Chapter XI: Act V

[_Palace garden. At center of background_, PRINCESS
_lies asleep on a couch. She is covered with a
blanket of snow so that only her face is visible.
The_ KING _and_ QUEEN _are asleep in their chairs.
The_ PAGE _lies on the ground at the_ KING’S
_feet. The_ LORDS _and_ LADIES _are all asleep in
various attitudes to the right. Stage is quite
dark; brightens gradually as_ PRINCE _enters.
Mournful music, changing to something bright and
spring-like. When the_ PRINCESS _awakes, all the
light is turned on. The music suggests the call of
birds._]

[PRINCE _enters from front right followed by_ SPRING,
_who remains shyly in the background. Looks about
wonderingly._]

PRINCE. A court asleep! King, Queen, and courtiers. ’Tis plain that some enchanter here hath cast his spell. [_Catches sight of_ PRINCESS, _tiptoes to couch, and stands beside her._] The loveliest maiden ever seen! Why does she sleep? Oh, waken, Lady Fair, and speak to me. I pray you, waken! [_Gesture of despair._] What shall I do, she sleepeth still? [_He looks at her a long time, bends closer and closer, finally drops on one knee, and kisses her._]

[_Every one stirs and slowly awakens._ FAIRY SPRING
_produces the transformation in the scenery_.
PRINCESS, _in dress of green, with flowers, slowly
arises, keeping her eyes fixed on the_ PRINCE,
_who looks at her. Together they throw back the
snow covering, showing the other side covered with
flowers. They cast it onto the couch._]

PRINCESS. [_Softly._] ’Tis the Shining Prince of my dreams. [PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS _continue to gaze at each other._]

KING. [_Regarding the_ PRINCE _with astonishment, to_ PAGE.] Who is the noble stranger? Why did you not announce him?

PAGE. [_Rubbing his eyes sleepily._] Indeed, Your Majesty, I did not hear him enter. I think I was asleep.

QUEEN. I, too, feel strangely drowsy; have I had a nap?

PRINCE. That you have, Gracious Queen, you and all your court. I doubt not a spell was cast upon you here.

PRINCESS. [_Coming forward and speaking dreamily._] I do remember now. I pricked my finger with a needle which an ancient dame did give to me. At once my eyelids closed, but yet I heard her murmur, “Sleep until the Shining Prince shall come.” [_Turns and courtesies to_ PRINCE, _who makes her a low bow._] And that is you, I thank you, sir.

KING. ’Tis the evil prophecy fulfilled.

QUEEN. It must be so. But the long sleep is over, waking-time has come. Our daughter lives, and is more beautiful than ever. Let us thank the noble Prince [_courtesies to him_] who has brought us joy, and let us celebrate with song and dancing.

PRINCE. But first I must ask permission to wed this lovely maid whom I awakened.

KING _and_ QUEEN. We give permission gladly, if the maid herself consents.

PRINCE. What say you, Lovely Princess, will you marry me?

PRINCESS. I will, O Shining Prince.

[SPRING _crowns them with flowers._ PRINCE _kneels and
kisses_ PRINCESS’S _hand. Wedding march. Procession
about stage_, PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS, KING _and_
QUEEN, LORDS _and_ LADIES, _forming themselves
in sets for the minuet. Then two other_ FAIRIES
_dance in and take their places on the couch,
where they keep time to music with wands. Dance
one figure of minuet. If children find this too
difficult, the simpler and more lively lancers may
be substituted._]

[_At conclusion of the dance, all the actors group
themselves on the stage and make their final bow to
the audience._]

[CURTAIN]

LORD MALAPERT OF MOONSHINE CASTLE

BY E. S. BROOKS

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

LORD MALAPERT.
MARIANA.
THE SENESCHAL.
CICELY.
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
FLICK.
FLOCK.
MAIDS OF HONOR.
GUARDS AND VASSALS.

[ARGUMENT: MISTRESS CICELY, from
overmuch reading of fairy tales, dreams more of what
she would like to be and like to have, than of what she
is and has. A curious adventure recalls her to herself
and shows her that contentment is better than wealth,
and that what we are is often better than what we think
we should like to be.]

COSTUMES, PROPERTIES, ETC.

LORD MALAPERT: Boy of 14. Fancy court suit,
over which he wears, at first, a modern duster or
ulster, and traveling cap.

THE SENESCHAL OF THE CASTLE: Boy of 16.
Sober-colored court suit, white wig and beard; long
staff; heavy gilt chain on neck; belt and large
bunch of keys. Pompous and important manner.

THE MAN IN THE MOON: Boy of 13. Dull-brown
tights and stockings; short blouse; long cape;
Phrygian cap; long beard; spectacles, cane, and
bag; piece of cake for porridge.

CICELY: Bright girl of 11 or 12. Pretty modern
dress.

MARIANA, AND THREE MAIDS OF HONOR: Girls of
12. Semi-fairy dresses; wings; wands; wreaths in
hair.

FLICK AND FLOCK: Boys of 6 or 8. Fancy
dresses if possible, or may be dressed as oriental
mutes,—blacked skin; white suit.

FOR THE CHORUS OF GUARDS AND VASSALS: Fancy
and fairy dresses.

THE SCENERY

Stage set at first as garden scene. Imitation green mound or fancy garden chair at right toward front of scene. A heavy green curtain should hang behind this and across the stage; this curtain, parting at the time indicated, discloses the castle.

The castle can be made of paper or cloth on light frames. It should be castellated, with open doorway and steps in front. But as no one enters, the castle need not be strongly built. The stage setting can be left to the taste and facilities of the managers.

THE MUSIC

Appropriate music should be played as accompaniment and during waits. The airs for the choruses can be selected by any one familiar with pretty or popular airs. So, too, if there are good singers in the cast, some solos can be arranged, and thus give variety to the performance.

THE PLAY

[_Low music._]
CICELY discovered—or she may enter and seat
herself—reading a book. Lost in reverie, she lets
the book fall from her lap, and, clasping her hand
behind her head, says (or sings) ruefully:

CICELY.
Oh, life is so dreary, and life is so dull,
And life is so weary withal;
Nor pleasures can cheer me, nor slumbers can lull,
Nor can I lost day-dreams recall.

The sun may shine brightly, the daisies may gleam,—
To me, though, it mattereth not.
The winds that blow lightly oft sour the cream,
And the sun on the daisies is hot.

I sigh for the hopeless; I yearn for a sphere;
I am waiting for something to come.
Our dolls are but sawdust, and life’s but a tear;
I am sick of the world’s prosy hum.

No prince comes to wake me—all glittering and tall;
No fairies will rise at my need.
Oh, come, Prince, and take me from dull duty’s thrall!
Ah, no? Then I’ll dream as I read.

[_Reads aloud._] “Then the Prince, all glittering in his silver suit, walked rapidly up the palace corridors, past the guards and soldiers, past the vassals and retainers, past the courtiers, the lords and the ladies, past the King and the Queen—all fast asleep—to where on a golden couch the beautiful Princess lay, wrapped in a death-like slumber. Marveling much at her wondrous beauty, the Prince bent over the closed lids, and, all trembling with eagerness, kissed the half-opened lips.

“With brazen clangor the palace clock struck the hour of noon. There was a start, a murmur, a sudden awakening. King, Queen, and court threw off their century sleep, and passed to their several duties. But the Princess, meeting the beaming eyes of the brave and handsome Prince, recognized at once the hero of her dream, and greeted him with an entrancing smile. Then, rising quickly from her couch, a charming blush suffusing her beautiful face, she took his hand, and leading him to the King, her father, said:

“‘Behold, my Lord, the husband whom the fairies have sent me!’

“And the King, looking upon the young Prince, loved him so exceedingly that he gave them both his blessing.

“So the gallant Prince and the beautiful Princess were married with great pomp and ceremony, and lived happily together ever after.”

CICELY. [_Sits in reverie a moment, and then says,
sadly_:]
Heigh ho, so the world goes!
How dreary my years!
What bliss if the fables were true!
But the world is _so_ dull
With its hopes and its fears—
I will sleep and will dream, Prince, of you.
[_Sleeps._]

[_Enter_ LORD MALAPERT, _in traveling costume;
carpet-bag in one hand, compass in the other_.]

LORD M.
This way my fairy compass points;
This way the stars have led;
This way [_sees_ CICELY]—ah, yes,
the stars are right—
There rests a maiden’s head.

What ho, my trusty servitors!

[_Enter_ FLICK _with rifle, and_ FLOCK _with fishing-rod_.]

My vassals tried and true!
Bear quickly off my carpet-bag,
My rod and rifle, too.
Here mortal game lies handier
Than fish, or bird, or deer.
Wait till you hear my whistle call,
Then haste ye quickly here.

