IRA: It was your Aunt Isabel gave you your parties.
MADELINE: Yes.
IRA: Well, you see now.
MADELINE: (_stoutly_) Oh, well, I don't need a party. I'm grown up now.
(_She reaches out for the old Hungarian dish on the table; holding it,
she looks to her father, whose back is still turned. Her face tender,
she is about to speak when he speaks_.)
IRA: Grown up now--and going off and leaving me alone. You too--the last
one. And--_what for? (turning, looking around the room as for those long
gone_) There used to be so many in this house. My grandmother. She sat
there. (_pointing to the place near the open door_) Fine days like
this--in that chair (_points to the rocker_) she'd sit there--tell me
stories of the Indians. Father. It wasn't ever lonely where father was.
Then Madeline Fejevary--my Madeline came to this house. Lived with me in
this house. Then one day she--walked out of this house. Through that
door--through the field--out of this house. (_bitter silence_) Then
Fred--out of this house. Now you. With Emil Johnson! (_insanely, and
almost with relief at leaving things more sane_) Don't let him touch my
corn. If he touches one kernel of this corn! (_with the suspicion of the
tormented mind_) I wonder where he went? How do I know he went where he
_said_ he was going? (_getting up_) I dunno as that south bin's locked.
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