A Girl. We must ask the blessin'. Mamma says we must. The Baby. Me say blessin'. Me knows how. [All the children bow their heads around the box. The baby stands with eyes tight closed. Dood Lord, we thank Thee. A--amen. [The children raise their heads and begin to eat very fast. A Boy. My, it's good! Char. (coming over to where they are). Aren't you getting cold? A Boy. No, no; not a bit; and besides, we want to skip stones. The Baby. Me skip stones, too. [At the suggestion, they all jump up from the box, still eating, and run to the back of scene. A Boy. Bet I can throw across the river. Another Boy. Bet you can't. [They both try. The Boy. I did. See where it hit! The Younger Boy. Well, I most did. Baby Girl (tries to throw). Me throw. Char. Come, children, we must go back now. Boy. Just a little minute more. [They throw again. A Girl. Come on, teacher's tired; we must go back. [They start off (Left). Baby Girl. Me tired, too. (Runs to Charlotte; holds up arms). Please? Char. (lifts her). And when we get back, teacher will tell a story. A Boy. Come on, come on; it's going to be a story. [They all start off, followed by Charlotte carrying the little girl. As she is nearly off, enter Winthrop (Right). He is very changed and seems much older than before. His step is less alert, as he walks slowly, his arms folded on his breast. He looks up, sees Charlotte, and starts as though to withdraw. The Baby. Dare's a pine cone--wants it. [Charlotte puts her down; she gets cone; then Charlotte lifts her again, and slowly exit (Left). Winth. (gazing longingly after her). And they have come to that--she teaching for her living! God! when will this end? And the others--are they, too, working--Mrs. Stuart and Fair? Have they come to this! If I could only see the old place. I wonder if it has gone to ruin as all the rest has gone. (He gazes longingly across the river, as Hopkins has done). Hello! what's that? A boat! and crossing the stream. By George, it's old Aunt Marthy; she's rowing the boat herself. I wonder where she's going. Poor soul! She's coming after Charlotte, I suppose. She's landing; she can hardly climb the bank. I wonder who runs the ferry now, and the old mill, where Fair and I used to ride together and sit and watch the water on the wheel. [His face has a white, set look. Aunt Marthy (off Right). Ef I kin get up dis here bank. I ain't fit ter be climbin' 'round dis way. Dar, I's up, I reckon. Winth. Coming this way. I'll speak to her. She'll tell me how they are.