[FLICK _and_ FLOCK _exeunt with bag,
rod, etc._]

LORD M. [_Investigating._]
A girl? A pearl! And I am sent
To set her life in tune.
To soothe her with my blandishment
And take her—to the Moon.
For only there (so fairy lore
This truth doth well profess)
Can earth’s confirmed repiners find
Their highest happiness.

Now, Fairy Guardians, while I kneel
Before this sleeping maid,
In silvery streams
Pour o’er her dreams
Your moonstruck serenade.

[_Kneels at head of couch._]

[_See prefatory note about music._]

CHORUS. [_Behind the curtain._]
Where moonbeams glow
On hills of snow,
And twinkling star-lamps flutter;
Where moonbeams pale,
In azure, sail
Beyond the uttermost utter;
There, Dreamer fair,
On golden stair,
Wide opes the palace portal;
And at the gates
The Prince awaits
His mooning, maiden mortal.

Pale moon,
Sail, moon,
To the uttermost utter;
Soon shine,
Moon, shine,
Where the star-lamps flutter.

LORD MALAPERT. [_Rising._]
Now, fairy spell,
Work true and well,
Let earth-born needs forsake her;
O Lady Moon,
Our lives attune,
As by this kiss I wake her!

[_Kisses her._]

CICELY. [_Starting._]
Oh, what was that!

LORD M. ’Twas I.

CICELY. Why, who are you?

LORD M. [_Bowing low._]
Your fond admirer.

CICELY. Ah, my dream is true!

LORD M.
Behold your slave—!
At home, both peer and vassal.

[_Throws off duster, and displays his princely costume._]

Hail me—Lord Malapert of Moonshine Castle!

CICELY. O-o-oh! And you’ve come—?

LORD M.
To bear you far away,
Where over azure seas
The moonbeams play;
And all our lives shall be one twilight story,
While o’er our palace streams the Moon’s pale glory.

CICELY.
What! Can I leave this earth, so dull and prosy.
For palace halls and life all fair and rosy?

LORD M.
Aye, that you can, and find your humblest vassal
In me—Lord Malapert of Moonshine Castle.
[_Bows._]

CICELY.
Then am I ready. To the Moon I’ll flee,
Dearest Lord Malapert, to rule with thee.
How shall we go?

LORD M. Not in the steam-cars tropic,
With quarters cramped and comforts microscopic;
Not by slow stages nor unsafe balloon
Shall we attain our palace in the Moon;
But by his private air-line will your vassal
Bear Lady Malapert to Moonshine Castle.
[_Whistles._]
What ho, my trusty servitors!
Bring rifle, rod, and bag;
Come hither, Flick; come hither, Flock.
Let not your footsteps lag.

[_Enter_ FLICK _and_ FLOCK _bearing the Magic Carpet—a
bright piece of carpeting some three feet square,
with long cord and fancy tassel at upper left-hand
and right-hand corners._]

’Tis well. Now, spread upon the earth
Your wondrous roll; and soon
We’ll on our Magic Carpet soar
Serenely to the Moon.

[_They unroll the carpet._ LORD MALAPERT _conducts_
CICELY, _who seats herself upon the carpet, while
he kneels beside her, and_ FLICK _and_ FLOCK _stand
behind, each at a corner, and hold the tassels.
Arrange the group in as pretty a tableau as possible._]

LORD M.
Now Flick, now Flock, your stations take;
Hold each a steering-tassel;
While Lord and Lady Malapert
Mount up to Moonshine Castle.

[_Tableau._]

[CHORUS _begins behind the curtain. Curtain slowly
parts, disclosing Moonshine Castle with_ GUARDS,
VASSALS, _and_ MAIDS OF HONOR _prettily grouped in
front_; SENESCHAL _in middle._]

CHORUS OF WELCOME. [_See Music Note._]
Where the twilight hues are flushing
All the sky with amber light,
Where the winds are rushing, rushing,
Through the portals of the night;
There, the dying sunset paling,
With our moonbeams weird and wan,
Joy we o’er the daylight failing,
As our welcome echoes on.
Hail ye! Hail ye!
Welcome home!
Lord and lady, welcome home!

[_As the chorus ceases_, LORD MALAPERT _conducts_
CICELY _to a seat at left, and_ FLICK _and_ FLOCK
_gather up the carpet_.]

LORD M. [_Standing by_ CICELY’S _side_.]
Thus, fairest Cicely, doth every vassal
Welcome the Malaperts to Moonshine Castle.

CICELY.
Oh, this is life! Good-by to earth’s dull duty.
This is my palace; this my realm of beauty.

SENESCHAL. [_With important manner, advancing and bowing low._]
Most noble lord and lady,
Your humble Seneschal
With pleasure bids you welcome
To Moonshine Castle’s hall.
I speak for all the Moon-folk
Our words of hearty cheer.
On this, your glad home-coming,
Your vassals’ greeting hear:—
Where mighty Tycho’s[4] summits
Uplift their peaks of snow,
Where gray Serenitatis[5]
In moonlight gleams below;
From where great Sinus Iridum
Its highland bulwark rears,
To where on Mare Crisium[6]
The verdure-belt appears;
From rock and plain and crater,
From caverns vast and deep,
From town and hall and castle,
And lava-covered steep,
The notes of joy upswelling
In sounding chorus come,
To lord and lady telling
A happy welcome home.
Within, the banquet waits you;
Without, the moonbeam flirts;
Welcome to Moonshine Castle,
Home of the Malaperts!

[4] Mountains, plains, and valleys in the Moon.

[5] Mountains, plains, and valleys in the Moon.

[6] Mountains, plains, and valleys in the Moon.

LORD M.
Thanks, worthy Seneschal;
But, ere we seek the hall,
I must affairs of state
In council contemplate.
Tell me, I pray you, then,
Wisest of serving-men,
Can you no maiden fair
(Child of the moonlight rare)
Into a maid convert
For Lady Malapert?

SENESCHAL. [_Pointing to_ MARIANA.]
Here’s Mariana,—with her sisters three.

LORD M.
Your Maids of Honor, dearest Cicely.

CICELY.
Thanks to your lordship for your care of me.

SENESCHAL. Go, maidens all;
Wait on your lady fair.
[_They stand behind_ CICELY’S _chair_.]

MARIANA.
Gladly the task we’ll share.

SENESCHAL. [_Bowing to_ CICELY.]
None can with her compare!

CICELY. [_With dignity._]
Thanks, Seneschal.

LORD M.
Here, with your ladies, wait,
While the affairs of state
Briefly I now debate
In council hall.

CICELY. Stay not too long, I pray!

LORD M. [_Kissing her hand._]
Adieu!

SENESCHAL. My lady may
Here with much comfort stay.

CICELY. Thanks, Seneschal.

[_Exeunt_ SENESCHAL _and all but_ MAIDS OF HONOR _and_
FLICK _and_ FLOCK.]

CICELY.
I have my wish! Now am I queen at last;
How dismal seem the duties of the past.
Here may I reign in joy; here _all_ I hold—
Fair Mariana, does it not seem cold?

MARIANA.
Oh, no, my lady,—warm, it seems to me.
Our rare Moon climate cannot milder be.

CICELY.
I feel quite chilly; kindly throw your shawl
Over my shoulders.

MARIANA. I have none at all.

CICELY.
No shawls nor wraps?

MARIANA. Why, dearest lady, no.
We need no wrappings as do you below.
Here heat and cold to us seem not to matter.
_We_ feel no changes.

CICELY. How my teeth do chatter!
And I am hungry. Ladies, I entreat,
Kindly procure me something good to eat.

MARIANA. [_Puzzled._]
To eat? Why, dearest lady, what is that?

CICELY. [_In despair._]
Oh, what is what?

MARIANA. To eat?

CICELY. Why, every _cat_
Knows that to eat is to stay hunger’s craving.

MARIANA. [_Complacently._]
We know no hunger.

CICELY. [_Indignantly._] How you are behaving!
Of course you eat; why, you _must_ eat to live.

MARIANA.
We feast our eyes, but naught our bodies give.

CICELY.
Oh, I shall die! What’s in the banquet-hall?

MARIANA.
Here Flick, quick, Flock, run for the Seneschal!

SENESCHAL. [_Entering hurriedly._]
What now?

MARIANA. Our lady’s dying of despair.

CICELY.
Show me, O Seneschal, your bill of fare.

SENESCHAL.
The _ménu_ for the banquet? Here!
[_Produces roll._]

CICELY. Oh, read!
What does it offer? Let me know with speed!

