During the intermission the audience has seen the STAGEHANDS arranging the stage. On the right-hand side, a little right of the center, ten or twelve ordinary chairs have been placed in three openly spaced rows facing the audience.
These are graves in the cemetery.
Toward the end of the intermission the ACTORS enter and take their places. The -front row contains: toward the center of the stage, an empty chair; then MRS. GIBBS; SIMON STIMSON.
The second row contains, among others, MRS. SOAMES.
The third row has WALLY WEBB.
The dead do not turn their heads or their eyes to right or left, but they sit in a quiet without stiffness. When they speak their tone is matter-of-fact, without sentimentality and, above all, without lugubriousness.
The STAGE MANAGER takes his accustomed place and waits for the house lights to go down.
STAGE MANAGER: This time nine years have gone by, friends – summer, 1913.
Gradual changes in Grover’s Corners. Horses are getting rarer.
Farmers coming into town in Fords.
Everybody locks their house doors now at night. Ain’t been any burglars in town yet, but everybody’s heard about ’em.
You’d be surprised, though on the whole, things don’t change much around here.
This is certainly an important part of Grover’s Corners. It’s on a hilltop – a windy hilltop – lots of sky, lots of clouds, often lots of sun and moon and stars,
You come up here, on a fine afternoon and you can see range on range of hills awful blue they are up there by Lake Sunapee and Lake Winnipesaukee … and way up, if you’ve got a glass, you can see the White Mountains and Mt. Washington where North Conway and Conway is. And, of course, our favorite mountain, Mt. Monadnock’s right here – and all these towns that lie around it: Jaffrey, ’n East Jaffrey, ’n Peterborough, ’n Dublin; and
Then pointing down in the audience.
there, quite a ways down, is Grover’s Corners.
Yes, beautiful spot up here. Mountain laurel and li-lacks. I often wonder why people like to be buried in Woodlawn and Brooklyn when they might pass the same time up here in New Hampshire.
Over there –
Pointing to stage left.
are the old stones, – 1670, 1680. Strong-minded people that come a long way to be independent. Summer people walk around there laughing at the funny words on the tombstones ... it don’t do any harm. And genealogists come up from Boston get paid by city people for looking up their ancestors. They want to make sure they’re Daughters of the American Revolution and of the Mayflower. … Well, I guess that don’t do any harm, either. Wherever you come near the human race, there’s layers and layers of nonsense. …
Over there are some Civil War veterans. Iron flags on their graves … New Hampshire boys … had a notion that the Union ought to be kept together, though they’d never seen more than fifty miles of it themselves. All they knew was the name, friends – the United States of America. The United States of America. And they went and died about it.
This here is the new part of the cemetery. Here’s your friend Mrs. Gibbs. ’N let me see – Here’s Mr. Stimson, organist at the Congregational Church. And Mrs. Soames who enjoyed the wedding so – you remember? Oh, and a lot of others. And Editor Webb’s boy, Wallace, whose appendix burst while he was on a Boy Scout trip to Crawford Notch.
Yes, an awful lot of sorrow has sort of quieted down up here.
People just wild with grief have brought their relatives up to this hilL We all know how it is ... and then time … and sunny days … and rainy days … ’n snow … We’re all glad they’re in a beautiful pkce and we’re coming up here ourselves when our fit’s over.
Now there are some things we all know, but we don’t take’m out and look at’m very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars … everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being.
Pause.
You know as well as I do that the dead don’t stay interested in us living people for very long. Gradually, gradually, they lose hold of the earth … and the ambitions they had … and the pleasures they had … and the things they suffered … and the people they loved.
They get weaned away from earth that’s the way I put it, weaned away.
And they stay here while the earth part of ’em bums away, burns out; and all that rime they slowly get indifferent to what’s goin’ on in Grover’s Corners.
They’re waiting They’re waitin’ for something that they feel is comin’. Something important, and great. Aren’t they waitin’ for the eternal part in them to come out clear? Some of the things they’re going to say maybe’ll hurt your feelings but that’s the way it is: mother’n daughter … husband ’n wife … enemy ’n enemy … money ’n miser ... all those terribly important things kind of grow pale around here. And what’s left when memory’s gone, and your identity, Mrs. Smith?
