IN MIZZOURA.

ACT I.

Music at rise of curtain.  The old “Forty-nine” tune, “My name is Joe Bowers."

SCENE:  Pike Co., dining-room, living-room and kitchen combined.  A line of broken plaster and unmatched wall-papers marks the ceiling and back flat a little left of center.  Doors right and left in 3.  Door in right flat.  Old-fashioned table.  Dresser, low window with many panes, window-sash sliding horizontally—­outside of door is pan of leaves burning to smoke off mosquitoes.

DISCOVERED:  MRS. VERNON and LIZBETH.  MRS. VERNON ironing; LIZBETH at pan of fire.

MRS. VERNON.  Lizbeth!

LIZBETH.  Ma—?

MRS. VERNON.  Move that pan a little furder off.  The smoke’s a durnation sight worse’n the skeeters.

LIZBETH. [Rising and coming in.] Well, we couldn’t sleep fur ’em last night, and it’s just as well to smoke ’em good.

MRS. VERNON.  But such an all fired smell—­what’re you burnin’?

LIZBETH.  Dog fannel—­

MRS. VERNON.  I thought so.  It’s nearly turned my stomich—­come, hurry with this ironin’ now.

LIZBETH. [Coming down right of table.] Let’s leave it till mornin’, ma—­

MRS. VERNON.  Can’t, Lizbeth, it’s bin put off since Wednesday, an’ the furst thing we know we’ll be havin’ it to do Sunday—­get me another iron. [LIZBETH goes left.] I’m reg’lar tuckered out.

LIZBETH.  Me too. [Sound of sledge hammer from door left. LIZBETH exits.

MRS. VERNON sits on rocker and fans herself with frayed-out palm leaf.

MRS. VERNON.  Lor’—­to think o’ this weather in June.  It’s jis’ terrible.

Enter KATE. She is neatly gowned and is of a superior clay.

KATE.  Mother—­

MRS. VERNON.  Well, Kate?

KATE.  Must we have this awful odour again to-night?

MRS. VERNON.  Got to have somethin’, Kate, to drive off the skeeters. [Enter LIZBETH.] I ain’t slep’ none for two nights.

KATE.  They might be kept out some other way. [She sits in chair.

MRS. VERNON. [Taking the fresh iron and resuming work.] I ruined my best pillar-slips an’ nearly smothered myself with coal oil last night.  I’ll try my own way now.  It’s all very well fur you, Kate, whose got the only muskeeter bar in the family—­

LIZBETH. [In the rocker.] Yes, and won’t let your sister sleep with you—­

KATE.  I’ll gladly give you the mosquito bar, Lizbeth, but two grown-up people can’t sleep in a narrow single bed.

LIZBETH.  I hope you don’t s’pose I’d take it.

KATE.  I gave you one to make the window frames.

MRS. VERNON.  Well, kin the poor girl help that, Kate?  Didn’t the dogs jump through ’em? [She indicates the ragged netting on the frame.