ACT I

by Susan Glaspell

　　SCENE: Sitting-room of the Mortons' farmhousein the Middle West—on the rolling prairie just back from theMississippi. A room that has been long and comfortably lived in,and showing that first-hand contact with materials which waspioneer life. The hospitable table was made on the place—welland strongly made; there are braided rugs, and the wooden chairshave patchwork cushions. There is a corner closet—left rear.A picture of Abraham Lincoln. On the floor a home-made toy boat. Atrise of curtain there are on the stage an old woman and a youngman. GRANDMOTHER MORTON is in her rocking-chair near theopen door, facing left. On both sides of door are windows, lookingout on a generous land. She has a sewing basket and is patching aboy's pants. She is very old. Her hands tremble. Her spiritremembers the days of her strength.

　　SMITH has just come in and, hat in hand, is standing by thetable. This was lived in the year 1879, afternoon of Fourth ofJuly.

　　SMITH: But the celebration was over two hours ago.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Oh, celebration, that's just the beginning of it.Might as well set down. When them boys that fought together all getin one square—they have to swap stories all over again.That's the worst of a war—you have to go on hearing about itso long. Here it is—1879—and we haven't takenGettysburg yet. Well, it was the same way with the war of 1832.

　　SMITH: (who is now seated at the table) The war of1832?

　　GRANDMOTHER: News to you that we had a war with the Indians?

　　SMITH: That's right—the Blackhawk war. I've heard ofit.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Heard of it!

　　SMITH: Were your men in that war?

　　GRANDMOTHER: I was in that war. I threw an Indian in the cellarand stood on the door. I was heavier then.

　　SMITH: Those were stirring times.

　　GRANDMOTHER: More stirring than you'll ever see. Thiswar—Lincoln's war—it's all a cut and dried businessnow. We used to fight with anything we could lay handson—dish water—whatever was handy.

　　SMITH: I guess you believe the saying that the only good Indianis a dead Indian.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. We roiled them up considerable. They wasmostly friendly when let be. Didn't want to give up theirland—but I've noticed something of the same nature in whitefolks.

　　SMITH: Your son has—something of that nature, hasn'the?

　　GRANDMOTHER: He's not keen to sell. Why should he? It'll neverbe worth less.

　　SMITH: But since he has more land than any man can use, and ifhe gets his price—

　　GRANDMOTHER: That what you've come to talk to him about?

　　SMITH: I—yes.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, you're not the first. Many a man older thanyou has come to argue it.

　　SMITH: (smiling) They thought they'd try a young one.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Some one that knew him thought that up. Silas'dhelp a young one if he could. What is it you're set on buying?

　　SMITH: Oh, I don't know that we're set on buying anything. If wecould have the hill (looking off to the right) at a fairprice—

　　GRANDMOTHER: The hill above the town? Silas'd rather sell me andthe cat.

　　SMITH: But what's he going to do with it?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Maybe he's going to climb it once a week.

　　SMITH: But if the development of the town demands itsuse—

　　GRANDMOTHER: (smiling) You the development of thetown?

　　SMITH: I represent it. This town has been growing sofast—

　　GRANDMOTHER: This town began to grow the day I got here.

　　SMITH: You—you began it?

　　GRANDMOTHER: My husband and I began it—and our babySilas.

　　SMITH: When was that?

　　GRANDMOTHER: 1820, that was.

　　SMITH: And—you mean you were here all alone?

　　GRANDMOTHER: No, we weren't alone. We had the Owens ten milesdown the river.

　　SMITH: But how did you get here?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Got here in a wagon, how do you s'pose?(gaily) Think we flew?

　　SMITH: But wasn't it unsafe?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Them set on safety stayed back in Ohio.

　　SMITH: But one family! I should think the Indians would havewiped you out.

　　GRANDMOTHER: The way they wiped us out was to bring fish andcorn. We'd have starved to death that first winter hadn't been forthe Indians.

　　SMITH: But they were such good neighbours—why did youthrow dish water at them?

　　GRANDMOTHER: That was after other white folks had roiled themup—white folks that didn't know how to treat 'em. This veryland—land you want to buy—was the land theyloved—Blackhawk and his Indians. They came here for theirgames. This was where their fathers—as they called'em—were buried. I've seen my husband and Blackhawk climbthat hill together. (a backward point right) He used to lovethat hill—Blackhawk. He talked how the red man and the whiteman could live together. But poor old Blackhawk—what hedidn't know was how many white man there was. After thewar—when he was beaten but not conquered in hisheart—they took him east—Washington, Philadelphia, NewYork—and when he saw the white man's cities—it was adifferent Indian came back. He just let his heart break withoutever turning a hand.

　　SMITH: But we paid them for their lands. (she looks athim) Paid them something.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Something. For fifteen million acres of thisMississippi Valley land—best on this globe, we paid twothousand two hundred and thirty-four dollars and fifty cents, andpromised to deliver annually goods to the value of one thousanddollars. Not a fancy price—even for them days, (children'svoices are heard outside. She leans forward and looks through thedoor, left) Ira! Let that cat be!

