SALLY. Six dollars! It cost eight, beside the pattern; that was one er the best ones Butrick had. HEZEKIAH. You get out! SALLY. Oh, wan’t Hannah Doolittle jealous! Such a tail draggin’ in the street. She said she wouldn’t have one if it was give to her. Her pink caliker cost ninety cents. HEZEKIAH. Say, Sal. I bin lonesomer than a stray ghost, I ain’t seen you for so long. Tell us all about what’s goin’ on ter home. Has Ike Spaulding shingled his woodshed yet? What’s come of Preposterous Perkins and Mercy Ann Stubbs? S’pose they’ve got a whole family by this time. SALLY. (_Covering her face._) Now, Hez., ain’t you ’shamed er yourself! HEZEKIAH. Has Suke Peabody and old Inkhorn tied up yet? SALLY. Course they have. HEZEKIAH. Suke don’t care any more for that old mummy, than she does for our old farrer cow. She jest wants ter get her fingers in on his money, then she’ll pizen him ter death in less’n a week. If she don’t she’s got more endurance than a mule. SALLY. Ain’t he soft on her, though? HEZEKIAH. Soft? You can stab him with a cat’s tail, and not ruffle a feather. (_A shot from R._) Jehosafat! Them Johnnies are comin’. Let’s get out. (_Attempts to push her out, L._) SALLY. (_Drawing knife and revolver._) Hold on, Hez. Let me get a lick at them fellers. HEZEKIAH. (_Pushing her out L._) You get out! You do no nothin’ about war. (_Disappears L. Enter rebel soldiers R, and cross to L. Exit all L._) SCENE 3. _Night. Ordinary room, back. Window L, rear._ KEELE BRIGHTLY _disc. chained rear centre, covered with a large blanket that reaches to the floor_. BARNEY _R, on guard. Stage dark._ BARNEY. It’s the devil will pick your bones for you in the mornin’. Shoot him at daylight, sez the gineral, and he’ll be doin’ it too. Do you mind that! (_Brightly hangs his head in silence._) Now don’t be blubberin’ about it. It won’t do ye any good. They’ are goin’ ter make y’er bones inter rattles for them nagurs, and that’s the most good that could come of ye. BRIGHTLY. Fool! BARNEY. (_Laying down hat and gun._) Don’t you talk back to me, or I’ll bat you! You thafe er the wurruld! (_Enter Gen. Halcom, R. U. E._)