Chapter II: Part 2

_You_ send him?

_Wong Fe_

Do you think I will divide his life so that the two halves can bear no fruit? That I will wait until he hates me for that ruin?

_Ching_ (_with laughter_)

Hates you, oh princess!

_Wong Fe_

Wait till I must glean in his heart behind a spent passion?--like a poor widow in the track of a grain-cart?

_Ching_

The coral of your lips will defeat their command, Wong Fe. Near you he is a dry fagot seized by a flame.

_Wong Fe_

I tell you he will go! Wait in the orchard until you hear the first whistle of the boat. Then come for him. He will be ready. Go, honorable friends! He is returning.

_Ching_

It is useless. Your words may bite like winter, but his eyes will see only the Spring morning.

_Wong Fe_

Go, I beg you, go!

(_They pass out down the steps of porch._ WONG FE _hurries to a small
table, opens a lacquered box and takes from it a stiletto, which she
hides in the folds of her sleeve. She is dancing as_ YU TAI SHUN
_enters, and sings as she dances._)

The thousand odors of Spring
Are the thousand arms of love.
They find thee in the valleys,
On the crest of the hills they reach thee;
Till Spring bear no fragrance
Thou canst not escape them,
The thousand arms of love!

The orchard pool is a pillow,
A pillow for the twin lotus,
And the wings of the flying geese
Are warm in the air of heaven;
They drop to the shadowy lake-sedge,
For sweet looks the earth from the roads of the sky,
And in heaven are no cool grasses.

Ever listening
Are the leaves of the slim dryanda,
Whose heart is the harp of the Spring-wind.
A dryanda-tree is my lover,
And my thoughts are the leaves that listen.
Autumn, Autumn, touch not my leaf-thoughts!
Cast them not down when the pool is grey,
And the teal no more sail two and two
With their breasts above one shadow.

_Shun_

Come to me, Wong Fe! I feel that you have blown through my door like a rose petal, and will drift away again, leaving me not a footprint to kiss.

_Wong Fe_

Neither in life nor in death shall I leave you, my lord. Though I seem to die, and these graces that please you fall to earth like willow-blossoms, it is not I that will lie on the sand.

_Shun_

Why do you speak of death, Wong Fe?

_Wong Fe_

Because I am so happy. The sages say that we can have no fairer fortune than to die in our happiest moment.

_Shun_

Do not speak of death. The word blisters the air, though your lips be as two drops of June rain.

_Wong Fe_

But how sweet to die when I am fairest in your eyes! Every year, at this time, you would walk down the peach-flower lanes and recall the glow of my cheek. Oh, Heaven, let me not be a faded wife in the blooming time of the year!

_Shun_

Thy soul, Wong Fe, is the flower of my worship.

_Wong Fe_

And death would give my soul wholly to you. I should be near you always. Then morning would not call you to the peaks, leaving me behind in the tear-dew.

_Shun_

To-morrow we shall go together. Your shadow will be with mine on the rocks, and under the fir-trees we shall forget the valley.

_Wong Fe_

And the world? Oh, my lord, there are distances farther than the peaks of Siang, and they will call you from me. It cannot be that you who have known all lands will be content with one. I would see the strange people you have made your brothers, would listen to their dreams, and read the future with their hearts. There are dangers you would not let my body share--I do not ask that--but my soul, you could forbid it nothing.

_Shun_

What have you heard? What has Makuro said to you?

_Wong Fe_

What should he say but that the cakes were good, and the tea had the flavor of the fields of Hunan?

_Shun_

We must join our friends. Where do they wait?

_Wong Fe_

They listen for the boat that will stop at the foot of the orchard. Why do they go? Old friends should not be so brief in greeting. Could they not stay one night?

_Shun_

No--no. (_Sits down_.) They must go.

_Wong Fe_ (_laying her hand on his shoulder_)

What voice dost thou hear, and wilt not answer?

_Shun_

Nothing--nothing.

_Wong Fe_

You will not long be deaf between the beating of our two hearts. You will hear and go. That is why I long for the death-fairy to come in my hour of happiness. You have joined with strong men to lift a heavy yoke from the world. My smiles cannot feed your spirit. Go with your friends. Let the whistle of the boat part us.

_Shun_

The cassia-tree may draw itself from earth, and walk on feet of roots through the world, but I cannot divide my days from yours, for you are myself, Wong Fe.