　　SMITH: (looking from the window) These, I suppose, areyour grandchildren?

　　GRANDMOTHER: The boy's my grandson. The little girl is MadelineFejevary—Mr Fejevary's youngest child.

　　SMITH: The Fejevary place adjoins on this side? (pointingright, down)

　　GRANDMOTHER: Yes. We've been neighbours ever since the Fejevaryscame here from Hungary after 1848. He was a count at home—andhe's a man of learning. But he was a refugee because he fought forfreedom in his country. Nothing Silas could do for him was toogood. Silas sets great store by learning—and freedom.

　　SMITH: (thinking of his own project, looking off toward thehill—the hill is not seen from the front) I suppose thenMr Fejevary has great influence with your son?

　　GRANDMOTHER: More 'an anybody. Silas thinks 'twas a great thingfor our family to have a family like theirs next place to.Well—so 'twas, for we've had no time for the things theirfamily was brought up on. Old Mrs Fejevary (with her shrewdsmile)—she weren't stuck up—but she did have anawful ladylike way of feeding the chickens. Silas thinks—oh,my son has all kinds of notions—though a harder worker neverfound his bed at night.

　　SMITH: And Mr Fejevary—is he a veteran too?

　　GRANDMOTHER: (dryly) You don't seem to know these partswell—for one that's all stirred up about the development ofthe town. Yes—Felix Fejevary and Silas Morton went offtogether, down that road (motioning with her hand,right)—when them of their age was wanted. Fejevary cameback with one arm less than he went with. Silas brought homeeverything he took—and something he didn't. Rheumatiz. So nowthey set more store by each other 'an ever. Seems nothing draws mentogether like killing other men. (a boy's voice teasinglyimitating a cat) Madeline, make Ira let that cat be. (awhoop from the girl—a boy's whoop) (looking) Therethey go, off for the creek. If they set in it—(seems aboutto call after them, gives this up) Well, they're not thefirst.

　　(rather dreams over this)

　　SMITH: You must feel as if you pretty near owned thiscountry.

　　GRANDMOTHER: We worked. A country don't make itself. When thesun was up we were up, and when the sun went down we didn't. (asif this renews the self of those days) Here—let me setout something for you to eat. (gets up with difficulty)

　　SMITH: Oh, no, please—never mind. I had something in townbefore I came out.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Dunno as that's any reason you shouldn't havesomething here.

　　(She goes off, right; he stands at the door,looking toward the hill until she returns with a glass of milk, aplate of cookies.)

　　SMITH: Well, this looks good.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I've fed a lot of folks—take it by and large.I didn't care how many I had to feed in the daytime—what'sten or fifteen more when you're up and around. But to getup—after sixteen hours on your feet—I waswillin', but my bones complained some.

　　SMITH: But did you—keep a tavern?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Keep a tavern? I guess we did. Every house is atavern when houses are sparse. You think the way to settle acountry is to go on ahead and build hotels? That's all you folksknow. Why, I never went to bed without leaving something on thestove for the new ones that might be coming. And we never went awayfrom home without seein' there was a-plenty for them that mightstop.

　　SMITH: They'd come right in and take your food?

　　GRANDMOTHER: What else could they do? There was a woman I alwayswanted to know. She made a kind of bread I never hadbefore—and left a-plenty for our supper when we got back withthe ducks and berries. And she left the kitchen handier than it hadever been. I often wondered about her—where she came from,and where she went, (as she dreams over this there is laughingand talking at the side of the house) There come the boys.

　　(MR FEJEVARY comes in, followed by SILASMORTON. They are men not far from sixty, wearing their armyuniforms, carrying the muskets they used in the parade.FEJEVARY has a lean, distinguished face, his dark eyes arepenetrating and rather wistful. The left sleeve of his old uniformis empty. SILAS MORTON is a strong man who has borne theburden of the land, and not for himself alone—the pioneer.Seeing the stranger, he sets his musket against the wall and holdsout his hand to him, as MR FEJEVARY goes up toGRANDMOTHER MORTON.)

　　SILAS: How do, stranger?

　　FEJEVARY: And how are you today, Mrs Morton?

　　GRANDMOTHER: I'm not abed—and don't expect to be.

　　SILAS: (letting go of the balloons he has bought) Where'sIra? and Madeline?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Mr Fejevary's Delia brought them home with her.They've gone down to dam the creek, I guess. This young man's beenwaiting to see you, Silas.

　　SMITH: Yes, I wanted to have a little talk with you.

　　SILAS: Well, why not? (he is tying the gay balloons to hisgun, then as he talks, hangs his hat in the corner closet)We've been having a little talk ourselves. Mother, Nat Rice wasthere. I've not seen Nat Rice since the day we had to leave him onthe road with his torn leg—him cursing like a pirate. Iwanted to bring him home, but he had to go back to Chicago. Hiswife's dead, mother.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, I guess she's not sorry.

