Page:Poet Lore, volume 21, 1910.djvu/438

 Petr (hurriedly, getting out of his embarrassment).—The Lord be praised—they are both well. And won’t they be glad! How stupid of me! Here I am talking with you without inviting you inside.

Maya (smiles and remains standing on the threshold—she looks around.)

Petr.—But I’ll have to call maminka. (Hurries through the yard.) Maminka, maminka! (Goes around the corner.)

Maya (steps inside the yard and looks about. She gazes at the stern, white walls of the rectory and looks at the tree, then goes back to the house and sits down on the bench. She begins to write on the sand with her parasol, reciting to herself half aloud.)

Kocianova (still behind the scenes).—And what a visit. What a visit! (Enters, followed by )—My dear, golden soul. What a guest, what a guest! (Goes over to, who rises and goes toward her.)

Maya.—Mrs. Kocianova, do you still remember me? (She embraces and kisses her.)

Kocianova.—Ach. My dear, golden Miss. You are no longer that little Marenka who used to romp around with our Petr. Such a lady from the city! I really don’t know, Miss

Maya.—And I used to think of all of you so often. Believe me, I often wanted to come here. Last year I was in Pilsen and I was all ready to make a trip over here, but just then I got a telegram to return to Prague and I had to go back.

Kocianova.—And during all this time you never wrote to us. My brother read at that time in the newspaper that your father was with God.

Maya.—Those were very sad times for me, Mrs. Kocianova. My father fell off a scaffolding when they were rebuilding a church in Skalitz, and when I got there he was already dead.

Kocianova.—My poor soul!

Maya.—And then I was not even fifteen. And soon after that my aunt who adopted me died, too, and since my seventeenth year I have been all alone in the world. I was in Germany for a couple of years, but this is now my sixth year in Prague.

Kocianova.—Well, as long as you are healthy and happy.

Maya.—Well, health I have, thank God—and as for happiness, I don’t get enough time for that.

Petr.—Missis with the theater in Prague, maminka.