_Wong Fe_ (_resigned_)

I believe you, my lord. We shall not part. But what joy it would be to die now in your presence, while the love-cup is full! Oh, I could not meet death alone! You know the poor ghost in the song who died in the absence of her lover? She is always pleading to be allowed to die again when his arms may be around her. So would my ghost go wailing if I lost your kiss in death. (_Touches his cheek_.) Is that a tear, Yu Tai Shun? I torture you because I am so happy! You shall laugh, my prince! I know a new game we shall play. Little So Siu taught it to me to-day. She says it is an American game. We call it "Guess behind you!" You turn your back--like that--and you must tell me what I am doing. When you miss three times, then I shall tell you what you must pay. Now--what is it I do?

_Shun_

You throw me a kiss.

_Wong Fe_

So I do! And now, my soul's light?

(_Takes stiletto from her sleeve. The whistle of the boat is heard.
He turns. She hides stiletto._)

_Shun_

Our friends are going.

_Wong Fe_

But wait--there is time. You must guess once more! Oh, you are slow as ten turns of a river! There!

(_Turns his head with her hands, then snatches the stiletto, stabs
herself and falls. He turns, kneels dazedly, and takes her in his arms
as she dies._ CHING _and_ MAKURO _enter._)

_Ching_

The boat-- (_Stops in consternation._)

_Makuro_ (_softly_)

Master, I did not ask this price.

_Shun_ (_rising_)

It is paid.

(CURTAIN)

EVERYCHILD

A PLAY OR PAGEANT

BY

FREDERICK PETERSON

AND

OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

_Scene I. The Garden of Joy_

Cho-Cho The Clown Everychild Mother, Father, and dancing children

_Scene II. Sweat-shop_

Father, Mother, three children, Everychild

_Scene III. The Farmstead_

Jim the Father, Mary the Mother, Billie, Tom, and Rosie, their
children. Cho-Cho and Everychild

_Scene IV. The Coal-mine_

Joe, Jack, Bert--three old miners and two boys

_Final Scene. Same as first scene_

Cho-Cho, Everychild, Mother, Father. Old group of children and new
group with Everychild

PROLOGUE

BY CHO-CHO

Good people!
This is the Play of Everychild
With Cho-Cho
As Author and Manager.
The play has defects--
It has good points--
And bad points--
Like the world itself--
Like life!
Perhaps the author of the world
Is something like me,
A little grotesque,
A little whimsical,
Serious often,
Sometimes all the more serious
Seen through a Fool's words
With cap and jingle of bells.
In this droll world
There are lots of children
Who are the children of fools--
Like me.
Good people!
I bespeak your patience
With Everychild
Daughter of a Clown.

SCENE I: _Stage dark as curtain rises. Moderate starlight and quiet
music of cradle-song type. Little fairies come out dancing in the
darkness with firefly lamps and sing the following cradle song:_

Some one is sleeping
Out in the dark
Where fireflies glimmer
Spark upon spark.

Some little stranger
Come from afar
Under the glory
Of moon and of star.

Deep in the blossoms
That drift as they fall
Some one is sleeping
And stirs not at all.

Sleep, little stranger!
The night is near gone;
Sleep, little stranger,
But dream of the dawn!

_The dim light reveals a dark figure lying on the mosses at the foot
of an old tree. As the light grows gradually stronger the dark object
begins to move, to slowly take off one after another of black
coverings, revealing a little girl of nine or ten years, dressed in
white. She rubs her eyes, looks about wonderingly, and slowly rises
to a standing position. Meanwhile the earth grows more luminous and
roseate. The birds have begun to twitter now and then before the dawn,
and their notes increase in number and variety with the approach of
morning. The growing light reveals an orchard of old apple-trees near
at hand in full bloom, with petals falling, and hills and mountains
lifting and towering upward higher and higher into the blue distance.
A path leads from the orchard up the near hills and toward the
heights. The music has grown louder, and is sweet and tender,
interspersed with bird notes. A number of children, girls and boys,
come out and sing and dance under the blossoms of the apple-trees.
They sing the children's song:_

We are of the sunrise
Flower-breath and dew,
Travelling wider circles
Of blue beyond the blue,

Seeking strength of spirit,
Happiness and joy--
Heritage decreed for
Every girl and boy.

Music of the moonbeams
And the orchard rain,
Music of the meadows
Waving with the grain,

Mountains in the sunlight,
Colors of the flowers,
Trailing cloud and shadow--
All of these are ours.

We are of the sunrise
Flower-breath and dew,
Travelling wider circles
Of blue beyond the blue.

_The little girl in the foreground looks with wonder and delight
at the entrancing spectacle. She has her side to the audience.
She raises her arms, listens, rubs her eyes, smiles with joy. She
touches the grass, the flowers, the trees, picks up and smells the
falling apple-blossoms. She begins to dance like the other children.
One of them sees her and runs toward her with arms outstretched.
The newcomer touches her hair and her hands. They smile at each
other. The little girl leads the stranger toward the others and has
her join in the dance. The dancing is in the Greek manner. They play
with a light, large, bubble-like balloon._

_Little Girl_

What is your name?