SENESCHAL. [_With gusto, reading ménu._]
Ahem! First: Moonbeams served on amber ice.
Next: Lunar rainbows—for each guest a slice.
Then—liquid moonshine, crowned with frozen sauce,
With cups of night-dew make a luscious course,
And—for dessert: bright starlight, clear and cold,
With rays of moonlight served on plates of gold.

CICELY. [_Shivering._]
Oh, horrible! Oh, for our kitchen table!

SENESCHAL.
I trust your ladyship to feast is able.

CICELY. [_Pettishly._]
No, I am starving.

MARIANA. Starving?

SENESCHAL. Quickly cut her—

MARIANA.
A slice of moonshine?

CICELY. No—of bread and butter!
Oh, is there nothing in the Moon to eat?

SENESCHAL. [_Pointing to ménu._]
Why, is there nothing in this princely treat?

CICELY. [_Disgusted._]
What? Frozen moonbeams heaped on icy hummocks!

MARIANA. [_Indignantly._]
We feast our eyes; you earth-folk—cram your stomachs!

CICELY.
Would I were _on_ the earth! I’m cold and starving;
I’d give my palace to see Papa carving.

MARIANA.
What can we do?

CICELY. Go call my lord.

MARIANA.
What, what, my lady? From the council-board?

SENESCHAL.
Fairies and Moon-folk all have work to do.
We have our duties quite as well as you.
Pray be content—forget your earth-born cravings.

CICELY.
I’m cold and hungry—can I live on _shavings_?
Slices of moonbeams may for fairies do.
Oh, for the meanest home-dish—hash or stew!

MARIANA.
There’s a man in the Moon,
So I’ve heard people say,
Who once went to the earth
By a roundabout way,
And perhaps he may know—

CICELY. [_Interrupting._]
Oh, then, Flock, and then Flick,
Find the man, I implore,
And return with him. Quick!

[_Sinks back in her chair. Exeunt_ FLICK _and_ FLOCK.]

MARIANA. [_To_ SENESCHAL,
_both coming forward_.]
There, worthy Seneschal;
That’s what I said.
Mortals and Moon-folk
Should never be wed;
What with their earth-born cravings and misgivings,
They _can’t_ appreciate our higher livings;
Why, the Moon’s meanest slave and humblest vassal
Is fitter far to rule in Moonshine Castle.

SENESCHAL.
Peace, Mariana! Question not the cause.
The fairies tell us, in their simple laws,
That those dissatisfied with earth, must be
By bitter lessons taught the truth to see.
Contentment, so they say, than wealth is better;
He who would read must first learn every letter.

[_Enter_ FLICK _and_ FLOCK, _with the_ MAN IN THE MOON.]

CICELY.
Well, Flick; well, Flock; found you the one you went for?

FLICK _and_ FLOCK. [_Together._]
Ah, yes, my lady; here’s the man you sent for.

MAN IN THE MOON.
I’m the Man in the Moon,
Who once went down too soon,
To inquire the way to Norwich;
And I found, I may say,
Nothing nice on the way
But a morsel of cold plum-porridge.
For the Man in the South,
Who had just burnt his mouth
By eating this cold plum-porridge,
Said: “The earth is no good;
I’d return, if I could,—
You’ll never be happy in Norwich.”
So, back to the Moon
I returned very soon,
Nor troubled myself about Norwich;
But the Man in the South—
Who had just burnt his mouth—
Made me take off his cold plum-porridge.

CICELY. Give me a piece!

SENESCHAL. Cease, lady, cease;
For here’s my lord returning.

LORD M. Why, Cicely!
What’s this I see?

CICELY. [_Running toward him._]
For porridge I am yearning.

LORD M.
I thought your earth-born needs had fled,
When to the Moon we scurried.

CICELY. [_Petulantly._]
Would I were back on earth again,—
I’d never more be worried.

LORD M.
What! Leave your palace and your court
For dull earth’s duller duties?

CICELY.
Ah, yes! In them there’s more of sport
Than ’midst your moonlight beauties.
I thought to find supreme delight
In this ethereal station;
I’m hungry, cold, and homesick in
Your unsubstantial nation.
You feast on shades and shadows here—
You’ve neither warmth nor feeling.
Oh, send me back to earth again!
My grief there’s no concealing.
[_Weeps._]

LORD M.
You’re here, my dear; and fairy laws
Admit of no reversal;
The fairies meant your discontent
To be the _last_ rehearsal.
Here you have come, here must you stay,—
’Tis ordered so, and fated;
So, dry your tears—in forty years
You _may_ be acclimated.

CICELY. Forty years! Dear, oh, dear!
What words do I hear?—
But, please, mayn’t he give me some porridge?

MAN IN THE MOON. [_Confidentially to_ LORD M.]
I’m the Man in the Moon,
Who once went down too soon
To inquire the way to Norwich—

LORD M. [_Waving him off._]
Oh, I’ve heard that before;
You’re a tedious old bore,
With your story of cold plum-porridge.

CICELY. Bid him give me a piece,
That my hunger may cease.

MAN IN THE MOON.
Here’s a slice, lady, brought from Norwich.

CHORUS OF WARNING. [_See Music Note._]
Stay, stay, stay!
Turn her hand away!
Whoso eats the porridge leaves our moonlit halls.
Pray, pray, pray,
Send the man away;
If she eats the porridge, down to earth she falls.

CICELY. [_Snatching porridge and taking a bite._]
I have eaten! I’m free!
How rejoiced I shall be
When down to the earth I am dropping?
Oh! I’m dizzy! I freeze!
Good-by, Moon-folk! Now, please,
Let me tumble straight home without stopping.

[_Falls into_ LORD M.’S _arms—asleep_.]

LORD M. Here, Flock; here, Flick;
The carpet! Quick!

[FLICK _and_ FLOCK _spread Magic Carpet
in center-front_.]

Take each a steering-tassel.
Down, down, we go,
To earth below;
Good-by to Moonshine Castle.

[_Tableau as before._ LORD M. _supporting_ CICELY, _while
the curtain closes during the following chorus_:]

CHORUS OF FAREWELL. [_See Music Note._]

From the moonlight
Through the starlight,
From the twilight to the day;
Ever falling, falling, falling.
To the sunlight and the day—
Fare thee well, for ever, ever;
Mortal may not wed with fay.
Find content in duty’s calling;
Mortal may not wed with fay.
Fare thee well, for ever, ever;
Mortal may not wed with fay.

[_Curtain closes._]

LORD M.
Now, Flick; now, Flock; the couch prepare;
We’ll lay the sleeping maiden there,
And, hastening fast away,
We’ll search for other dreaming maids,
Who sigh for princes, courts, and glades,
And weep because the vision fades
While duty comes to stay.

[_Leads_ CICELY, _still asleep, to couch or bank_.]

Rest, Maiden, in your home once more;
Content with life, seek not to soar,
But love and patience evermore
Still to your work be bringing.
For daily duty brightly done
Is half life’s battle bravely won;
Through parting clouds will break the sun
And set the birds a-singing.

What ho! my trusty servitors,
My vassals tried and true!
Come follow, follow, follow me—
We’ve other work to do.
For duty comes, as duty must,
To Prince as well as vassal.
Wake, Maiden! Vanish Malapert,
The Lord of Moonshine Castle!

[_Exeunt_ LORD M., FLICK _and_ FLOCK.]

CICELY. [_Waking._]
Am I awake? Oh, what a dream!
It seems so strange and queer
To be—Where am I? Oh, how nice
To know that home is here!
[_Advances._]

Well, life is life, and work is work,
And I will try to do
Whatever work life brings to me,
And to myself be true.
I think that from this summer dream
I’ve learned this lesson well:
Contentment is life’s sweetest sauce.

[_Bell rings._]

There goes the dinner-bell! [_Joyfully._]

[_Exit._]

[CURTAIN]

LITTLE FOLK IN GREEN

(_An outdoor fairy play for children_)

BY ELIZABETH WOODBRIDGE

[_Scene. A meadow or grassy spot, with trees and bushes
in the background. Enter, young_ MOTHER, _with very
little boy dressed in green. As she speaks an old_
WITCH _hobbles in at back, and pauses to listen and
peer at them_.]

SCENE I

MOTHER.
Now little Boy-green, I’ll leave you here.
The sun is high and the sky is clear.
Dear little lad in your coat of green!
Prettiest laddie that e’er was seen!

WITCH. [_Muttering._]
Green cloak,
Fairy folk!
Green cloak,
Fairy folk!
[WITCH _hobbles slowly off_.]

MOTHER. [_Bending over the boy and putting
her arms around him._]
Fairies! You hear what the old witch said?
I wish I had dressed you in blue instead!
’Tis the fairies’ color you wear to-day,
So be careful not to go far away!
Don’t let the fairies capture you,
Or they’ll make you into a fairy too.
A beautiful fairy you’d surely make,
But your mother’s heart, it would surely break,
So, little Boy-green, stay here and play,
And Mother will not be long away.