　　SILAS: Why, mother.

　　GRANDMOTHER: 'Why, mother.' Nat Rice is a mean, stingy,complaining man—his leg notwithstanding. Where'd you leavethe folks?

　　SILAS: Oh—scattered around. Everybody visitin' withanybody that'll visit with them. Wish you could have gone.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I've heard it all. (to FEJEVARY) Your folkswell?

　　FEJEVARY: All well, Mrs Morton. And my boy Felix is home. He'llstop in here to see you by and by.

　　SILAS: Oh, he's a fine-looking boy, mother. And think of what heknows! (cordially including the young man) Mr Fejevary's sonhas been to Harvard College.

　　SMITH: Well, well—quite a trip. Well, Mr Morton, I hopethis is not a bad time for me to—present a little matter toyou?

　　SILAS: (genially) That depends, of course, on what you'regoing to present. (attracted by a sound outside) Mind if Ipresent a little matter to your horse? Like to uncheck him so's hecan geta a bit o'grass.

　　SMITH: Why—yes. I suppose he would like that.

　　SILAS: (going out) You bet he'd like it. Wouldn't you,old boy?

　　SMITH: Your son is fond of animals.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Lots of people's fond of 'em—and good to 'em.Silas—I dunno, it's as if he was that animal.

　　FEJEVARY: He has imagination.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (with surprise) Think so?

　　SILAS: (returning and sitting down at the table by the youngman) Now, what's in your mind, my boy?

　　SMITH: This town is growing very fast, Mr Morton.

　　SILAS: Yes. (slyly—with humour) I know that.

　　SMITH: I presume you, as one of the early settlers—as infact a son of the earliest settler, feel a certain responsibilityabout the welfare of—

　　SILAS: I haven't got in mind to do the town a bit of harm.So—what's your point?

　　SMITH: More people—more homes. And homes must be in thehealthiest places—the—the most beautiful places. Isn'tit true, Mr Fejevary, that it means a great deal to people to havea beautiful outlook from their homes? A—well, an expanse.

　　SILAS: What is it they want to buy—these fellows that arefiguring on making something out of—expanse? (a gesturefor expanse, then a reassuring gesture) It's all right,but—just what is it?

　　SMITH: I am prepared to make you an offer—a gilt-edgedoffer for that (pointing toward it) hill above the town.

　　SILAS: (shaking his head—with the smile of the strongman who is a dreamer) The hill is not for sale.

　　SMITH: But wouldn't you consider a—particularly goodoffer, Mr Morton?

　　(SILAS, who has turned so he can look out at thehill, slowly shakes his head.)

　　SMITH: Do you feel you have the right—the moral right tohold it?

　　SILAS: It's not for myself I'm holding it.

　　SMITH: Oh,—for the children?

　　SILAS: Yes, the children.

　　SMITH: But—if you'll excuse me—there are otherinvestments might do the children even more good.

　　SILAS: This seems to me—the best investment.

　　SMITH: But after all there are other people's children toconsider.

　　SILAS: Yes, I know. That's it.

　　SMITH: I wonder if I understand you, Mr Morton?

　　SILAS: (kindly) I don't believe you do. I don't see howyou could. And I can't explain myself just now. So—the hillis not for sale. I'm not making anybody homeless. There's landenough for all—all sides round. But the hill—

　　SMITH: (rising) Is yours.

　　SILAS: You'll see.

　　SMITH: I am prepared to offer you—

　　SILAS: You're not prepared to offer me anything I'd consideralongside what I am considering. So—I wish you good luck inyour business undertakings.

　　SMITH: Sorry—you won't let us try to help the town.

　　SILAS: Don't sit up nights worrying about my chokin' thetown.

　　SMITH: We could make you a rich man, Mr Morton. Do you thinkwhat you have in mind will make you so much richer?

　　SILAS: Much richer.

　　SMITH: Well, good-bye. Good day, sir. Good day, ma'am.

　　SILAS: (following him to the door) Nice horse you'vegot.

　　SMITH: Yes, seems all right.

　　(SILAS stands in the doorway and looks off at thehill.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: What are you going to do with the hill, Silas?

　　SILAS: After I get a little glass of wine—to celebrateFelix and me being here instead of farther south—I'd like totell you what I want for the hill. (to FEJEVARY ratherbashfully) I've been wanting to tell you.

　　FEJEVARY: I want to know.

　　SILAS: (getting the wine from the closet) Just a littlesomething to show our gratitude with.

　　(Goes off right for glasses.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. Maybe it'd be better to sell thehill—while they're anxious.

　　FEJEVARY: He seems to have another plan for it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Yes. Well, I hope the other plan does bring himsomething. Silas has worked—all the days of his life.