_Stranger_

I do not understand.

_Little Girl_

Oh, of course, I forgot. I will lead you to some one who will give you a name.

(_A man and woman have come slowly through the orchard and seated
themselves on a bench under an apple-tree. Two or three of the
children lead the stranger up to them._)

_Stranger_ (_feeling of the hair and gown of the woman_)

Who are you?

_Woman_ (_smiling_)

I am your mother.

_Stranger_ (_feeling of the hair and face and garments of the man_)

Who are you?

_Man_

I am your father.

_Stranger_

What place is this? They told me somewhere--but I have forgotten--that I should die _there_ which is being born _here_ and come to the earth.

_Mother_

Yes, this is our world, and I shall give you a name. I shall name you Everychild.

_Everychild_

Is it always and everywhere so beautiful?

_Mother_

No, but it should be so, and some day it will be so.

_Father_

It is a dream we have.

_Mother_

It will be even more beautiful than this, for we shall go higher, and climb those Morning Mountains. The flowers of the Spirit grow there.

_Everychild_

And we shall gather them?

_Father_

Yes, Everychild. Come now, and bring all the others with you. We will take that path yonder to the hills.

_Mother_

No, wait! They are not all here. There are some missing. They must all come.

_Father_

It will be so long to wait. Let us go with these.

_Mother_ (_laying her hand on_ EVERYCHILD'S _head_)

Have we not named her Everychild?

_Father_

Yes. She must go down and find all who have lost their way. Perhaps some have awakened in the wrong place and are wandering about in the dark jungle of the world. We will wait here till they come.

_Mother_

Go, Everychild. Find them and bring them all back with you. Take this lamp. (_Hands her a rose-colored lamp, etc._)

_Father_

Our lamp?

_Mother_

Our love!

_Father_

Take it, Everychild. With this lamp you can find the lost children and bring them all back with you.

_Mother_

We will wait for them no matter how long.

(EVERYCHILD _starts down along a path leading off the stage to
the right--the music and singing continue through the whole scene._
CHO-CHO _appears, right, for a moment and points her path to her
saying: "This way, Everychild."_)

(CURTAIN FALLS)

CURTAIN _rises revealing_

SCENE II: _A squalid room in a city tenement, a miserable stove,
a bedraggled bed. Right, a table at which a poorly dressed man and
woman are working fast and feverishly. Three children of about four,
eight, and ten years sit on a bench, left, sewing as fast as they
can, looking tired, depressed, weary. It is evening, the room poorly
lit. Noises from the street, street calls, rumbling of vehicles, honk
of autos, etc., etc._

_The Younger Child_

Ma, can I go to bed? I am so tired and hungry.

_Mother_

It ain't ten yet. It will be only a few minutes more. The boss is coming early in the morning and we must have the work ready. Now you be still and keep working. You don't know what a good home you got. Ain't she got a good home, John?

_Father_

You bet she got a good home, and if you all work now we get the good coffee and bread in the morning and perhaps in a couple a weeks we all go to the movies.

_Oldest Child_

Gee, I like to see that fairy play what we see once.

(_Bell strikes ten._)

_Mother_

Now, go right to bed, children. It is ten o'clock.

(_Takes light and goes with husband into room right. Children undress
and scramble into one bed._)

(_Street noises all discontinue, back of room opens out on to the
orchard and the music of first scene is heard with dancing children._
EVERYCHILD _comes into the room with her rosy lamp. The three children
sit up in bed and rub their eyes._ EVERYCHILD _glides all about the
room and looks at the squalid place in dismay, then goes up and smiles
at the children._)

_Everychild_

You are some of the lost children. How did you get in here? Come with me. I will give you some better clothes and you can dance and sing with all of them.

(_They get out of bed and she leads them in wonder and joy out into
the orchard._)

(CURTAIN FALLS)

SCENE III: _Plain interior of a farmer's kitchen with farmer's
wife busy over stove, and kitchen table set for lunch for two. Adjacent
room, left, small bedroom in which lies a pallid thin child in bed with
dishes and bottles on little bedside table. Very little light. Curtains
to a single window down. Farmer in overalls comes in, looking hot and
tired. He throws hat on chair, says "Hullo, Mary, dinner ready?" and
proceeds to wash hands and face in a basin on a stool. Then sits down
at the table._

_Mary_ (_bringing food from stove and sitting down opposite_)

Here we are, Jim. Guess you're ready for something. It takes a man to sprout a patch o' locusts, and you had breakfast by lamplight.