[MOTHER _goes out, looking back wistfully now and again
at the little boy. When she is out of sight, the
boy sits down in the grass with a toy that she has
given him. After a pause, a fairy peeps out from
behind a distant tree or bush, then another and
another, then many—ten or twelve or more—stealing
cautiously forward toward the open grassy spot.
They begin to sing, very softly_:]

[Music]

We are the fairy folk, We are the airy folk,
We are the folk of the flowers and the trees.
We are the wary folk, Sometimes contrary folk
Hid in the dew and afloat on the breeze.

[_By this time they have reached the open, where they
join hands and dance in a circle, singing_:]

This way and that way we skip and we prance,
This way and that way we turn in our dance;
Here-a-way, there-a-way, darting our glance,
Searching for mortals our band to enhance.

[_They break up into two groups, and take the next
lines antiphonally._]

Little mortals clad in white—
Pretty sight!
Little mortals clad in blue—
Pretty too!
Little mortals clad in pink—
Need not shrink.
Little mortals clad in red—
Have no dread.
But little mortals clad in green—
No more seen!
No more seen!
Little mortals clad in green—
No more seen!

BLUEBELL. [_Stepping forward, and pointing toward
the little boy._]
Hist! Look there!

LILY WHEREAWAY. Where?

BLUEBELL. A mortal, I spy!

LILY. Ho! So do I!

ALL. So do I, so do I, so do I!
Let’s fly!

[_They start to run back among the trees, but are checked
by the next speech, and draw slowly forward again._]

Fairies! Have you seen?
He is clad in green!
He is ours if we can lure him—
One of us if we secure him!
He is clad in green!
He is ours, I ween.

ALL. He is clad in green!
He is ours, I ween!

[_They huddle closely together, and speak softly, with
furtive glances and gestures toward the child, who
does not seem to notice them._]

MONKSHOOD.
Now around him we’ll go stealing,
Closer, closer, closer wheeling,

BLUEBELL. Crouch and hush,
Then a rush!
All at once our band revealing.

ALL. He is clad in green!
He is ours, I ween!

[Music]

[_They steal toward him, then suddenly dart forward and
join hands in a circle around him, singing softly
and persuasively. The child looks up at them and
smiles or laughs with surprise and pleasure._]

Little mortal clad in green,
Have you ever fairies seen?
Come and join us in our play!
Come, we’ll take you far away!
Over hill and over dale,
Riding lightly on the gale,
Over water, over land,
Come and join the fairy band!
Come, come, come, come!
Little mortal, take our hand,
Come and join the fairy band!

[_They take his hands, and draw him to his feet. One
of them sets a wreath of flowers on his head, and
another throws one over his shoulders. They draw
him slowly back through the trees, singing “We are
the fairy folk” until they are out of sight._]

SCENE II

[_The_ MOTHER _appears, gazing back among the trees, and calling_.]

Ho, little boy!
Ho! Mother’s joy!
Where is he?
Where can he be?

[_Old_ WITCH _hobbles in from the other side, and mumbles_.]

Clad in green,
No more seen
Clad in green,
No more seen!

MOTHER. Tell me, Witch, and make me glad,
Tell me, where’s my little lad?
Hair of gold and jacket green,
Eyes as blue as sky serene,
Blue and gold and green, I say,
Like this very summer day.
Tell me, Witch, and make me glad,
Where’s my little summer lad?

WITCH. Clad in green,
No more seen!

MOTHER. What do you say?
Tell me, I pray!

WITCH. Light of sun and light of moon,
Find him late or find him soon—
Light of moon and light of sun—
Fairies’ trail is never won.

[WITCH _starts to go off, the_ MOTHER _catches her gown_.]

MOTHER. Nay, I will not let you go
Till you tell me all you know!

WITCH. Fairies thieving—
Mothers grieving!

MOTHER. Fairies! They have stol’n my pet!
Ah, but I will find him yet!
Wise old witch, you know the way!
Help me! Help me now, I pray!

WITCH. At the edge of night
Fairies are in sight.
Would ye have your right,
Steal a fairy wight.
Fairy wight—
Hold it tight!
Have no fright
Of fairy might.
It will bring delight.
Fairy wight—
Hold it tight!

[_Exit_ WITCH.]

MOTHER. Does the wise old woman mean
Fairy folk can now be seen?
I will lurk in hiding here,
Watching if they do appear.

[_She crouches down behind a tree or bush. There is
a long pause. At last, while they are still out of
sight, the fairy song is heard again, very faintly,
“We are the fairy folk,” etc. As they come in sight
they cease singing and tiptoe forward silently,
until they are on the edge of the grassy open.
There they hover, uncertainly, as if afraid, and
sing softly._]

This is the hour
When mortals have power.
This is the time when their vision is clear.
Fairies, go shyly!
Fairies, go slily!
Watching your paths, lest a mortal appear.

[Music]

[_They come forward, cautiously, and pass near the tree
where the_ MOTHER _is crouching. She springs up and
seizes the tiniest of the fairies._]

MOTHER. Fairy wight,
I have you tight!

FAIRIES. Fly! Fly!
A mortal is by!

[_They run, then missing one of their number, they
turn, and crowd together at a little distance._]

FAIRIES. Stay! Stay!
She has our fay

[_Coaxingly._]

Mortal, we pray,
Give us our fay!

MOTHER. Nay, I’ll keep your fairy here
Till my little lad appear.
She shall work from night till morn,
Heavy-hearted, all forlorn,
Wings bedraggled, spirits sad,
Till you give me back my lad.

FAIRIES.[7]
Say not so! Say not so!
’Tis a fearsome way you go!

FAIRIES. Mortal, mortal, have a care!
Mortal’s lives run all awry
Who the fairy band defy.
Quickly our command obey,
Give us back our little fay!

[7] These speeches can be divided and assigned to different fairies.

MOTHER. You’ll not scare me, fairy band,
Now I have you in my hand.
Fairies’ spite is hard to bear.

MONKSHOOD.
’Twill pursue you night and day,
In your work and in your play.
Butter spoilt before it’s churned,
Biscuits sour, porridge burned—

LILY. Cows that sicken in the stall,
Fruit that rots upon the wall,

BLUEBELL. Thornies pricking in your bed,
Nightmares grinning overhead—

ALL. Foolish mortal, have a care!
Fairy spite is hard to bear.

MOTHER.
Foolish fairies! Do you think
You can make a mother shrink?
Do your worst with fairy spite
I defy your fairy might!

FAIRIES. Welladay!
Give us our fay!
Welladay!
We will obey!

MOTHER. First the lad and then the fay!
I’ll not trust you, spirits, nay!

[_Some of the fairies run off, during the next speech,
and are seen returning with the boy._]

MONKSHOOD.
Mortal, you shall have your will,
Only this you must fulfil
Since your lad has with us been,
Since he’s worn the fairy green,
Whether now you win or lose,
You must leave him free to choose
You must let him freely say
If he’ll mortal be, or fay.

MOTHER. Be it so, I have no fear,
Only bring my laddie here.

[_The_ FAIRIES _return, with the boy. As they come out
on the grass they make a circle about him, and
repeat, with one change, their earlier song_:]

Little mortal, clad in green,
You who have the fairies seen,
Come and join us in our play!
Come! We’ll take you far away!
Over hill and over dale,
Riding lightly on the gale,
Over water, over land,
Come and join the fairy hand!
Come! Come! Come! Come!
Little mortal, take our hand!
Come and join the fairy band!

[_They pause, break their circle, so that the boy can
see his_ MOTHER.]

MOTHER. Laddie, you must choose your way
Mother’s arms, or fairy play.
Will you now a fairy be
Or just a little boy—with me?

[_She holds out her arms and he runs into them. The
captive_ FAIRY, _released, runs back to her
companions._]

FAIRIES. Welladay! Welladay!
We have lost our new-made fay!

MOTHER. Shame upon you, naughty band!
Thieving up and down the land!
Stealing little lads away,
Luring them to join your play!
Have you nothing else to do?
There is better work for you!
Make the flowers sweeter grow!
Make the rivers clearer flow!
Ride the clouds and bring the rain!
Lure the sunshine back again!
There’s your work, and there’s your play!
Let alone our laddies gay!
Run! Run! Scamper! Run!
Or I’ll catch you, every one!

FAIRIES. Run! Run! Fairies run!
Farewell, Mortal! She has won!