　　FEJEVARY: I know.

　　GRANDMOTHER: You don't know the hull of it. But I know.(rather to herself) Know too well to think about it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (as SILAS returns) I'll get morecookies.

　　SILAS: I'll get them, mother.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Get 'em myself. Pity if a woman can't get out herown cookies.

　　SILAS: (seeing how hard it is for her) I wish motherwould let us do things for her.

　　FEJEVARY: That strength is a flame frailness can't put out. It'sa great thing for us to have her,—this touch with the lifebehind us.

　　SILAS: Yes. And it's a great thing for us to have you—whocan see those things and say them. What a lot I'd 'a' missed if Ihadn't had what you've seen.

　　FEJEVARY: Oh, you only think that because you've got to begenerous.

　　SILAS: I'm not generous. I'm seeing something now.Something about you. I've been thinking of it a good deallately—it's got something to do with—with the hill.I've been thinkin' what it's meant all these years to have a familylike yours next place to. They did something pretty nice for thecorn belt when they drove you out of Hungary. Funny—howthings don't end the way they begin. I mean, what begins don't end.It's another thing ends. Set out to do something for your owncountry—and maybe you don't quite do the thing you set out todo—

　　FEJEVARY: No.

　　SILAS: But do something for a country a long way off.

　　FEJEVARY: I'm afraid I've not done much for any country.

　　SILAS: (brusquely) Where's your left arm—may I beso bold as to inquire? Though your left arm's nothingalongside—what can't be measured.

　　FEJEVARY: When I think of what I dreamed as a young man—itseems to me my life has failed.

　　SILAS: (raising his glass) Well, if your life'sfailed—I like failure.

　　(GRANDMOTHER MORTON returns with hercookies.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: There's two kinds—Mr Fejevary. These haveseeds in 'em.

　　FEJEVARY: Thank you. I'll try a seed cookie first.

　　SILAS: Mother, you'll have a glass of wine?

　　GRANDMOTHER: I don't need wine.

　　SILAS: Well, I don't know as we need it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: No, I don't know as you do. But I didn't go towar.

　　FEJEVARY: Then have a little wine to celebrate that.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, just a mite to warm me up. Not that it'scold. (FEJEVARY brings it to her, and the cookies) TheIndians used to like cookies. I was talking to that youngwhippersnapper about the Indians. One time I saw an Indian watchingme from a bush, (points) Right out there. I was never afraidof Indians when you could see the whole of 'em—but when youcould see nothin' but their bright eyes—movin' throughleaves—I declare they made me nervous. After he'd been therean hour I couldn't seem to put my mind on my work. So I thought,Red or White, a man's a man—I'll take him some cookies.

　　FEJEVARY: It succeeded?

　　GRANDMOTHER: So well that those leaves had eyes next day. But hebrought me a fish to trade. He was a nice boy.

　　SILAS: Probably we killed him.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. Maybe he killed us. Will Owens' family wasmassacred just after this. Like as not my cookie Indian helped outthere. Something kind of uncertain about the Indians.

　　SILAS: I guess they found something kind of uncertain aboutus.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Six o' one and half a dozen of another. Usuallyis.

　　SILAS: (to FEJEVARY) I wonder if I'm wrong. You see, Inever went to school—

　　GRANDMOTHER: I don't know why you say that, Silas. There was twowinters you went to school.

　　SILAS: Yes, mother, and I'm glad I did, for I learned to readthere, and liked the geography globe. It made the earth so nice tothink about. And one day the teacher told us all about the stars,and I had that to think of when I was driving at night. The otherboys didn't believe it was so. But I knew it was so! But I meanschool—the way Mr Fejevary went to school. He went touniversities. In his own countries—in other countries. Allthe things men have found out, the wisest and finest things menhave thought since first they began to think—all that was putbefore them.

　　FEJEVARY: (with a gentle smile) I fear I left a good dealof it untouched.

　　SILAS: You took a plenty. Tell in your eyes you've thought lotsabout what's been thought. And that's what I was setting out tosay. It makes something of men—learning. A house that's fullof books makes a different kind of people. Oh, of course, if thebooks aren't there just to show off.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Like in Mary Baldwin's new house.

　　SILAS: (trying hard to see it) It's not the learningitself—it's the life that grows up from learning. Learning'slike soil. Like—like fertilizer. Get richer. See more. Feelmore. You believe that?

　　FEJEVARY: Culture should do it.

　　SILAS: Does in your house. You somehow know how it is for theother fellow more'n we do.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, Silas Morton, when you've your wood to chopan' your water to carry, when you kill your own cattle and hogs,tend your own horses and hens, make your butter, soap, and cook forwhoever the Lord sends—there's none too many hours of the dayleft to be polite in.

　　SILAS: You're right, mother. It had to be that way. But now thatwe buy our soap—we don't want to say what soap-making madeus.

　　GRANDMOTHER: We're honest.

