Mary. Certainly: compose yourself,--my cousin's son, Alexander
Morton. Listen, Sandy, you promised ME, you know, you said for MY sake
you would not touch a drop. (Enter cautiously toward schoolhouse the
DUCHESS, stops on observing SANDY, and hides behind rock.)

Sandy (still bewildered and incoherent). I reckon. Harkin, miss, is that
thar thing (pointing towards rock where DUCHESS is concealed)--is that a
tree, or--or--a woman? Is it sorter movin' this way?

Miss Mary (laying her hand on SANDY'S). Recover your senses, for
Heaven's sake, Sandy,--for MY sake! It is only a tree.

Sandy (rising). Then, miss, I've broke my word with ye: I'm drunk.
P'r'aps I'd better be a-goin' (looking round confusedly) till I'm sober.
(Going toward L.)

Miss Mary (seizing his hand). But you'll see me again, Sandy: you'll
come here--before--before--I go?

Sandy. Yes, miss,--before ye go. (Staggers stupidly toward L. Aside.)
Found him! found Alexander Morton! It's a third time, Sandy, the third
time: it means--it means--you're mad! (Laughs wildly, and exit L.)

Miss Mary (springing to her feet). There is a mystery behind all this,
Mary Morris, that you--you--must discover. That man was NOT drunk: he
HAD NOT broken his promise to me. What does it all mean? I have it.
I will accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell him the
story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sandy. With the
story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot but interest himself in
his fate. He is rich: he will aid me in my search for Sandy's father,
for Sandy's secret. At the worst, I can only follow the advice of this
wretched man,--an advice so generous, so kind, so self-sacrificing. Ah--

SCENE 4.--The same. Enter the DUCHESS, showily and extravagantly
dressed. Her manner at first is a mixture of alternate shyness and
bravado.

The Duchess. I heerd tell that you was goin' down to 'Frisco to-morrow,
for your vacation; and I couldn't let ye go till I came to thank ye for
your kindness to my boy,--little Tommy.

Miss Mary (aside. Rising abstractedly, and recalling herself with an
effort). I see,--a poor outcast, the mother of my anonymous pupil.
(Aloud.) Tommy! a good boy,--a dear, good little boy.

Duchess. Thankee, miss, thankee. If I am his mother, thar ain't a
sweeter, dearer, better boy lives than him. And, if I ain't much as
says it, thar ain't a sweeter, dearer, angeler teacher than he's got. It
ain't for you to be complimented b