He looks at the audience a minute, then turns to the stage.
Well! There are some living people. There’s Joe Stoddard, our undertaker, supervising a new-made grave. And here comes a Grover’s Corners boy, that left town to go out West.
JOE STODDARD has hovered about in the background. SAM CRAIG enters left, wiping his forehead from the exertion. He carries an umbrella and strolls front.
SAM CRAIG: Good afternoon, Joe Stoddard.
JOE STODDARD: Good afternoon, good afternoon. Let me see now: do I know you?
SAM CRAIG: I’m Sam Craig.
JOE STODDARD: Gracious sakes’ alive! Of all people! I should’a knowed you’d be back for the funeral. You’ve been away a long time, Sam.
SAM CRAIG: Yes, I’ve been away over twelve years. I’m in business out in Buffalo now, Joe. But I was in the East when I got news of my cousin’s death, so I thought I’d combine things a little and come and see the old home. You look well.
JOE STODDARD: Yes, yes, can’t complain. Very sad, our journey today, Samuel.
SAM CRAIG: Yes.
JOE STODDARD: Yes, yes. I always say I hate to supervise when a young person is taken. They’ll be here in a few minutes now. I had to come here early today my son’s supervisin’ at the home.
SAM CRAIG: Reading stones. Old Farmer McCarty, I used to do chores for him – after school. He had the lumbago.
JOE STODDARD: Yes, we brought Farmer McCarty here a number of years ago now.
SAM CRAIG: Staring at Mrs. Gibbs’ knees. Why, this is my Aunt Julia ... I’d forgotten that she’d ... of course, of course.
JOE STODDARD: Yes, Doc Gibbs lost his wife two-three years ago … about this time. And today’s another pretty bad blow for him, too.
MRS. GIBBS: To Simon Stimson: in an even voice. That’s my sister Carey’s boy, Sam … Sam Craig.
SIMON STIMSON: I’m always uncomfortable when they’re around.
MRS. GIBBS: Simon.
SAM CRAIG: Do they choose their own verses much, Joe?
JOE STODDARD: No … not usual Mostly the bereaved pick a verse.
SAM CRAIG: Doesn’t sound like Aunt Julia. There aren’t many of those Hersey sisters left now. Let me see: where are ... I wanted to look at my father’s and mother’s …
JOE STODDARD: Over there with the Craigs … Avenue F.
SAM CRAIG: Reading Simon Stimson’s epitaph. He was organist at church, wasn’t he? – Hm, drank a lot, we used to say.
JOE STODDARD: Nobody was supposed to know about it. He’d seen a peck of trouble.
Behind his hand.
Took his own life, y’ know?
SAM CRAIG: Oh, did he?
JOE STODDARD: Hung himself in the attic. They tried to hush it up, but of course it got around. He chose his own epy-taph. You can see it there. It ain’t a verse exactly.
SAM CRAIG: Why, it’s just some notes of music – what is it?
JOE STODDARD: Oh, I wouldn’t know. It was wrote up in the Boston papers at the time.
SAM CRAIG: Joe, what did she die of?
JOE STODDARD: Who?
SAM CRAIG: My cousin.
JOE STODDARD: Oh, didn’t you know? Had some trouble bringing a baby into the world. ’Twas her second, though. There’s a little boy ’bout four years old.
SAM CRAIG: Opening his umbrella. The grave’s going to be over there?
JOE STODDARD: Yes, there ain’t much more room over here among the Gibbses, so they’re opening up a whole new Gibbs section over by Avenue B. You’ll excuse me now. I see they’re comin’.
From left to center, at the hack of the stage, comes a procession. FOUR MEN carry a casket, invisible to us. All the rest are under umbrellas. One can vaguely see: DR. GIBBS, GEORGE, the WEBBS, etc. They gather about a grave in the back center of the stage, a little to the left of center.
MRS. SOAMES: Who is it, Julia?
MRS. GIBBS: Without raising her eyes. My daughter-in-law, Emily Webb.
MRS. SOAMES: A little surprised, but no emotion. Well, I declare! The road up here must have been awful muddy. What did she die of, Julia?
MRS. GIBBS: In childbirth.