　　SILAS: Yes. In a way. But there's another kind o' honesty, seemsto me, goes with that more seein' kind of kindness. Our honestywith the Indians was little to brag on.

　　GRANDMOTHER: You fret more about the Indians than anybody elsedoes.

　　SILAS: To look out at that hill sometimes makes me ashamed.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Land sakes, you didn't do it. It was thegovernment. And what a government does is nothing for a person tobe ashamed of.

　　SILAS: I don't know about that. Why is he here? Why isFelix Fejevary not rich and grand in Hungary to-day? 'Cause he wasashamed of what his government was.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, that was a foreign government.

　　SILAS: A seeing how 'tis for the other person—abein' that other person, kind of honesty. Joke of it, 'twoulddo something for you. 'Twould 'a' done something for us tohave been Indians a little more. My father used to talkabout Blackhawk—they was friends. I saw Blackhawkonce—when I was a boy. (to FEJEVARY) Guess I told you.You know what he looked like? He looked like the great of theearth. Noble. Noble like the forests—and theMississippi—and the stars. His face was long and thin and youcould see the bones, and the bones were beautiful. Looked likesomething that's never been caught. He was something many nights inhis canoe had made him. Sometimes I feel that the land itself hasgot a mind that the land would rather have had the Indians.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, don't let folks hear you say it. They'd thinkyou was plum crazy.

　　SILAS: I s'pose they would, (turning to FEJEVARY) Butafter you've walked a long time over the earth—and you allalone, didn't you ever feel something coming up from it that's likethought?

　　FEJEVARY: I'm afraid I never did. But—I wish I had.

　　SILAS: I love land—this land. I suppose that's why I neverhave the feeling that I own it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: If you don't own it—I want to know! What doyou think we come here for—your father and me? What do youthink we left our folks for—left the world of whitefolks—schools and stores and doctors, and set out in acovered wagon for we didn't know what? We lost a horse. Lost ourway—weeks longer than we thought 'twould be. You were born inthat covered wagon. You know that. But what you don't know is whatthat's like—without your own roof—orfire—without—

　　(She turns her face away.)

　　SILAS: No. No, mother, of course not. Now—now isn't thistoo bad? I don't say things right. It's because I never went toschool.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (her face shielded) You went to school twowinters.

　　SILAS: Yes. Yes, mother. So I did. And I'm glad I did.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (with the determination of one who will not haveher own pain looked at) Mrs Fejevary's pansy bed doing wellthis summer?

　　FEJEVARY: It's beautiful this summer. She was so pleased withthe new purple kind you gave her. I do wish you could get over tosee them.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Yes. Well, I've seen lots of pansies. Suppose itwas pretty fine-sounding speeches they had in town?

　　FEJEVARY: Too fine-sounding to seem much like the war.

　　SILAS: I'd like to go to a war celebration where they nevermentioned war. There'd be a way to celebrate victory, (hearing astep, looking out) Mother, here's Felix.

　　(FELIX, a well-dressed young man, comesin.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: How do, Felix?

　　FELIX: And how do you do, Grandmother Morton?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, I'm still here.

　　FELIX: Of course you are. It wouldn't be coming home if youweren't.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I've got some cookies for you, Felix. I set 'emout, so you wouldn't have to steal them. John and Felix was hard onthe cookie jar.

　　FELIX: Where is John?

　　SILAS: (who is pouring a glass of wine for FELIX) You'venot seen John yet? He was in town for the exercises. I bet thoseyoung devils ran off to the race-track. I heard whisperin' goin'round. But everybody'll be home some time. Mary and thegirls—don't ask me where they are. They'll drive old Bess allover the country before they drive her to the bam. Your father andI come on home 'cause I wanted to have a talk with him.

　　FELIX: Getting into the old uniforms makes you want to talk itall over again?

　　SILAS: The war? Well, we did do that. But all that makes me wantto talk about what's to come, about—what 'twas all for. Greatthings are to come, Felix. And before you are through.

　　FELIX: I've been thinking about them myself—walking aroundthe town to-day. It's grown so much this year, and in a way thatmeans more growing—that big glucose plant going up down theriver, the new lumber mill—all that means many morepeople.

　　FEJEVARY: And they've even bought ground for a steel works.

　　SILAS: Yes, a city will rise from these cornfields—a bigrich place—that's bound to be. It's written in the lay o' theland and the way the river flows. But first tell us about HarvardCollege, Felix. Ain't it a fine thing for us all to have Felixcoming home from that wonderful place!

　　FELIX: You make it seem wonderful.

　　SILAS: Ah, you know it's wonderful—know it so well youdon't have to say it. It's something you've got. But to me it'swonderful the way the stars are wonderful—this place whereall that the world has learned is to be drawn from me—like aspring.

　　FELIX: You almost say what Matthew Arnold says—adistinguished new English writer who speaks of: 'The best that hasbeen thought and said in the world'.

