(Timothy and Mother come in from opposite doors.  Cats disappear—­music still heard faintly.)

Mother:  (Looking at little bellows in her hand.) Do you know That what it is, Timothy?

Timothy:  Is it now a hand-bellows?  It’s long since I seen the like of that.

Mother:  It is, but what bellows?

Timothy:  Not a bellows?  I’d nearly say it to be one.

Mother:  There has strange things come to pass.

Timothy:  That’s what we’ve all been praying for this long time!

Mother:  Ah, can’t you give attention and strive to listen to me.  It is all coming back to my mind.  All the things I am remembering have my mind tattered and tossed.

Timothy:  (Who has been trying to hear the music, sings a verse.)

  “You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
    Hurroo!  Hurroo! 
  You’re a yellow noseless chickenless egg,
  You’ll have to put up with a bowl to beg. 
    O Johnny, I hardly knew you!

(Music ceases.)

Mother:  Will you give attention, I say!  It will be worth while for you to go chat with me now I can be telling you all that happened in my years gone by.  What was it Conan was questioning me about a while ago?  What was it now....

  “Aristotle in the hour
  He left Ireland left a power!"...

Timothy:  That now is a very nice sort of a little prayer.

Mother:  (Calling out.) That’s it!  Aristotle’s Bellows!  I know now what has happened.  This that is in my hand has in it the power to make changes.  Changes!  Didn’t great changes come in the house to-day! (Shouts.) Did you see any great change in Celia?

Timothy:  Why wouldn’t I, and she at this minute fighting and barging at some poor travelling man, saying he laid a finger mark of bacon-grease upon the lintel of the door.  Driving him off with a broken-toothed rake she is, she that was so gentle that she wouldn’t hardly pluck the feathers of a dead duck!

Mother:  It was surely a blast of this worked that change in her, as the blast she blew upon me worked a change in myself.  O! all the thoughts and memories that are thronging in my mind and in my head!  Rushing up within me the same as chaff from the flail!  Songs and stories and the newses I heard through the whole course of my lifetime!  And I having no person to tell them out to!  Do you hear me what I’m saying, Timothy? (Shouts in his ear.) What is come back to me is what I lost so long ago, my MEMORY.

Timothy:  So it is a very good song.

(Sings.)

  “By Memory inspired, and love of glory fired,
  The deeds of men I love to dwell upon,
  And the sympathetic glow of my spirit must bestow
  On the memory of Mitchell that is gone, boys, gone—­
  The memory of Mitchell that is gone!”