all cupboard, and a door leading
into the kitchen. Opposite this cupboard, in the left-hand wall of the
room, is a mantelpiece and grate; farther back a double door, leading
to a hall. Off the hall open two bedrooms (not seen), one belonging to
Mr. and Mrs. Beeler, the other to Rhoda Williams, a niece of Mrs.
Beeler, child of her dead sister._

_The room contains, among other articles of furniture, a dining table
(with detachable leaves to reduce its bulk when not in use for eating
purposes), an invalid's wheel-chair, a low sofa of generous size, and a
book-shelf, upon which are arranged the scientific books which Mr.
Beeler takes a somewhat untutored but genuine delight in. Tacked upon
the wall near by are portraits of scientific men, Darwin and Spencer
conspicuous among them, cut from periodicals._ _Other pictures,
including family daguerreotypes and photographs, are variously
distributed about the walls. Over the mantel shelf hangs a large map of
the United States and Mexico, faded and fly-specked._

_As the curtain rises, the room is dark, except for a dull fire in the
grate. The ticking of the clock is heard; it strikes six. Martha
Beeler, a woman of forty-five, enters from the kitchen, carrying a
lighted lamp. She wears a shawl over her shoulders, a print dress, and
a kitchen apron. She places the lamp on the table, which is set for
breakfast, and puts coal on the grate, which soon flames more
brightly._

_She goes into the hall and is heard knocking and calling._

MARTHA.

Rhody! Rhody!

_Matthew Beeler, a man of fifty, enters. He is not quite dressed,
but finishes as he comes in. Martha follows him._

Where's that niece of yours got to now?

BEELER.

She's helping Mary dress.

MARTHA.

What in time's Mary gettin' up for? She's only in the way till the
work's done.

BEELER.

She's restless.

MARTHA.

_Significantly._

I shouldn't wonder. _Pause._ I hope you know _why_ Mary didn't sleep.

BEELER.

_Evasively._

She's always been a light sleeper, since she got her stroke.

MARTHA.

Look here, Mat Beeler! I'm your born sister. Don't try to fool me! You
know why your wife didn't sleep last night.

BEELER.

Maybe I do, Sis.

_Points to the ceiling._

Is he up yet?

MARTHA.

Up! I don't believe he's been abed.

_They listen, as to the tread of some one on the floor above._

Back and forth, like a tiger in a cage!

BEELER.

_Shrugs._

Queer