　　SILAS: 'The best that has been thought and said in the world!'(slowly rising, and as if the dream of years is bringing him tohis feet) That's what that hill is for! (pointing) Don'tyou see it? End of our trail, we climb a hill and plant a college.Plant a college, so's after we are gone that college says for us,says in people learning has made more: 'That is why we took thisland.'

　　GRANDMOTHER: (incredulous) You mean, Silas, you're goingto give the hill away?

　　SILAS: The hill at the end of our trail—how could we keepthat?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well, I want to know why not! Hill orlevel—land's land and not a thing you give away.

　　SILAS: Well, don't scold me. I'm not giving it away. It'sgiving itself away, get down to it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Don't talk to me as if I was feeble-minded.

　　SILAS: I'm talking with all the mind I've got. If there's notmind in what I say, it's because I've got no mind. But I have got amind, (to FEJEVARY, humorously) Haven't I? You oughtto know. Seeing as you gave it to me.

　　FEJEVARY: Ah, no—I didn't give it to you.

　　SILAS: Well, you made me know 'twas there. You said things thatwoke things in me and I thought about them as I ploughed. And thatmade me know there had to be a college there—wake things inminds—so ploughing's more than ploughing. What do you say,Felix?

　　FELIX: It—it's a big idea, Uncle Silas. I love the way youput it. It's only that I'm wondering—

　　SILAS: Wondering how it can ever be a Harvard College? Well, itcan't. And it needn't be (stubbornly) It's a college in thecornfields—where the Indian maize once grew. And it's for theboys of the cornfields—and the girls. There's few can go toHarvard College—but more can climb that hill, (turn of thehead from the hill to FELIX) Harvard on a hill? (AsFELIX smiles no, SILAS turns back to the hill) Acollege should be on a hill. They can see it then from far around.See it as they go out to the barn in the morning; see it whenthey're shutting up at night. 'Twill make a difference—evento them that never go.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Now, Silas—don't be hasty.

　　SILAS: Hasty? It's been company to me for years. Came to me onenight—must 'a' been ten years ago—middle of a starrynight as I was comin' home from your place (to FEJEVARY) I'dgone over to lend a hand with a sick horse an'—

　　FEJEVARY: (with a grateful smile) That was nothingnew.

　　SILAS: Well, say, I'd sit up with a sick horse that belonged tothe meanest man unhung. But—there were stars that night hadnever been there before. Leastways I'd not seen 'em. And thehill—Felix, in all your travels east, did you ever seeanything more beautiful than that hill?

　　FELIX: It's like sculpture.

　　SILAS: Hm. (the wistfulness with which he speaks of thatoutside his knowledge) I s'pose 'tis. It's the way itrises—somehow—as if it knew it rose from wide andfertile lands. I climbed the hill that night, (to FEJEVARY)You'd been talkin'. As we waited between medicines you told meabout your life as a young man. All you'd lived through seemedto—open up to you that night—way things do at times.Guess it was 'cause you thought you was goin' to lose your horse.See, that was Colonel, the sorrel, wasn't it?

　　FEJEVARY: Yes. Good old Colonel.

　　SILAS: You'd had a long run o' off luck. Hadn't got things backin shape since the war. But say, you didn't lose him, did you?

　　FEJEVARY: Thanks to you.

　　SILAS: Thanks to the medicine I keep in the back kitchen.

　　FEJEVARY: You encouraged him.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Silas has a way with all the beasts.

　　SILAS: We've got the same kind of minds—the beasts andme.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Silas, I wish you wouldn't talk like that—andwith Felix just home from Harvard College.

　　SILAS: Same kind of minds—except that mine goes on alittle farther.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Well I'm glad to hear you say that.

　　SILAS: Well, there we sat—you an' me—middle of astarry night, out beside your barn. And I guess it came over youkind of funny you should be there with me—way off theMississippi, tryin' to save a sick horse. Seemed to—bringyour life to life again. You told me what you studied in that fineold university you loved—the Vienna,—and why you becamea revolutionist. The old dreams took hold o' you and youtalked—way you used to, I suppose. The years, o' course, hadrubbed some of it off. Your face as you went on about thevision—you called it, vision of what life could be. I knewthat night there was things I never got wind of. When I wentaway—knew I ought to go home to bed—hayin' at daybreak.'Go to bed?' I said to myself. 'Strike this dead when you've neverhad it before, may never have it again?' I climbed the hill.Blackhawk was there.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Why, he was dead.

　　SILAS: He was there—on his own old hill, with me and thestars. And I said to him—

　　GRANDMOTHER: Silas!

　　SILAS: Says I to him, 'Yes—that's true; it's more yoursthan mine, you had it first and loved it best. But it's neitheryours nor mine,—though both yours and mine. Not my hill, notyour hill, but—hill of vision', said I to him. 'Here shallcome visions of a better world than was ever seen by you or me, oldIndian chief.' Oh, I was drunk, plum drunk.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I should think you was. And what about the nextday's hay?

