SCENE I.—_The house-keeper’s room. MRS. FOSTER (an elderly

person wearing spectacles) sits knitting, L. MARIA enters R., and sits down, wearily._

MRS. FOSTER. Well, Maria, you look tired enough.

MARIA. I do feel rather tired.

MRS. F. (_emphatically_). It’s a shame for any man to be so trying as your uncle is. He hasn’t any business to be so, even if he is sick. It’s nothing but scold and fret from morning till night. And the more you do, the more you may. You can’t please him any way you can fix it.

M. I’ve tried to please him, but haven’t succeeded. Now I’m going to see if I can’t cure him both of his fault-finding and his sickness.

MRS. F. How is that?

M. I think of inviting him to go away on a visit.

MRS. F. I don’t believe he will go. He has an idea that he’s very sick; but, for my part, I think it’s because he wants to make himself a nuisance.

M. Hush, Mrs. Foster! You forget he is my uncle, and therefore entitled to my respect and attention.

MRS. F. Well, I don’t see how you can stand it. I’d as soon wait on the old boy himself.

M. (_smiling_). I hope you don’t compare my uncle to that renowned personage?

MRS. F. Well, I don’t know which I’d rather wait on. He’s the most contrary man I ever knew. (_A knock is heard on the floor outside, R._)

M. Hark! (_In listening attitude, and with uplifted finger. Knock repeated._) There’s my uncle’s knock. He’s awake and wants me.

(_Exit, R._)

MRS. F. It’s a wicked shame for him to make such a slave of her. He’s a real torment. (_Knits vigorously—starts as if suddenly remembering._) But there, I promised to go over and sit with old Miss Barnard this afternoon. I guess I’ll go, and take my knitting.

(_Exit. Curtain falls._)