Page:Poet Lore, volume 36, 1925.pdf/340



The ''is seated at the table, writing on one of the pages sewed to an old chronicle. He stops suddenly, looks toward the door of the living room, rises, and slightly opens the door.'')

Miller.—Grandmother, are you here?

Grandmother (From within).—Yes, is there something you wish?

Miller.—Come here, please, (He goes back, sits down, and picks up the pen again.)