　　SILAS: A day in the hayfield is a day's hayin'—but a nighton the hill—

　　FELIX: We don't have them often, do we, Uncle Silas?

　　SILAS: I wouldn't 'a' had that one but for your father, Felix.Thank God they drove you out o' Hungary! And it's all so dog-gonequeer. Ain't it queer how things blow from mind tomind—like seeds. Lord A'mighty—you don't know wherethey'll take hold.

　　(Children's voices off.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: There come those children up from thecreek—soppin' wet, I warrant. Well, I don't know how childrenever get raised. But we raise more of 'em than we used to. I buriedthree—first ten years I was here. Needn't 'a'happened—if we'd known what we know now, and if we hadn'tbeen alone. (With all her strength.) I don't know what youmean—the hill's not yours!

　　SILAS: It's the future's, mother—so's we can know morethan we know now.

　　GRANDMOTHER: We know it now. 'Twas then we didn't know it. Iworked for that hill! And I tell you to leave it to your ownchildren.

　　SILAS: There's other land for my own children. This is for allthe children.

　　GRANDMOTHER: What's all the children to you?

　　SILAS: (derisively) Oh, mother—what a thing for youto say! You who were never too tired to give up your own bed so thestranger could have a better bed.

　　GRANDMOTHER: That was different. They was folks on theirway.

　　FEJEVARY: So are we.

　　(SILAS turns to him with quickappreciation.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: That's just talk. We're settled now. Children ofother old settlers are getting rich. I should think you'd wantyours to.

　　SILAS: I want other things more. I want to pay my debts 'foreI'm too old to know they're debts.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (momentarily startled) Debts? Huh! Moretalk. You don't owe any man.

　　SILAS: I owe him (nodding to FEJEVARY). And the red boyshere before me.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Fiddlesticks.

　　FELIX: You haven't read Darwin, have you, Uncle Silas?

　　SILAS: Who?

　　FELIX: Darwin, the great new man—and his theory of thesurvival of the fittest?

　　SILAS: No. No, I don't know things like that, Felix.

　　FELIX: I think he might make you feel better about the Indians.In the struggle for existence many must go down. The fittestsurvive. This—had to be.

　　SILAS: Us and the Indians? Guess I don't know what youmean—fittest.

　　FELIX: He calls it that. Best fitted to the place in which onefinds one's self, having the qualities that can best cope withconditions—do things. From the beginning of life it's beenlike that. He shows the growth of life from forms that were hardlyalive, the lowest animal forms—jellyfish—up to man.

　　SILAS: Oh, yes, that's the thing the churches are so upsetabout—that we come from monkeys.

　　FELIX: Yes. One family of ape is the direct ancestor of man.

　　GRANDMOTHER: You'd better read your Bible, Felix.

　　SILAS: Do people believe this?

　　FELIX: The whole intellectual world is at war about it. The bestscientists accept it. Teachers are losing their positions forbelieving it. Of course, ministers can't believe it.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I should think not. Anyway, what's the usebelieving a thing that's so discouraging?

　　FEJEVARY: (gently) But is it that? It almost seems to mewe have to accept it because it is so encouraging. (holding outhis hand) Why have we hands?

　　GRANDMOTHER: Cause God gave them to us, I s'pose.

　　FEJEVARY: But that's rather general, and there isn't much in itto give us self-confidence. But when you think we have handsbecause ages back—before life had taken form as man, therewas an impulse to do what had never been done—when you thinkthat we have hands today because from the first of life there havebeen adventurers—those of best brain and courage who wantedto be more than life had been, and that from aspiration has comedoing, and doing has shaped the thing with which to do—itgives our hand a history which should make us want to use itwell.

　　SILAS: (breathed from deep) Well, by God! And you'veknown this all this while! Dog-gone you—why didn't you tellme?

　　FEJEVARY: I've been thinking about it. I haven't known what tobelieve. This hurts—beliefs of earlier years.

　　FELIX: The things it hurts will have to go.

　　FEJEVARY: I don't know about that, Felix. Perhaps in time we'llfind truth in them.

　　FELIX: Oh, if you feel that way, father.

　　FEJEVARY: Don't be kind to me, my boy, I'm not that old.

　　SILAS: But think what it is you've said! If it's true that wemade ourselves—made ourselves out of the wanting to bemore—created ourselves you might say, by our owncourage—our—what is it?—aspiration. Why, I can'ttake it in. I haven't got the mind to take it in. And what mind Ihave got says no. It's too—

　　FEJEVARY: It fights with what's there.

　　SILAS: (nodding) But it's like I got this (veryslowly) other way around. From underneath. As if I'd known itall along—but have just found out I know it! Yes. The earthtold me. The beasts told me.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Fine place to learn things from.

