Dr. Jonathan.  Perhaps you will, George, when you come home.

George.  You mean—­

(George is interrupted by the entrance, lower right, of his mother, Augusta pindar.  She is now in the fifties, and her hair is turning grey.  Her uneventful, provincial existence as ASHER’S wife has confirmed and crystallized her traditional New England views, her conviction that her mission is to direct for good the lives of the less fortunate by whom she is surrounded.  She carries her knitting in her hand,—­a pair of socks for George.  And she goes at once to Dr. Jonathan.)

Augusta.  So you are Jonathan.  They told me you’d arrived—­why didn’t you come to us?  Do you think it’s wise to live in that old house of your father’s before it’s been thoroughly heated for a few days?

Dr. Jonathan (taking her hand).  Oh, I’m going to live with the doors and windows open.

Augusta.  Dear me!  I understand you’ve been quite ill, and you were never very strong as a child.  I made it my business to go through the house yesterday, and I must say it looks comfortable.  But the carpenters and plumbers have ruined the parlour, with that bench, and the sink in the corner.  What are you going to do there?

Dr. Jonathan.  I’m having it made into a sort of laboratory.

Augusta.  You don’t mean to say you intend to do any work!

Dr. Jonathan.  Work ought to cure me, in this climate.

Augusta.  You mean to practise medicine?  You ought to have consulted us.  I’m afraid you won’t find it remunerative, Jonathan,—­but your father was impractical, too.  Foxon Falls is still a small place, in spite of the fact that the shops have grown.  Workmen’s families can’t afford to pay big fees, you know.

Dr. Jonathan (smiling).  I know.

Augusta.  And we already have an excellent physician here, Dr. Senn.

Dr. Jonathan.  I shan’t interfere with Dr. Senn.

George (laying his hand on AUGUSTA’s shoulder:  apologetically).  Mother feels personally responsible for every man, woman and child in Foxon Falls.  I shouldn’t worry about Dr. Jonathan if I were you, mother, I’ve got a notion he can take care of himself.

Augusta (a little baffled by Dr. JONATHAN’s self-command, sits down and begins to knit).  I must get these socks finished for you to take with you, my dear. (To Dr. Jonathan) I can’t realize he’s going! (To George) You haven’t got all your things in your bag!  Where’s the life-preserving suit I sent for?

George (glancing at Dr. Jonathan).  Oh that’s gone, mother.

Augusta.  He always took cold so easily, and that will keep him warm and dry, if those terrible Germans sink his ship.  But your presents, George!  (To Dr. Jonathan:) Made for him by sisters of his college friends.