_Jim_

Some o' them roots seemed as long as from here to the barn.

_Mary_

But you'll have the best pasture in the county next year.

_Jim_

What's the good? We rationed our beef steers the way that government chap taught us, and our pigs, and our sheep, and who got the profit?

_Mary_

A lot more documents came from the government to-day--all about _pigs_. And we haven't got a decent house to live in! If we could only build on that pretty bit of high ground I've had picked out for three years, Rosie would quit havin' these sick spells.

_Jim_

How is she, mother?

_Mary_

I b'lieve she's a little better. Jim, have you got any money left from sellin' the car?

_Jim_

You know we had to pay the interest at the bank first of all, and the rest went for fertilizer.

_Mary_

I miss the car more on Rosie's account than mine. She's been cryin' for a ride this morning. I didn't know what to say. And I had to promise her she could go to the picnic if she got well. That'll mean a pretty dress, and hat and shoes.

_Jim_

I don't know where you'll get 'em then.

_Mary_

Looks like we ought to be able to give our children a little pleasure. There's poor Billie and Tom don't more'n get home from school an' lay their books down till they have to go to hoein' and pullin' weeds. I don't blame Billie a bit for runnin' away and goin' fishin' last Saturday.

_Jim_

I don't either, though I had to whip him for it. I can't do without his work and get through.

_Mary_

Get through? When did we ever get through anyhow? Look at this, Jim. (_Picks up paper and points to paragraph._) Beef steers sold to-day in Chicago at nine cents a pound. It cost us fourteen cents to raise ours, and we're countin' on makin' things easier by raisin' more next year. And see here, it says _beef_ went _up_ in the Eastern market four cents.

_Jim_

Steers down, beef up! Robbin' both ways.

(_Enter_ BILLIE _and_ TOM _with schoolbooks, which they throw down,
shouting: "We got a half-holiday!"_)

_Billie_

The big boys are goin' to play ball. Dad, can't we go watch 'em? (MARY _and_ JIM _look at each other._)

We ain't seen a ball game this year, and we want to learn to play. They're makin' a little boys' team at school.

_Mary_

Daddy's workin' awfully hard to-day. He needs you bad to pile brush for him.

_Jim_

You can't go to-day, boys. Next time----

_Billie_ (_hopeless_)

Oh, next time! It's always next time.

_Mary_

Wash up now, and you can have a hot dinner.

(_They wash listlessly._)

_Jim_

Mary, I think you'd better telephone for the doctor to come and have a look at Rosie.

_Mary_ (_hesitating_)

I did--this morning. He said he didn't have time to come out to-day.

_Jim_

Dr. Lowden?

_Mary_

Guess he's tired o' comin' for nothing. You can't blame him.

(JIM _hangs his head. A knock at the door._ JIM _rises and opens it._
CHO-CHO _enters giggling and grimacing while the farmer and his wife
are speechless with amazement._)

_Cho-Cho_

You sent for a doctor?

_Jim_

Yes--but--you--ain't--no doctor.

_Cho-Cho_

No, I--ain't--no--doctor (_mimicking_), but my daughter is a doctor and here she is now.

(_Enter_ EVERYCHILD _disguised as a doctor, with a long black cape
hiding her white dress, a pair of goggles over her eyes, a long white
beard, a white wig, a man's hat on, a little black bag in her hands._)

_Jim_ (_tearing his hair distractedly_)

You say that little old man is your daughter and a doctor?

_Cho-Cho_

That's right--but a new kind of doctor. This is a Health doctor, not a Disease doctor. Present treatment for Health--absent treatment for absence of Health. (_Ha--ha--hee--hee!_) I'll leave the doctor here. (_Goes out._)

_Everychild_

Well, well, where is the patient? (_Putting hat on chair._)

_Jim_

I must be crazy, but I never seen a doctor like you. You ain't no doctor.

_Everychild_

Oh, yes I am. I'm a children's specialist. Is she in that room? (_Goes to door and opens it_--_draws back a little._) Whew! No air. Lift up that curtain and open the window! (JIM _does it, rather aghast._) You must show me where you keep your pigs. Don't they get light and air on a day like this? (_Goes toward bed as_ ROSIE _rises up in bed and stares with a smile at the little doctor_.) So this is the little patient. Well! Well! (_Lifts up and looks at the bottles._) Take these and throw them out. (_Hands them to_ MARY, _who takes them out and returns._) My! My! Pork and potatoes and candy! Of all things! I'll have to make out a diet list later. (_Feels pulse--listens to her chest._) I think the trouble with you is bad food, bad air, and no light. The trouble is not enough agricultural pamphlets on human live stock, not enough government millions spent on the real thing. Now get up, Rose! Let me see you stand. There, that's good. Now a comb and brush--we'll help this hair a little.