　　SILAS: Anyhow, haven't I seen it? (to FEJEVARY) In yourface haven't I seen thinking make a finer face? How long has thistaken, Felix, to—well, you might say, bring us where we arenow?

　　FELIX: Oh, we don't know how many millions of years since earthfirst stirred.

　　SILAS: Then we are what we are because through all that timethere've been them that wanted to be more than life had been.

　　FELIX: That's it, Uncle Silas.

　　SILAS: But—why, then we aren't finished yet!

　　FEJEVARY: No. We take it on from here.

　　SILAS: (slowly) Then if we don't be—the most we canbe, if we don't be more than life has been, we go back on all thatlife behind us; go back on—the—

　　(Unable to formulate it, he looks toFEJEVARY.)

　　FEJEVARY: Go back on the dreaming and the daring of a millionyears.

　　(After a moment's pause SILAS gets up,opens the closet door.)

　　GRANDMOTHER: Silas, what you doing?

　　SILAS: (who has taken out a box) I'm lookin' for the deedto the hill.

　　GRANDMOTHER: What you going to do with it?

　　SILAS: I'm going to get it out of my hands.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Get it out of your hands? (he has it now)Deed your father got from the government the very year thegovernment got it from the Indians?

　　(rising) Give me that! (she turns toFEJEVARY) Tell him he's crazy. We got the best land 'cause we wasfirst here. We got a right to keep it.

　　FEJEVARY: (going soothingly to her) It's true, Silas, itis a serious thing to give away one's land.

　　SILAS: You ought to know. You did it. Are you sorry you didit?

　　FEJEVARY: No. But wasn't that different?

　　SILAS: How was it different? Yours was a fight to make lifemore, wasn't it? Well, let this be our way.

　　GRANDMOTHER: What's all that got to do with giving up the landthat should provide for our own children?

　　SILAS: Isn't it providing for them to give them a better worldto live in? Felix—you're young, I ask you, ain't it providingfor them to give them a chance to be more than we are?

　　FELIX: I think you're entirely right, Uncle Silas. But it's thepractical question that—

　　SILAS: If you're right, the practical question is just a thingto fix up.

　　FEJEVARY: I fear you don't realize the immense amount of moneyrequired to finance a college. The land would be a start. You wouldhave to interest rich men; you'd have to have a community insympathy with the thing you wanted to do.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Can't you see, Silas, that we're all againstyou?

　　SILAS: All against me? (to FEJEVARY) But how can you be?Look at the land we walked in and took! Was there ever such achance to make life more? Why, the buffalo here before us was morethan we if we do nothing but prosper! God damn us if we sit hererich and fat and forget man's in the makin'. (affirming againstthis) There will one day be a college in these cornfields bythe Mississippi because long ago a great dream was fought for inHungary. And I say to that old dream, Wake up, old dream! Wake upand fight! You say rich men. (holding it out, but it is nottaken) I give you this deed to take to rich men to show themone man believes enough in this to give the best land he's got.That ought to make rich men stop and think.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Stop and think he's a fool.

　　SILAS: (to FEJEVARY) It's you can make them know he's nota fool. When you tell this way you can tell it, they'll feel in youwhat's more than them. They'll listen.

　　GRANDMOTHER: I tell you, Silas, folks are too busy.

　　SILAS: Too busy!' Too busy bein' nothin'? If it's true that wecreated ourselves out of the thoughts that came, then thought isnot something outside the business of life.Thought—(with his gift for wonder) why, thought's ourchance. I know now. Why I can't forget the Indians. We killed theirjoy before we killed them. We made them less, (to FEJEVARY,and as if sure he is now making it clear) I got to give itback—their hill. I give it back to joy—a betterjoy—joy o'aspiration.

　　FEJEVARY: (moved but unconvinced) But, my friend, thereare men who have no aspiration. That's why, to me, this is as alight shining from too far.

　　GRANDMOTHER: (old things waked in her) Light shining fromfar. We used to do that. We never pulled the curtain. I used towant to—you like to be to yourself when nightconies—but we always left a lighted window for the travellerwho'd lost his way.

　　FELIX: I should think that would have exposed you to theIndians.

　　GRANDMOTHER: Yes. (impatiently) Well, you can't put out alight just because it may light the wrong person.

　　FEJEVARY: No. (and this is as a light to him. He turns to thehill) No.

　　SILAS: (with gentleness, and profoundly) That's it. Lookagain. Maybe your eyes are stronger now. Don't you see it? I seethat college rising as from the soil itself, as if it was what comeat the last of that thinking that breathes from the earth. I seeit—but I want to know it's real before I stop knowing. Thenmaybe I can lie under the same sod with the red boys and not beashamed. We're not old! Let's fight! Wake in other men what youwoke in me!

　　FEJEVARY: And so could I pay my debt to America. (His handgoes out.)

　　SILAS: (giving him the deed) And to the dreams of amillion years! (Standing near the open door, their hands aregripped in compact.)

　　(CURTAIN)