[FAIRIES _run off, while the_ MOTHER _leads out the
little Boy. After the_ FAIRIES _have disappeared,
their song, “We are the fairy folk” is heard once
more, very distant._]

COSTUMES

The costumes for this play are simple, but very effective. The fairies should all wear white—ordinary summer dresses do very well. Over these are worn slips made of green cheese cloth. Each slip is made of one piece, doubled and stitched together at the sides and to form the wide kimono sleeves. The neck is cut out low for the girls and left high for the boys, the bottom is slashed up to form points or scallops that show the white dress underneath. The back is slit to allow room for the fastening of the wings.

The wings are made by bending a piece of wire—one continuous piece for each pair of wings—and covering this with pink tarlatan, doubled. They were fastened between the shoulders by tapes that passed around the chest and over the shoulders. Note the point of attachment for the tapes, on the beginning of each wing and not on the wire connecting them. When the tape is fastened only to the connecting wire the wings droop too much. A little experimenting will ensure success. Sometimes, if the adjustment is exactly right, the wings move a little with the motion of the child’s shoulders, and look very real indeed. After the wings are on, a bit of green cheese cloth is pinned across at their base to conceal the attachment.

The little boy was dressed in a green tunic, belted in. The flower wreaths may be made and left on the grass until they are needed, or the fairies may bring them in with them. All the fairies wore flower hats, made of crêpe paper of different colors, slashed in points so that they looked like double tulips. Each cap was of two layers of paper, of contrasting color—blue over white, white over pink, red over yellow, etc.

The mother’s costume need not be made especially for the play, but it should be inconspicuous in color and simple in its lines. The witch has the conventional peaked cap, hair hanging straight about her face, old shawl, and big cane.

The part of the boy should be taken by a very little child—not more than five years old, and preferably not over four.

The fairy songs do not necessarily have to be sung, but they are prettier if the children have true enough voices. They should not be sung loud. If they are not sung they may be half intoned in a more or less musical sing-song. The music as written is furnished with very simple accompaniments, such as could be rendered out of doors by guitars or mandolins, or two violins playing pizzicato. As given last year a violin and harp were used, and the result was very beautiful.

A FRIEND IN NEED; OR, HOW “THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD” FOUND A PUBLISHER

BY MAUDE MORRISON FRANK

“_I received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great distress, and, as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that I would come to him as soon as possible. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that he had already changed my guinea, and had got a bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk to him of the means by which he might be extricated. He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merit; told the landlady I should soon return, and, having gone to a book-seller, sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his rent...._”

From BOSWELL’S “Life of Johnson.”

CHARACTERS

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.
THE LANDLADY.

MARGERY, aged 13, }
} The Landlady’s Children.
DICK, aged 12, }

Time: 1762

SCENE

Oliver Goldsmith’s lodgings, Wine Office Court, Fleet
Street, London. The walls are discolored, the
furniture is old and rickety. The floor, the
chairs, and the tables are littered with quantities
of ragged books and loose papers.

[GOLDSMITH, _untidily dressed, is striding up and down_.]

GOLDSMITH. _[After glancing impatiently at the door several times, opens it and calls loudly._] Margery!

MARGERY. [_Coming in and curtseying._] Did you want for anything, sir?

GOLDSMITH. Has that graceless brother of yours not come back? Sure it’s above an hour since he set off.

MARGERY. Oh, sir, Dick has never been so long as that!

GOLDSMITH. An hour, I tell you, and the half of that besides! He’ll be playing at pitch-and-toss in the court, I warrant you.

MARGERY. Oh, sir, he’d not do that—not when you sent him so particular!

GOLDSMITH. Never you be too sure, Margery, of what folks will do or not do. There’s myself now. You’d never believe that I could be so foolish as to sell a good song for a paltry five shillings. But many’s the time I did it in the old town of Dublin, and climbed the college wall at night to hear the verses sung in the streets too. Then, like as not, some poor soul that needed the money more than I would beg the crown piece from me before I found my way back to the wretched garret where I lodged. But times have changed, Margery.

MARGERY. [_Hesitatingly._] Yes, sir; but, you see, sir, you still—

GOLDSMITH. [_Hurriedly._] Run down to the door like a good maid, do, and see if Dick’s in sight. [MARGERY _goes out_; GOLDSMITH _paces up and down restlessly for a moment, then, going to the table, opens the drawer noisily and rummages among his papers._] A plague on all landladies, say I! [_In a tone of disgust._] And not so much as an old song left to sell this time!

MARGERY. [_Reappearing, timidly._] Dick’s not to be seen yet, sir. I ran to the end of the court and looked as far as ever I could.

GOLDSMITH. [_Angrily._] A pretty pass for a gentleman like me to be in!—unable to stir beyond the four walls of the room, and very dirty walls they are, too [_with a scornful look about him_], with that cowardly bailiff sitting on the stairs, like a vile cat ready to pounce at any moment. And, unless Dr. Johnson is as quick to send help as he is to contradict me at the club, I must go to prison, and all because that mother of yours is so vixenish about the trifle of rent. She knows I’d give away my last halfpenny to any one who needed it.

MARGERY. [_Beginning to cry._] Yes, indeed, sir; but that’s just it! Mother heard the young gentlemen who were here last night talking in the passage about the guinea you’d given them to go to the play; and then, this morning, she only asked for some of the rent because she’s obliged to pay Dick’s fees to Mr. Filby, the tailor, who’s willing to take him to ’prentice and teach him the trade if he finds he’s a likely lad.

GOLDSMITH. [_Excitedly._] But I haven’t another guinea to my name, I tell you!

[MARGERY _sobs loudly._]

GOLDSMITH. [_Dreadfully distressed._] You shall have a whole shilling for yourself, my girl, if you’ll give over crying. But [_in a lower tone_], faith, I’ll have to get the shilling first!

[_Door opens, and_ DICK _enters, much out of breath._]

DICK. I’d a deal of trouble to give the letter to the old gentleman in the Temple. Frank, the black man-servant, said at first that his master, who could write a great book like the dictionary, all out of his own head, had no call to be bothered with forward London lads. Then he made me wait a long time while Dr. Johnson drank tea with Miss Williams, the little old blind lady that lives there. But at last the Doctor read your letter and gave me this one for you, with a penny for myself. Then he called very loud for a man-servant, and said a lot of things I couldn't rightly understand, the words were so long; but he said “Scatter-brain!” at the end. Could that mean you, sir?

GOLDSMITH. [_Without heeding the boy, hurriedly breaks the seal, and reads._]

TEMPLE LANE.
_My Dear Sir_:
Your vexatious situation has awakened the liveliest
emotion of sympathy in the breast of one who, while
condemning the follies of his fellow men, rejoices
in an opportunity of alleviating their miseries. The
inclosed piece of gold is designed to meet your most
pressing necessities, and I will myself follow your
Mercury with as much expedition as I can compass.

I am, sir, your sincere well-wisher,
SAMUEL JOHNSON.

GOLDSMITH. [_With a deep sigh of relief._] Ah! 'tis a great thing to have real friends. And they're not always the people that have the smoothest tongues, either. The Doctor's rough in his speech, yet there's nothing of the bear about him but his skin. [_Remembering the children, with a start._] Here, Dick, old debts must always be paid. I've promised Margery a shilling, and you shall have sixpence. Run and change this guinea at the Green Dragon Tavern, hard by. [DICK _makes for the door._] But, stay! If I must spend the day indoors, at least I'll have some good wine to keep me company. You may as well bring a quart of Madeira, lad, the best you can buy. [DICK _goes out._] And, Margery, there's an old corkscrew on the floor in yonder corner. There should be a goblet, too, on the shelf. The other three were broken at our little meeting last night, and the china monster I was always so fond of, too, because Cousin Jane Contarine gave it to me. Ah, well! [_Picking up some fragments from the floor and placing them on a shelf._] I'll keep the pieces to remind me of her. [DICK _enters, sets a dusty bottle on the table, and takes the change out of his various pockets, piece by piece, with an air of great responsibility._]

GOLDSMITH. [_Without counting the money._] Ah, the boy at last! Here's a sixpence for you, lad. [DICK _pulls his forelock and promptly pockets the coin._] And here's your shilling, Margery.

