. GRANDMOTHER: Well, you're not the first. Many a man older than you has come to argue it. SMITH: (_smiling_) They thought they'd try a young one. GRANDMOTHER: Some one that knew him thought that up. Silas'd help a young one if he could. What is it you're set on buying? SMITH: Oh, I don't know that we're set on buying anything. If we could have the hill (_looking off to the right_) at a fair price--