MADELINE:  Detachment. (pause) This is one thing they do at this place. (she moves to the open door) Chain them up to the bars—­just like this. (in the doorway where her two grandfathers once pledged faith with the dreams of a million years, she raises clasped hands as high as they will go) Eight hours a day—­day after day.  Just hold your arms up like this one hour then sit down and think about—­(as if tortured by all who have been so tortured, her body begins to give with sobs, arms drop, the last word is a sob) detachment.

HOLDEN is standing helplessly by when her father comes in.

IRA:  (wildly) Don’t cry.  No!  Not in this house!  I can’t—­Your aunt and uncle will fix it up.  The law won’t take you this time—­and you won’t do it again.

MADELINE:  Oh, what does that matter—­what they do to me?

IRA:  What are you crying about then?

MADELINE:  It’s—­the world.  It’s—­

IRA:  The world?  If that’s all you’ve got to cry about! (to HOLDEN) Tell her that’s nothing to cry about.  What’s the matter with you.  Mad’line?  That’s crazy—­cryin’ about the world!  What good has ever come to this house through carin’ about the world?  What good’s that college?  Better we had that hill.  Why is there no one in this house to-day but me and you?  Where’s your mother?  Where’s your brother?  The world.

HOLDEN:  I think your father would like to talk to you.  I’ll go outside—­walk a little, and come back for you with your aunt.  You must let us see you through this, Madeline.  You couldn’t bear the things it would bring you to.  I see that now. (as he passes her in the doorway his hand rests an instant on her bent head) You’re worth too much to break.

IRA:  (turning away) I don’t want to talk to you.  What good comes of talking? (In moving, he has stepped near the sack of corn.  Takes hold of it.) But not with Emil Johnson!  That’s not—­what your mother died for.

MADELINE:  Father, you must talk to me.  What did my mother die for?  No one has ever told me about her—­except that she was beautiful—­not like other people here.  I got a feeling of—­something from far away.  Something from long ago.  Rare.  Why can’t Uncle Felix talk about her?  Why can’t you?  Wouldn’t she want me to know her?  Tell me about her.  It’s my birthday and I need my mother.

IRA:  (as if afraid he is going to do it) How can you touch—­what you’ve not touched in nineteen years?  Just once—­in nineteen years—­and that did no good.

MADELINE:  Try.  Even though it hurts.  Didn’t you use to talk to her?  Well, I’m her daughter.  Talk to me.  What has she to do with Emil Johnson?