The Devil and Daniel Webster

The hill farm of Jabez Stone, in New Hampshire, some miles from the village of Cross Corners, around 1840. It is a poor farm, stony and stingy with its favors. The house is small, simple, bare. A wide view of the JABEZ STONE FARM on a Sunday morning fades in, and it i s seen squatting down under the muddy, showery skies of a cold New Hampshire spring. The grip of winter is broken -- the ground runs with water. The air is still cold but the sun is warm at noon. It's a cold spring, but liveness has begun to come back to the earth. It isn't depressing weather -- exciting rather -- for after months of snow and ice, there is going to be warmth and light, though not quite yet. But they're in the air -- on the way. Over this scene comes the sound of distant church bells, ringing faintly from the village of Cross Corners, and Jabez Stone, a husky young farmer in his late twenties, gets a rather discouraged-looking horse hitched to a rattle- trap buggy. JABEZ Mary! Ma! All ready? First bell's a-ringing. Ma Stone, a brisk old woman, Jabez's mother, bustles to the door, which stands open. She wears her best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and is adjusting her bonnet, tying the strings under her chin with nervous fingers. MA STONE Yes, we're all ready. Mary's just coming down. She comes out on the porch. She has a tart tongue and knows how to use it, but when she talks to her son or her daughter-in-law, there is affection under the tartness. MA STONE (helping him into his coat) Now, son.