MRS. SOAMES: Childbirth.
Almost with a laugh.
I’d forgotten all about that. My, wasn’t life awful
With a sigh.
and wonderful.
SIMON STIMSON: With a sideways glance. Wonderful, was it?
MRS. GIBBS: Simon! Now, remember!
MRS. SOAMES: I remember Emily’s wedding. Wasn’t it a lovely wedding! And I remember her reading the class poem at Graduation Exercises. Emily was one of the brightest girls ever graduated from High School. I’ve heard Principal Wilkins say so time after time. I called on them at their new farm, just before I died. Perfectly beautiful farm.
A WOMAN FROM AMONG THE DEAD: It’s on the same road we lived on.
A MAN AMONG THE BEAD: Yepp, right smart farm.
They subside. The group by the grave starts singing "Blessed Be the Tie That Binds."
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD: I always liked that hymn. I was hopin’ they’d sing a hymn.
Pause. Suddenly EMILY appears from among the umbrellas. She is wearing a white dress. Her hair is down her back and tied by a white ribbon like a little girl She comes slowly, gazing wonderingly at the dead, a little dazed. She stops halfway and smiles faintly. After looking at the mourners for a moment, she walks slowly to the vacant chair beside Mrs. Gibbs and sits down.
EMILY: To them all, quietly, smiling. Hello.
MRS. SOAMES: Hello, Emily.
A MAN AMONG THE DEAD: Hello, M’s Gibbs.
EMILY: Warmly. Hello, Mother Gibbs.
MRS. GIBBS: Emily.
EMILY: Hello.
With surprise.
It’s raining.
Her eyes drift back to the funeral company.
MRS. GIBBS: Yes … They’ll be gone soon, dear. Just rest yourself.
EMILY: It seems thousands and thousands of years since I ... Papa remembered that that was my favorite hymn. Oh, I wish I’d been here a long time. I don’t like being new here. _ How do you do, Mr. Stimson?
SIMON STIMSON: How do you do, Emily.
EMILY continues to look about her with a wondering smile; as though to shut out from her mind the thought of the funeral company she starts speaking to Mrs. Gibbs with a touch of nervousness.
EMILY: Mother Gibbs, George and I have made that farm into just the best place you ever saw. We thought of you all the time. We wanted to show you the new barn and a great long ce-ment drinking fountain for the stock. We bought that out of the money you left us.
MRS. GIBBS: I did?
EMILY: Don’t you remember, Mother Gibbs – the legacy you left us? Why, it was over three hundred and fifty dollars.
MRS. GIBBS: Yes, yes, Emily.
EMILY: Well, there’s a patent device on the drinking fountain so that it never overflows, Mother Gibbs, and it never sinks below a certain mark they have there. It’s fine.
Her voice trails off and her eyes return to the funeral group.
It won’t be the same to George without me, but it’s a lovely farm.
Suddenly she looks directly at Mrs. Gibbs.
Live people don’t understand, do they?
MRS. GIBBS: No, dear – not very much.
EMILY: They’re sort of shut up in little boxes, aren’t they? I feel as though I knew them last a thousand years ago … My boy is spending the day at Mrs. Carter’s.
She sees MR. CARTER among the dead.
Oh, Mr. Carter, my little boy is spending the day at your house.
MR. CARTER: Is he?
EMILY: Yes, he loves it there. – Mother Gibbs, we have a Ford, too. Never gives any trouble. I don’t drive, though. Mother Gibbs, when does this feeling go away? – Of being … one of them? How long does it … ?
MRS. GIBBS: Sh! Dear. Just wait and be patient.
EMILY: With a sigh.
I know. Look, they’re finished. They’re going.
MRS. GIBBS: Sh – .
The umbrellas leave the stage. DR. GIBBS has come over to his wife’s grave and stands before it a moment. EMILY looks up at his face. MRS. GIBBS does not raise her eyes.
EMILY: Look! Father Gibbs is bringing some of my flowers to you. He looks just like George, doesn’t he? Oh, Mother Gibbs, I never realized before how troubled and how … how in the dark live persons are. Look at him. I loved him so. From morning till night, that’s all they are – troubled.
DR. GIBBS goes off.
