LUISE
[_Frenzied._] It's you that there's no help for! Tatter-breeched
scarecrows--that's what you are--an' not men at all. Whey-faced
gutter-scrapers that take to your heels at the sound of a child's rattle.
Fellows that says "thank you" to the man as gives you a hidin'. They've
not left that much blood in you as that you can turn red in the face. You
should have the whip taken to you, an' a little pluck flogged into your
rotten bones.
[_She goes out quickly._
[_Embarrassed pause._]
MOTHER HILSE
What's the matter with Liesl, father?
OLD HILSE
Nothin', mother! What should be the matter with her?
MOTHER HILSE
Father, is it only me that's thinkin' it, or is the bells ringin'?
OLD HILSE
It'll be a funeral, mother.
MOTHER HILSE
An' I've got to sit waitin' here yet. Why must I be so long a-dyin',
father? [_Pause._]
OLD HILSE
[_Leaves his work, holds himself up straight; solemnly._] Gottlieb!--you
heard all your wife said to us. Look here, Gottlieb! [_He bares his
breast._] Here they cut out a bullet as big as a thimble. The King knows
where I lost my arm. It wasn't the mice as ate it. [_He walks up and
down._] Before that wife of yours was ever thought of, I had spilled my
blood by the quart for King an' country.
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