MARGERY. [_Taking it reluctantly._] I'll be sure to tell Mother how kind you are, sir, and then perhaps—

GOLDSMITH. Perhaps she'll not let the bailiff carry me off to prison? No use hoping for that, my dear, or for any other piece of good luck, for that matter. Poor Noll will never gallop in a coach and six, for all his hard work. But the sun shines sometimes even in Fleet Prison, and here's good wine, for once, to make him forget his troubles, so—

[_Fills a goblet to the brim, lifts it to his lips, but sets it down quickly upon hearing a heavy step on the landing._]

DR. JOHNSON. [_Outside, in a sonorous voice, heard through the half-open door._] Madam, I am fully aware that Dr. Goldsmith is in an embarrassing situation. I am also aware that your behavior is, in part, responsible for his embarrassments. If you will have the goodness to refrain from violent recriminations, I will visit him forthwith to investigate these complications. [_Advancing to the center of the room with great dignity._] My dear Goldsmith, I trust your messenger reported that I should employ the utmost expedition in coming to your assistance. The existence of a literary man is, I apprehend,—[_Coming closer to the table, he perceives the bottle and well-filled goblet, peers at the pile of coins and counts them, snorts violently in disgust, corks the bottle, and then, perceiving the children, says, sternly_:] Sir, our conversation need not be extended, but I shall take the liberty of dismissing these young persons.

[_Children go out on tiptoe._]

GOLDSMITH. [_Advancing with outstretched hand and an engaging smile._] Nay, Doctor, it'll ill work thumping a poor harmless fellow with hard words when the jade Misfortune has him by the throat. Life has many a dull day for poor Noll, and he could never cure his ills with tea-drinking, either.

DR. JOHNSON. [_Shaking his massive silver-headed cane indignantly._] Sir, you are impertinent as well as improvident! Disturbed at my sixth cup of tea, barely half my usual allowance, as Miss Williams will testify, I hasten hither only to find that your most pressing necessities are such as can be supplied from the nearest tavern. The gold I despatched by your messenger, as from one literary man to another, I could ill spare, and, since I find you in affluence [GOLDSMITH _turns out his empty pockets ruefully_] and employed in a manner eminently befitting your talents, I will bid you good day without further ceremony! [_Paces solemnly toward the door._]

GOLDSMITH. [_Coming forward quickly._] Sure, Doctor, you can never do that! I was always my own worst friend and you my best. Isn't it the sober truth I wrote in the letter, that the bailiff fellow's sitting in the passage, waiting to take me to prison if I once put my nose outside the door? You can see the ugly back of him now.

[_He flings open the_ _door, to the confusion of the_ LANDLADY, _who has been listening at the keyhole._]

DR. JOHNSON. [_Ignoring_ GOLDSMITH _completely._] Madam, it argues an amiable disposition on your part to manifest so strong an interest in Dr. Goldsmith's misfortunes. Have the goodness to enter and favor me with an explanation of these circumstances.

LANDLADY. Begging your pardon, sir, I'm not a good 'and at hexplaining and such, but when a lone woman 'as two children and heverything to do for them, and gentlemen as 'as guineas to give away promiscuous and owe rent for months don't pay a penny, though the lad's to be 'prenticed and 'is fees found—as good a lad as there is in the court too, though I say it as shouldn't—why, then, one time as well as hanother for the bailiffs, thinks I, when things come to be _so_ houtrageous—[_Stops, out of breath._]

DR. JOHNSON. [_Very sternly, to_ GOLDSMITH.] How, sir! Am I to understand that your indebtedness to this good woman has covered a period of months? [GOLDSMITH _opens his mouth as if to speak._] Never bandy words with me, sir! She must be paid, and at once!

GOLDSMITH. That's like your old kindness, Doctor, and I'll be sure to pay you when I get the next money from my old skinflint of a publisher.

DR. JOHNSON. Not so fast, sir; not so fast! Keep your compliments until they are wanted. For my own guineas I can find worthier employment [_glancing meaningly at the table_], but you shall set your roving wits to work for the discharge of your debt to this poor woman here.

GOLDSMITH. But I can't so much as take a step without having that greasy fellow yonder hale me to prison, and no man can write there.

DR. JOHNSON. Better men than you have written there, sir, and to the glory of England, too! But your foolish errands can be done for you. Have you scribbled nothing of late that you have not sold before it was finished? No verses? The last—I should be wiser than to tell you—were as sensible as their writer is foolish. Nothing? [GOLDSMITH _shakes his head._] Nay, sit down and look through this heap of rubbish. [_Pointing to the open drawer full of untidy manuscript._]

GOLDSMITH. [_Looks blankly at the papers, picks up a ragged rôle, runs through the leaves rapidly, shakes his head, and looks up doubtfully._] I wonder would they give me anything for this? I'd completely forgot it. It's only a poor tale, though I liked it well enough when I wrote it. But I've nothing else.

DR. JOHNSON. What sort of tale, sir? Is it a fable? Has it a moral?

GOLDSMITH. 'Tis about a clergyman and his family. I'd thought to call it “The Parson of Wakefield,” or some such name. I had my father, rest his soul, in mind when I wrote it; and I put in some of my own mad doings as well. There's comfort sometimes in setting down your own follies in print. It seems like a way of getting rid of them. They're not all so easy to get rid of, though, more's the pity!

DR. JOHNSON. Here, sir! Cease maundering and let me look at your nonsense. [_Settles his spectacles, sits down in an arm-chair, and begins to read._] “I was ever of the opinion that the honest man who married,” m—m—m—m. [_Turning pages._] “The only hope of our family now was that the report of our misfortunes might be malicious or premature,” m—m—m—m. [_Turning pages._] “I now began to find that all my long and painful lectures upon temperance, simplicity, and contentment were entirely disregarded.” [_Turns pages for a while, seizes his hat and stick, and stalks out without a word._ GOLDSMITH _stares at the_ LANDLADY _in surprise; the children rush in._]

MARGERY. [_Eagerly._] Oh, sir! Will the old gentleman help you? He said, “Thank you, my little mistress,” so kindly, when I picked up his stick just now, that I'm sure he's not a great bear, as Dick calls him.

GOLDSMITH. [_Sadly._] He's a very good-hearted bear, if he's one at all, Margery, and if anything can be made of a worthless fellow like me, the Doctor will do it. But sometimes I misdoubt me that it can be done.

LANDLADY. [_Sharply._] There, now, Dr. Goldsmith, I don't 'old with hany one calling 'imself names! I've 'ad a many lodgers in my time, and take them hall, bad and good, I'd a deal rather 'ave shillings from you, sir, than pounds from the hother gentlemen, for you've always a bit of a laugh about you for me and the young ones, and that halways 'elps a body through the day. But, you see, sir, I was that worried about the lad's fees for 'is 'prenticing that I was maybe a bit 'ard about the rent, but, indeed—

GOLDSMITH. Not half so hard as you had a right to be! It's a shameless scamp I am to be giving my guineas to such idle lads as were here last night, and there's none knows it better than myself. A sorry tale my life will be at this rate, with only debts and follies and maybe worse till the end of the chapter—[_He buries his face in his hands._ MARGERY _steals up behind him and lays her hand timidly on his shoulder._]

[_A heavy step is heard, the door is flung wide open,
and_ DR. JOHNSON _enters, breathing hard, and
wearing an air of great importance._]

DR. JOHNSON. Madam, what is the exact amount of my colleague's indebtedness to your establishment?

LANDLADY. Dr. Goldsmith, sir? 'E owes me fifteen guineas, come last Lady-day.

DR. JOHNSON. And the officer in the passage? What amount must be expended for the benefits of his presence?

LANDLADY. It's twelve shillings for the warrant, sir, and the stamp will be three more. 'E'll want two for 'is supper and ale, but I'll not give it. 'E'd best get into an honest business and not come cluttering up folk's 'ouses with 'is great hugly self.

DR. JOHNSON. Here are sixteen guineas, Madam, and I desire you to pay the poor wretch's supper. 'Twas by no fault of his that he came here.

GOLDSMITH. [_Starting up._] Which of the knaves did you talk into giving sixteen guineas for that poor tale? I would never have believed it!

DR. JOHNSON. To be sure, sir, it would have been another story had you carried your wares to market yourself, for the booksellers have but an ill opinion of you at present. But there was no fear that any one of them would venture to say _me_ nay, or waste words in cheapening what I chose to recommend. [_Impressively._] Mr. Newbery, your former publisher, has been pleased to purchase the work which you intrusted to me, and to send you a remuneration of sixty guineas.

GOLDSMITH. Sixty guineas! [_Sinks back on his chair in astonishment._] Dick, lad, do you hear that? You shall have the finest jack-knife in all Cheapside, my boy, and Margery a new bonnet with flowered ribbons on it, for she was always sorry for me when pence were hard to come by. And I [_rising and strutting up and down_] shall be all the better myself for a little smartening. I'll have another look at that marvelous pretty plum-colored velvet I saw in Filby's shop last week. He'll be sure to trust me for it if I pay something on the old bill, and—[_Stops short, as_ DR. JOHNSON _raps violently on the floor with his stick._]

DR. JOHNSON. [_Shaking his head solemnly._] Nay, sir, a spendthrift you were born, but an honest man I'll make you, if this money [_holding up a large leather purse_] will discharge your outstanding accounts. There shall be no plum-colored velvets, I promise you, until justice is done. But [_observing the downcast looks of the children_] you, my little mistress, shall not be deprived of your finery, nor the lad of his promised toy.