THE DEAD: Little cooler than it was. – Yes, that rain’s cooled it off a little. Those northeast winds always do the same thing, don’t they? If it isn’t a rain, it’s a three-day blow. –
A patient calm falls on the stage. The STAGE MANAGER appears at his proscenium pillar, smoking. EMILY sits up abruptly with an idea.
EMILY: But, Mother Gibbs, one can go back; one can go back there again … into living. I feel it. I know it. Why just then for a moment I was thinking about … about the farm … and for a minute I was there, and my baby was on my lap as plain as day.
MRS. GIBBS: Yes, of course you can.
EMILY: I can go back there and live all those days over again … why not?
MRS. GIBBS: All I can say is, Emily, don’t.
EMILY: She appeals urgently to the stage manager.
But it’s true, isn’t it? I can go and live … back there … again.
STAGE MANAGER: Yes, some have tried – but they soon come back here.
MRS. GIBBS: Don’t do it, Emily.
MRS. SOAMES: Emily, don’t. It’s not what you think it’d be.
EMILY: But I won’t live over a sad day. I’ll choose a happy one – I’ll choose the day I first knew that I loved George. Why should that be painful?
THEY are silent. Her question turns to the stage manager.
STAGE MANAGER: You not only live it; but you watch yourself living it.
EMILY: Yes?
STAGE MANAGER: And as you watch it, you see the thing that they – down there – never know. You see the future. You know what’s going to happen afterwards.
EMILY: But is that – painful? Why?
MRS. GIBBS: That’s not the only reason why you shouldn’t do it, Emily. When you’ve been here longer you’ll see that our life here is to forget all that, and think only of what’s ahead, and be ready for what’s ahead. When you’ve been here longer you’ll understand.
EMILY: Softly. But, Mother Gibbs, how can I ever forget that life? It’s all I know. It’s all I had.
MRS. SOAMES: Oh, Emily. It isn’t wise. Really, it isn’t.
EMILY: But it’s a thing I must know for myself. I’ll choose a happy day, anyway.
MRS. GIBBS: No! At least, choose an unimportant day. Choose the least important day in your life. It will be important enough.
EMILY: To herself. Then it can’t be since I was married; or since the baby was born.
To the stage manager, eagerly.
I can choose a birthday at least, can’t I? – I choose my twelfth birthday.
STAGE MANAGER: All right. February nth, 1899. A Tuesday. – Do yon want any special time of day?
EMILY: Oh, I want the whole day,
STAGE MANAGER: We’ll begin at dawn. You remember it had been snowing for several days; but it had stopped the night before, and they had begun clearing the roads. The sun’s coming up.
EMILY: With a cry; rising. There’s Main Street … why, that’s Mr. Morgan’s drugstore before he changed it! ... And there’s the livery stable.
The stage at no time in this act has, been very dark; but now the left half of the stage gradually becomes very bright the brightness of a crisp winter morning. EMILY walks toward Main Street.
STAGE MANAGER: Yes, it’s 1899. This is fourteen years ago.
EMILY: Oh, that’s the town I knew as a little girl. And, look, there’s the old white fence that used to be around our house. Oh, I’d forgotten that! Oh, I love it so! Are they inside?
STAGE MANAGER: Yes, your mother’ll be coming downstairs in a minute to make breakfast.
EMILY: Softly. Will she?
STAGE MANAGER: And you remember: your father had been away for several days; he came back on the early-morning train.
EMILY: No … ?
STAGE MANAGER: He’d been back to his college to make a speech – in western New York, at Clinton.
EMILY: Look! There’s Howie Newsome. There’s our policeman. But he’s dead; he died.
The voices of HOWIE NEWSOME, CONSTABLE WARREN and JOE CROWELL, JR., are heard at the left of the stage. EMILY listens in delight.
HOWIE NEWSOME: Whoa, Bessie! – Bessie! ’Morning, Bill.
CONSTABLE WARREN: Morning, Howie.
HOWIE NEWSOME: You’re up early.
CONSTABLE WARREN: Been rescuin’ a party; darn near froze to death, down by Polish Town thar. Got drunk and lay out in the snowdrifts. Thought he was in bed when I shook’m.
