ER.

Uncle Abe? Thought he was a goner.

_Uncle Abe enters. He is an old negro, with gray hair and thin,
gray beard. He is somewhat bowed, and carries a stick, but he is
not decrepit. His clothes are spattered with mud. Martha enters
with him; she is stirring something in a bowl, and during the
following continues to do so, though more and more interruptedly
and absent-mindedly._

BEELER.

Hello, Uncle Abe.

UNCLE ABE.

Good-mawnin', Mista Beeler.

BEELER.

Where've you been all winter? Thought you'd gone up Salt River.

UNCLE ABE.

_Shakes his head reassuringly._

Ain' nevah goin' up no Salt River, yo' Uncle Abe ain't.

BEELER.

_Indicating Rhoda._

Make you acquainted with my wife's niece, Miss Williams.

_Uncle Abe bows._

RHODA.

_Pushing forward a chair._

Sit down, Uncle. I don't see how you found your way in this dreadful
fog.

UNCLE ABE.

Fawg don' matta' nothin' to me, honey. Don' mean nothin' 'tall.

_He speaks with exaltation and restrained excitement._

Yo' ol' Uncle keeps on tellin' 'em, dis hyah fawg an' darkness don'
mean nothin' 'tall!

_Rhoda and Martha look at him puzzled._

_Beeler, busy over his harness, has not been struck by the old
negro's words._

BEELER.

How's the ginseng crop this year?

UNCLE ABE.

They ain' no mo' gimsing!

BEELER.

No more ginseng? What do you mean?

UNCLE ABE.

De good Lawd, he ain' goin' fool roun' no mo' wif no gimsing!

BEELER.

_Amused._

Why, I thought your ginseng bitters was His main holt.

UNCLE ABE.

_With a touch of regret._

Use to be, Mars' Beeler. It shore use to be.--Yes, sah. Bless de Lawd!

_Shakes his head in reminiscence._

He sartinly did set sto' by them thah bitters.

BEELER.

_With lazy amusement._

So the Lord's gone back on ginseng now, has He?

UNCLE ABE.

Yes, sah.

BEELER.

What makes you think so?

UNCLE ABE.

_Solemnly._

Roots all kill by de fros'!

_His manner grows more and more mysterious; he half closes his
eyes, as he goes on in a strange, mounting singsong._

Knowed it more'n a monf ago, fo' dis hyah blin' worl' lef' de plough in
de ploughshare an' de ungroun' wheat betwixen de millstones, and went
a-follerin' aftah dis hyah new star outen de Eas', like a bride
follerin' aftah de bridegroom!

_Martha taps her forehead significantly, and goes back to her
batter._

B