GOLDSMITH. [_Plucking up courage._] Then, Doctor, you'll not leave me without a penny, like _Simple Simon_ in the old rime? Sure, no tradesman will trust me with his wares, either.

DR. JOHNSON. [_Firmly._] And quite right too, sir. But to leave you four and forty pounds in your present state of mind would be sheer madness. Steady your wits, sir, by making a fair copy of your debts, to show me at five, when Miss Williams shall give you a slice of mutton in the Temple. On your solemn assurance that your creditors shall be satisfied without delay, the balance shall be yours, though it will be wasted on folly, I make no doubt. I have the honor to wish you good day, sir. [_Claps his hat on, seizes his stick, and marches out, stopping a moment to pat_ MARGERY'S _curls as she curtseys to him._]

GOLDSMITH. [_With a sigh of relief._] Ah, well! It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. Things looked black enough an hour since, and now, Margery, you'll be monstrous fine in a new bonnet, and Dick the cock of the court with his jack-knife. And I—I'll manage to get that plum-colored velvet—with a taffeta lining, too—or my name's not Oliver Goldsmith!

[_Children clap their hands in delight_; LANDLADY
_shakes her head at_ GOLDSMITH _disapprovingly._]

THE NEW RED RIDING-HOOD

BY E. S. BROOKS

CHARACTERS

JENNY, a girl of eight years. JOHNNY STOUT, a boy of
sixteen or eighteen years. JIMMY BINGS, a Tramp.

The argument shows that wolves are just as designing,
little girls just as heedless and helpful, and the
chances of rescue just as possible to-day as at the
time of the original Red Riding-hood.

SCENE

A neatly furnished parlor. JENNY discovered dusting
furniture, arranging flowers, and making things
look nice generally.

JENNY. [_Surveying her work critically._]
There!—my mama's gone away,
To be gone, she said, all day,
And so I am keeping house. Oh, what fun!
I shall have no time to play,
But must work and work away,
And be busy as a mouse, till I've done.

But my mama said to me—
Now, what was it? Let me see:
“Jenny, darling, don't go out all the day;
But keep close at home till tea,
When I'll come and set you free;
So just mind what you're about, dear, I pray.

“And keep Bridget right in call;
And mind this, dear, most of all:
Don't let in any stranger while I'm gone.
Lock the windows and the hall,
And be careful not to fall,
And don't get into danger here alone.”

Well, I'll try my best, I'm sure,
To keep everything secure;
But I've no need for Bridget, that I know;
Girls are _such_ a bore about,
And she might as well go out;

I'll just go down and tell her she can go. [_Exit._]

[JIMMY BINGS _appears outside at window (or door, if
a window is impracticable); he peers in, looks around;
then tries the window, opens it, and enters cautiously._]

JIMMY BINGS.
Well, now, here's a lucky go!
With that window open so,
I just skipped right in the house as slick as soap.
Why, here's loads of pretty things.
You're in luck, old Jimmy Bings,
And can do a stroke of business here, I hope.
[_A noise outside._]
Hello! Who's that coming here?

[_Goes to door, and looks out cautiously._]

Men? No! Dogs? No! Well, that's queer!
Why! it's only just a pretty leetle gal.
Jimmy Bings, slip out, and then
Just walk in here bold again—
Play your game, and make that little chick your pal!

[_Exit through door cautiously._]
[_Reënter_ JENNY.]

JENNY.
There! Now Bridget's gone away,
And I'll have a quiet day,
Fixing everything up lovely while I wait;
So that Mama, she will say,
When she comes back home to-day:
“What a lady is my little girl of eight!”

[_Enter by door_ JIMMY BINGS, _hat in hand.
He makes_ JENNY _a low bow._]

JIMMY B.
Ah! Good-morning, little miss!
You look sweet enough to kiss.
Is your Ma at home this morning, may I ask?

JENNY.
Why, sir, no. She's gone away,
To be gone the livelong day,
And I'm keeping house alone.

JIMMY B. A pleasant task.
And you'll do it, I'll be bound.
Well, I'm sorry Ma's not 'round,
For I wanted quite pertickeler to see her.

JENNY.
May not I, sir, do as well?
Is it—anything to sell?
Pray sit down, sir, so that we may talk the freer.

JIMMY B. [_Sitting._]
Thank you, Miss, I'll sit awhile;
For I've traveled many a mile,
Just to see your precious Ma, if you'll believe me.

JENNY.
She'll be sorry, sir, I know,
When she hears she's missed you so.
Can't you tell me, sir, your business, ere you leave me?

JIMMY B.
Well, the fact is, I'm her cousin!

[JENNY _looks surprised._]
Oh, she'd know me in a dozen.
I'm her cousin, come to see her, from Nevada.

JENNY. [_Suspiciously._]
In those clothes?—Oh, sir,—I fear—!

JIMMY B.
Oh, a railroad smash-up, dear,
Mussed me up a little—never was jogged harder!

JENNY.
Oh, I'm sorry! Are you hurt?

JIMMY B.
Not the least. It's only dirt;
But I always am so neat, I quite despair;
And my wardrobe all is down
At the Clarendon, in town,
Where I'm stopping: I am Algernon St. Clair.

JENNY.
My, though! What a pretty name!
Well, it really is a shame
You should have to go to town in such a plight.
There now, wouldn't Papa's do?
Oh, please look the papers through,
And I'll run upstairs, and soon fix you all right.

JIMMY B.
No, don't fret yourself, my dear;
I prefer to have you here,
Though perhaps I may accept your offer later.
Is your Pa as big as me?

JENNY. [_Surprised._]
Don't you know him?

JIMMY B. Well, you see,
I've been West so long I've kind of lost my data.

JENNY.
Won't you have a bit to eat?

JIMMY B.
Well, I do feel rather beat.

JENNY.
Then I'll go and bring you up a little luncheon.

JIMMY B. [_Carelessly._]
Have you silver, dear—or plate?

JENNY.
Mostly solid, sir.

JIMMY B. Fust rate!
Bring it up, and let me see it while I'm munchin'.

JENNY. [_Surprised._]
Bring up all the silver, sir?

JIMMY B.
Why, that's what I come here fur,
Just to make your dearest Ma a little present,—
Silver service lined with gold,—
And if hers's a trifle old
I'll have it all fixed over.

JENNY. [_Delighted._] Oh, how pleasant!
I will get it right away.
My! I'm glad you came to-day,
It will be, oh, such a nice surprise to Mama.

JIMMY B.
Well, I rather think so, too.

JENNY.
Now, for your luncheon. [_Exit._]

JIMMY B. [_Looking after her and rubbing his hands._]
Good for you!
What a blessed little chick you are, my charmer!
Just the cream of tender things;
You're in luck, old Jimmy Bings—
Oh, hexcuse me, Mr. Algernon St. Clair!—
Just you turn an honest penny.
Now, let's see if there are any
Of these things worth my packing up with care.

[_Takes the table-cloth off the table and begins
filling it with ornaments, knickknacks, and
valuables, looking at each article sharply.
Suddenly he stops, both hands full, as if struck
by a brilliant idea._]

Jimmy Bings! Why, that is grand,—
Here's a fortune right at hand!
For contriving little schemes you are the boss.
Scoop in all the things you can,
And then, like a prudent man,
Take the little girl off too—like Charley Ross!

[_Hurries the rest of the things into the table-cloth,
stopping occasionally to express his approval of
his great plan by sundry slaps and nods. Enter_
JENNY _with a tray of luncheon, nicely set. She
stands in the doorway amazed._]

JENNY.
Mr. Algernon St. Clair,
Why—what _are_ you doing there?

JIMMY B.
Only clearing off the things to help you, dear.

JENNY.
But the table's large enough.

JIMMY B.
Oh, well! Just set down the stuff,
And I'll make the reason very, very clear—
Brought a lot for me to eat?

JENNY.
Bread and cake, preserves and meat.

JIMMY B.
What a handy little chick you are,—
[_Nods at her, his mouth full._] That's so!
Don't you want to come with me—
And your little cousins see?

JENNY.
Oh, no, thank you, sir; from home I cannot go.

JIMMY B. [_Eating rapidly._]
Well, we'll speak of that bime-by.
Vittles, fust-class—spiced quite high.
Yes—they're most as good as what I get in town.

[_Pushes his plate away._]

Now, then; I will tell you, Miss,
What's the meaning of all this.
[_Points to his bundle._]

Where's that silver service?