EMILY: Why, there’s Joe Crowell. …
JOE CROWELL: Good morning, Mr. Warren. ’Morning, Howie.
MRS. WEBB has appeared in her kitchen, but EMILY does not see her until she calls.
MRS. WEBB: Chil-dren! Wally! Emily! … Time to get up.
EMILY: Mama, I’m here! Oh! how young Mama looks! I didn’t know Mama was ever that young.
MRS. WEBB: You can come and dress by the kitchen fire, if you like; but hurry.
HOWIE NEWSOME has entered along Main Street and brings the walk to Mrs. Webb’s door.
Good morning, Mr. Newsome, Whhhh – it’s cold.
HOWIE NEWSOME: Ten below by my barn, Mrs. Webb.
MRS. WEBB: Think of it! Keep yourself wrapped up.
She takes her bottles in, shuddering.
EMILY: With an effort.
Mama, I can’t find my blue hair ribbon anywhere.
MRS. WEBB: Just open your eyes, dear, that’s all. I laid it out for you special – on the dresser, there. If it were a snake it would bite you.
EMILY: Yes, yes …
She puts her hand on her heart. MR. WEBB comes along Main Street, where he meets CONSTABLE WARREN. Their movements and voices are increasingly lively in the sharp air.
MR. WEBB: Good morning, Bill.
CONSTABLE WARREN: Good morning, Mr. Webb. You’re up early.
MR. WEBB: Yes, just been back to my old college in New York State. Been any trouble here?
CONSTABLE WARREN: Well, I was called up this mornin’ to rescue a Polish fella – darn near froze to death he was.
MR. WEBB: We must get it in the paper.
CONSTABLE WARREN: Twan’t much.
EMILY: Whispers. Papa.
MR. WEBB shakes the snow off his feet and enters his house. CONSTABLE WARREN goes off, right.
MR. WEBB: Good morning, Mother.
MRS. WEBB: How did it go, Charles?
MR. WEBB: Oh, fine, I guess. I told’m a few things. – Everything all right here?
MRS. WEBB: Yes – can’t think of anything that’s happened, special. Been right cold. Howie Newsome says it’s ten below over to his barn.
MR. WEBB: Yes, well, it’s colder than that at Hamilton College. Students’ ears are falling off. It ain’t Christian. – Paper have any mistakes in it?
MRS. WEBB: None that I noticed. Coffee’s ready when you want it.
He starts upstairs.
Charles! Don’t forget; it’s Emily’s birthday. Did you remember to get her something?
MR. WEBB: Patting his pocket.
Yes, I’ve got something here.
Calling up the stairs. Where’s my girl? Where’s my birthday girl?
He goes off left.
MRS. WEBB: Don’t interrupt her now, Charles. You can see her at breakfast. She’s slow enough as it is. Hurry up, children! It’s seven o’clock. Now, I don’t want to call you again.
EMILY: Softly, more in wonder than in grief.
I can’t bear it. They’re so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? Mama, I’m here. I’m grown up. I love you all, everything. I can’t look at everything hard enough.
She looks questioningly at the STAGE MANAGER, saying or suggesting: "Can I go in?" lie nods briefly. She crosses to the inner door to the kitchen, left of her mother, and as though entering the room, says, suggesting the voice of a girl of twelve:
Good morning, Mama,
MRS. WEBB: Crossing to embrace and kiss her; in her characteristic matter-of-fact manner. Well, now, dear, a very happy birthday to my girl and many happy returns. There are some surprises waiting for you on the kitchen table.
EMILY: Oh, Mama, you shouldn’t have.
She throws an anguished glance at the stage manager.
I can’t – I can’t.
MRS. WEBB: Facing the audience, over her stove. But birthday or no birthday, I want you to eat your breakfast good and slow. I want you to grow up and be a good strong girl.
That in the blue paper is from your Aunt Carrie; and I reckon you can guess who brought the post-card album. I found it on the doorstep when I brought in the milk – George Gibbs … must have come over in the cold pretty early … right nice of him.
EMILY: To herself. Oh, George! I’d forgotten that. . .
MRS. WEBB: Chew that bacon good and slow. It’ll help keep you warm on a cold day.
