GIRL. (Mother Hen) (Looking back over her flock): Y’all ketch holt of one ’Nother’s clothes so de hawk can’t git yuh. (They do.) You all straight now? CHILDREN. Yeah. (The march around the hawk commences.) HEN AND CHICKS: Chick mah chick mah craney crow Went to de well to wash ma toe When I come back ma chick was gone What time, ole witch? HAWK. (Making a tally on the ground) One! HEN AND CHICKS. (Repeat song and march.) HAWK. (Scoring again) Two! (Can be repeated any number of times.) HAWK. Four. (He rises and imitates a hawk flying and trying to catch a chicken. Calling in a high voice:) Chickee. HEN. (Flapping wings to protect her young) My chickens sleep. HAWK. Chickee. (During all this the hawk is feinting and darting in his efforts to catch a chicken, and the chickens are dancing defensively, the hen trying to protect them.) HEN. My chicken’s sleep. HAWK. I shall have a chick. HEN. You shan’t have a chick. HAWK. I’m goin’ home. (Flies off) HEN. Dere’s de road. HAWK. My pot’s a boilin’. HEN. Let it boil. HAWK. My guts a growlin’. HEN. Let ’em growl. HAWK. I must have a chick. HEN. You shan’t have n’airn. HAWK. My mama’s sick. HEN. Let her die. HAWK. Chickie! HEN. My chicken’s sleep. (HAWK darts quickly around the hen and grabs a chicken and leads him off and places his captive on his knees at the store porch. After a brief bit of dancing he catches another, then a third, etc.) HAMBO. (At the checker board, his voice rising above the noise of the playing children, slapping his sides jubilantly) Ha! Ha! I got you now. Go ahead on and move, Joe Clark … jus’ go ahead on and move. LOUNGERS. (Standing around two checker players) Ol’ Deacon’s got you now. ANOTHER VOICE. Don’t see how he can beat the Mayor like that. ANOTHER VOICE. Got him in the Louisville loop. (These remarks are drowned by the laughter of the playing children directly in front of the porch. MAYOR JOE CLARK disturbed in his concentration on the checkers and peeved at being beaten suddenly turns toward the children, throwing up his hands.) CLARK. Get on ’way from here, you limbs of Satan, making all that racket so a man can’t hear his ears. Go on, go on! (THE MAYOR looks about excitedly for the town marshall. Seeing him playing cards on the other side of porch, he bellows:) Lum Boger, whyn’t you git these kids away from here! What kind of a marshall is you? All this passle of young’uns around here under grown people’s feet, creatin’ disorder in front of my store. (LUM BOGER puts his cards down lazily, comes down stage and scatters the children away. One saucy little girl refuses to move.) LUM BOGER. Why’nt you go on away from here, Matilda? Didn’t you hear me tell you-all to move? LITTLE MATILDA. (Defiantly) I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You ain’t none of my mama. (Jerking herself free from him as LUM touches her.) My mama in the store and she told me to wait out here. So take that, ol’ Lum.