Richard (boisterously derisive).  Now then:  how many of you will stay with me; run up the American flag on the devil’s house; and make a fight for freedom? (They scramble out, Christy among them, hustling one another in their haste.) Ha ha!  Long live the devil!  (To Mrs. Dudgeon, who is following them) What mother! are you off too?

Mrs. Dudgeon (deadly pale, with her hand on her heart as if she had received a deathblow).  My curse on you!  My dying curse! (She goes out.)

Richard (calling after her).  It will bring me luck.  Ha ha ha!

Essie (anxiously).  Mayn’t I stay?

Richard (turning to her).  What!  Have they forgotten to save your soul in their anxiety about their own bodies?  Oh yes:  you may stay. (He turns excitedly away again and shakes his fist after them.  His left fist, also clenched, hangs down.  Essie seizes it and kisses it, her tears falling on it.  He starts and looks at it.) Tears!  The devil’s baptism! (She falls on her knees, sobbing.  He stoops goodnaturedly to raise her, saying) Oh yes, you may cry that way, Essie, if you like.

ACT II

Minister Anderson’s house is in the main street of Websterbridge, not far from the town hall.  To the eye of the eighteenth century New Englander, it is much grander than the plain farmhouse of the Dudgeons; but it is so plain itself that a modern house agent would let both at about the same rent.  The chief dwelling room has the same sort of kitchen fireplace, with boiler, toaster hanging on the bars, movable iron griddle socketed to the hob, hook above for roasting, and broad fender, on which stand a kettle and a plate of buttered toast.  The door, between the fireplace and the corner, has neither panels, fingerplates nor handles:  it is made of plain boards, and fastens with a latch.  The table is a kitchen table, with a treacle colored cover of American cloth, chapped at the corners by draping.  The tea service on it consists of two thick cups and saucers of the plainest ware, with milk jug and bowl to match, each large enough to contain nearly a quart, on a black japanned tray, and, in the middle of the table, a wooden trencher with a big loaf upon it, and a square half pound block of butter in a crock.  The big oak press facing the fire from the opposite side of the room, is for use and storage, not for ornament; and the minister’s house coat hangs on a peg from its door, showing that he is out; for when he is in it is his best coat that hangs there.  His big riding boots stand beside the press, evidently in their usual place, and rather proud of themselves.  In fact, the evolution of the minister’s kitchen, dining room and drawing room into three separate apartments has not yet taken place; and so, from the point of view of our pampered period, he is no better off than the Dudgeons.