EMILY: With mounting urgency. Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I’m dead. You’re a grandmother, Mama. I married George Gibbs, Mama. Wally’s dead, too. Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway. We felt just terrible about it – don’t you remember? But, just for a moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment we’re happy. Let’s look at one another.
MRS. WEBB: That in the yellow paper is something I found in the attic among your grandmother’s things. You’re old enough to wear it now, and I thought you’d like it.
EMILY: And this is from you. Why, Mama, it’s just lovely and it’s just what I wanted. It’s beautiful!
She flings her arms around her mother’s neck. Her MOTHER goes on with her cooking, but is pleased.
MRS. WEBB: Well, I hoped you’d like it. Hunted all over. Your Aunt Norah couldn’t find one in Concord, so I had to send all the way to Boston.
Laughing.
Wally has something for you, too. He made it at manual-training class and he’s very proud of it. Be sure you make a big fuss about it. Your father has a surprise for you, too; don’t know what it is myself. Sh – here he comes.
MR. WEBB: Off stage. Where’s my girl? Where’s my birthday girl?
EMILY: In a loud voice to the stage manager.
I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another.
She breaks down sobbing.
The lights dim on the left half of the stage. MRS. WEBB disappears.
I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back – up the hill – to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look.
Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners … Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking … and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths … and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
She looks toward the stage manager and asks abruptly, through her tears:
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? – every, every minute?
STAGE MANAGER: No.
Pause.
The saints and poets, maybe they do some.
EMILY: I’m ready to go back.
She returns to her chair beside Mrs. Gibbs.
Pause.
MRS. GIBBS: Were you happy?
EMILY: No … I should have listened to you. That’s all human beings are! Just blind people.
MRS. GIBBS: Look, it’s clearing up. The stars are coming out.
EMILY: Oh, Mr. Stimson, I should have listened to them.
SIMON STIMSON: With mounting violence; bitingly.
Yes, now you know. Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those ... of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self -centered passion, or another. Now you know – that’s the happy existence you wanted to go back to. Ignorance and blindness.
MRS. GIBBS: Spiritedly. Simon Stimson, that ain’t the whole truth and you know it. Emily, look at that star. I forget its name.
A MAN AMONG THE DEAD: My boy Joel was a sailor, – knew ’em all. He’d set on the porch evenings and tell ’em all by name. Yes, sir, wonderful!
ANOTHER MAN AMONG THE DEAD: A star’s mighty good company.
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD: Yes. Yes, ’tis.
SIMON STIMSON: Here’s one of them coming.
THE DEAD: That’s funny. Tain’t no time for one of them to be here. – Goodness sakes.
EMILY: Mother Gibbs, it’s George.
MRS. GIBBS: Sh, dear. Just rest yourself.
EMILY: It’s George.
GEORGE enters from the left, and slowly comes toward them.
A MAN FROM AMONG THE DEAD: And my boy, Joel, who knew the stars – he used to say it took millions of years for that speck o’ light to git to the earth. Don’t seem like a body could believe it, but that’s what he used to say – millions of years.
GEORGE sinks to his knees then falls full length at Emily’s feet.
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD: Goodness! That ain’t no way to behave!
MRS. SOAMES: He ought to be home.
EMILY: Mother Gibbs?
MRS. GIBBS: Yes, Emily?
EMILY: They don’t understand, do they?
MRS. GIBBS: No, dear. They don’t understand.
The STAGE MANAGER appears at the right, one hand on & dark curtain which he slowly draws across the scene. In the distance a clock is heard striking the hour very faintly.
STAGE MANAGER: Most everybody’s asleep in Grover’s Corners. There are a few lights on: Shorty Hawkins, down at the depot, has just watched the Albany train go by. And at the livery stable somebody’s setting up late and talking. Yes, it’s clearing up. There are the stars doing their old, old crisscross journeys in the sky. Scholars haven’t settled the matter yet, but they seem to think there are no living beings up there. Just chalk ... or fire. Only this one is straining away, straining away all the time to make something of itself. The strain’s so bad that every sixteen hours everybody lies down and gets a rest.
He winds his watch.
Hm. … Eleven o’clock in Grover’s Corners. You get a good rest, too. Good night.
THE END