[_Jenny opens sideboard and shows the silver service._]
All right—pack her down.
[_Stuffing it into the bundle._]

Well, you see, it isn't fair
That a sister of St. Clair
Should have to use things when they're worn and old.
So, I think I'll take them down
To my jeweler's, in town,
And just swap 'em off for nicer things in gold.

JENNY.
O—h! But that will cost so much!

JIMMY B.
Now, then, Sissy, don't you touch
On that question, 'cause the new ones _I_ shall buy;
But I'd like to have you go
And help pick them out, you know;
'Cause you know what Mama likes best, more than I.

JENNY.
But I really can't leave home.

JIMMY B.
Oh, I think you'd better come;
For it won't be long before I bring you back.

JENNY. [_Hesitating._]
I have half a mind to go.
Mama'd let me.

JIMMY B. That I know.
So get ready, while I go to work and pack.

JENNY. [_Deliberating._]
She said: “Jenny, do not go.”
But, of course, she could not know
That her cousin, Mr. Algernon St. Clair,
Would come here to take me out.
Oh, I know what I'm about,
And I'll go along with him, I do declare.

[_Goes to closet and brings out her red cloak and hood._]

JIMMY B.
What a pretty cloak and hood!

JENNY.
Mama made them. She's so good!

JIMMY B.
Good as gold! Just wear them, won't you?
That's a dear.

JENNY.
But I mustn't get them wet.

JIMMY B.
I won't let you; don't you fret.
I'll take care of them when once we go from here.
Now, then—are you ready, Sis?

JENNY.
Yes—but, then, I mustn't miss
To see everything locked up all safe and tight,
So that none of those old tramps—
My! but aren't they horrid scamps?—
Can sneak in before we both get back to-night.

JIMMY B. [_Looking at doors and windows._]
Oh, well! Everything's secure.

JENNY.
Did you look?

JIMMY B. Oh, yes. I'm sure.
So let's both be off at once, without delay.
[_Noise outside_—JIMMY _starts, guiltily._]

JIMMY B.
Hello, there, now! What was that?

JENNY.
Where?

JIMMY B. Out there!

JENNY. It was the cat!

JIMMY B.
No, it wasn't.

JENNY. P'r'aps it's Mama!

JIMMY. [_Starting for the door._] Get away!

[_Door opens suddenly._ JOHNNY STOUT _bursts in and then
stops, astonished._]

JOHNNY.
Goodness, Jenny! What's this mean?

JENNY.
What?

JOHNNY. Why this confusing scene?
Are you moving?

JENNY. No, I'm going out to walk.

JOHNNY.
Going _out_? Whom with? and where?

JENNY. [_Points to_ J. B.]
Mr. Algernon St. Clair.

JIMMY B. [_Loftily._]
So don't keep us here, young feller, with your talk.

JOHNNY. [_Suspiciously._]
Jenny, who's that party there?

[_Points to_ J. B.]

JENNY. [_Pouting._]
Mr. Algernon St. Clair—
Mama's cousin, who has come here from Nevada.

JOHNNY.
From Nevada!—How you talk!

[_Suddenly to_ JIMMY B.]

Well, my friend, you'll have to walk!
Pretty quick, sir, too, before I make it harder!

JIMMY B.
Why! You saucy little cub,
Why!—I'll have to thrash you, Bub.
Just you scatter, or I'll help you with my toe, sir!

JOHNNY. [_Quickly pulling out a pistol from the table-drawer,
and pointing it at_ JIMMY B.]
Do you see this little toy?
There's six pills for you, my boy,
Unless you drop that stuff at once and—go, sir!

JIMMY B. [_To_ JENNY, _appealingly._]
Look here, Sis, this isn't square!

JENNY. [_Protesting._]
Mr. Algernon St. Clair!

JOHNNY. [_Contemptuously._]
Mr. Algernon St. Fiddlesticks, my Jenny!
Why, this sneaking fellow, here,
Is just out of jail, my dear!
He's a tramp, without a single honest penny.

JIMMY B. [_Stepping toward him._]
That's a lie!

JOHNNY. [_Levels pistol at him._]
Hush! don't you talk.
Drop your bundle, sir, and walk,
Or I'll shoot you like a dog, without objection.
Now, then—go, sir, or I'll fire!
Put your hands up!—higher! higher!
Wait here, Jenny: I'll just sever this connection.

[_He backs_ J. B. _out of the room at the muzzle
of the pistol_; JENNY _listens for a while,
and then sinks on a chair and cries._]

JENNY.
Just a horrid, dirty tramp!
What an awful, awful scamp!
Oh, what _shall_ I say to Mama? Dearie, dear!
If I'd only minded her
Such a thing could not occur,
And she'll _never_ trust me so again, I fear.

[_Cries a little longer. Then jumps up, indignantly._]

Oh, but what a horrid bear!
Mr. Algernon St. Clair! [_Contemptuously._]
What an awful, awful, _awful_ wicked story!

[_Enter_ JOHNNY.]

Oh, but Johnny, where is he?

JOHNNY.
He's as safe as safe can be.
Fast in jail, now, all alone and in his glory.
I just marched him to the gate;
There I made him stand and wait
Till I saw a big policeman come along;
Then, when I had told the tale,
He just walked him off to jail,
And so there your cousin's locked up, good and strong.

JENNY.
Oh, don't say my cousin, please!

JOHNNY.
Well, _'t was_ just the tightest squeeze!
But how _did_ he, Jenny, get you in his snare?

JENNY.
He was _so_ polite and kind!

JOHNNY.
Oh, you goosey! Oh, how blind!
Ha, ha, ha, ha! Mr. Algernon St. Clair!

JENNY.
Now, don't laugh, please; for, you see,
It _did_ seem all right to me;
And I thought he meant to do just what he said.
Dear! but what _will_ Mama say,
When she comes back home to-day?
Oh, I wish, I _wish_ that I could hide my head!

JOHNNY.
Why, just tell the whole thing out,
And say how it came about.

JENNY.
Well, I will. And, Johnny, I will tell her, too,
How _you_ came, so bold and brave—

JOHNNY. [_Interrupting._]
Oh, no! that'll do to save.

JENNY.
But I shouldn't have been saved, dear, without you!

JOHNNY.
Never mind, my Jenny, then;
But I guess you'll know again
That to mind what Mama says, alone is good.

JENNY.
Yes, I shall!

JOHNNY. And, now it's through,
I shall always think of you,
[_Taking her hand._]
Little Jenny, as the NEW RED RIDING-HOOD.

[CURTAIN]

THE BABES IN THE WOOD

(_An Impromptu Musical Tragedy_)

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS

[_Air, “The Bold Young Lumberman.” The music may be continuous
throughout, the action keeping time with it._]

Characters

WICKED UNCLE.
REMORSELESS FIENDS.
BABES.
ROBIN.

SCENE I

[_Enter_ UNCLE.]

UNCLE. Oh, I am a bold, bad man,
And I have a bold, bad plan.
Now mind what you're about,
Just watch and see how I carry it out!
For I am a bold, bad man,
And I have a bold, bad plan.

[_He beckons, and from either side, in cloaks
and masks, and armed with daggers, enter_
REMORSELESS FIENDS.]

FIENDS. Two remorseless fiends are we,
As anybody can see.
When a deed of blood's to do,
Just send for us and we'll carry it through;
For remorseless fiends are we,
As anybody can see.

[UNCLE _gives them gold, in bags, and indicates stabbing.
They express comprehension. Dance. Curtain._]

SCENE II: _Wood_

[_Enter_ FIENDS, _dragging_ BABES. _They threaten to
kill them, but are disarmed by their pleading; they
weep, and sing._]

FIENDS. Two remorseless fiends are we,
As anybody can see.
But even for a villain
There may come a time when Barkis _ain't_ willin',
Though remorseless fiends are we,
As anybody can see.

[_Dance and exeunt._]

BABES. We are poor little babes in the wood,
And we've tried all the week to be good.
But they've gone and left us here,
And we really think it's a little bit queer,
For we're poor little babes in the wood,
And we've tried all the week to be good.

[_They lie down and die._]

[_Enter_ ROBIN, _hopping._]

ROBIN. I'm a tender-hearted robin,
And this sad scene sets me sobbin'.
So, to give my heart relief,
I will cover them up with a little green leaf,
Like a tender-hearted robin,
Whom this sad scene sets a-sobbin'.

[_Covers_ BABES _with leaves, and exit._]

[CURTAIN]

[_Curtain rises again on all the performers, who sing_]

We are campers [or “comrades”] bold and true,
And we've made this play for you.
And if you like it not,
Let us see you make a better one on the spot,
For we're campers [or “comrades”] bold and true,
And we've made this play for you.

[_Dance and_ CURTAIN.]

[Music]