_Mary_ (_handing_ EVERYCHILD _a comb and brush_)

My hands are so full of work----

_Everychild_ (_arranging_ ROSIE'S _hair_)

Yes, that's better. Now, father, a glass of milk! (JIM _goes into kitchen._) And mother, open that bag, please.

(_While_ MARY _opens bag._ JIM _returns with glass of milk, which_
ROSIE _drinks._)

_Mary_

Oh, my!

(_Takes out pretty dress, stockings and slippers, which she lifts up,
looks at delightedly, and carries to the doctor._)

_Rosie_

Oh, mother! You did get them!

(EVERYCHILD _works fast, slips the gown on the patient with the
stockings and slippers, while_ ROSIE _smiles happily, though
dazed by the splendor of it._)

_Rosie_

Are you going to take me to the picnic?

_Everychild_

Indeed I am! A picnic that will never be over!

_Rosie_

Are we going to ride? Have we got our car back?

_Everychild_

Better than that.

_Rosie_

What is it?

_Everychild_

You'll see. Maybe you'll dance out of the window.

_Mary_

Are you going to take her away?

_Everychild_

Yes, I shall keep her with me until she is well. Then she will return to you.

(_Takes out of the bag the rosy lamp and waves it. Throws aside her
cap and pulls off goggles, wig, and beard. The back wall moves away,
revealing the first scene with the same strains of music and the
dancing children in the orchard._ EVERYCHILD _leads_ ROSIE _out to
join them._ BILLIE _and_ TOM _move after them calling: "Let us go
with you! Take us with you!"_)

_Rosie_

Oh, please take Billie and Tom!

_Everychild_

Yes, I want them, too. Come along, boys!

(_They shout and run after_ ROSIE _and_ EVERYCHILD.)

_Mary_

Oh, Jim, is this a dream? Or am I awake at last?

_Jim_ (_putting his hand to his head, dazedly_)

Perhaps this is what it ought to be for all the children of the world.

(CURTAIN FALLS)

SCENE IV: _Interior of a coal-mine, lit only by lamps on the
heads of three men and two boys, about twelve and fourteen years, the
men busy at work getting the coal down with picks, the boys shovelling
coal into a car. They work a few minutes. Distant muffled sound of a
steam-whistle. They immediately drop tools and go to corner and pick
up each a can, paper bag, or small basket, and sit down to eat._

_One Man_

Lunch-time. It feels good to rest half an hour in this bloomin' hole. (_Takes a drink from a bottle he brings from his pocket and hands to another._) Have a swig, Jack?

_Jack_

Don't care if I do. (_Takes a swallow._) I'll bring some next time, Joe.

_Joe_ (_passing bottle to the other_)

Here, Bert, it helps. Take some and give a swallow to the boys.

_Bert_

I'll take some and thank you, but I guess the boys are better off without it.

_Jack_

How long you worked here, Bert?

_Bert_

Nigh on fifteen years, and a devil's job it is. I wanted to be a sailor, but I got into this, and it paid pretty good, and then I got tangled up with a family and just stayed on the job. But it's no place to spend a life. (_Coughs._)

_Joe_

I been here 'bout as long as you, Bert. I ran away from the big woods where my father was a lumberman. Thought I'd see the world, and just got stuck here and never could make up my mind to get away. See the world, eh! All I ever seed was de inside of it. If I had my way to do over again, I think I'd take to the tall timber up dere on top.

(_Meantime the two boys, while eating with one hand out of their cans,
have been whispering and playing knuckle-bones with pieces of coal,
a little way from and behind the men. Suddenly they stop, look around
at each other and listen, for they hear the fairy dance music of
the first scene, which is not heard by these older men, who go on
talking._)

_First Boy_

Dey's havin' parade up dere.

_Second Boy_

Dat ain't band music, you mutt.

(FIRST BOY _begins to sway as if in time with the music._)

_Second Boy_

Wot's the matter?

_First Boy_ (_sheepish_)

Nuthin'. (_Tries to keep still. They both listen._) Did yer ever dance, Buck?

_Second Boy_

Naw. (_Listens._) But I bet I could!

_First Boy_

I had a dream onct. I dremp I's in an orchard, an' they's blooms floatin' round. I could smell 'em!

_Second Boy_

You's nutty. You can't smell in a dream.

(_They listen, and finally yield to the music, swaying their bodies,
moving their arms, and beginning to dance as the music goes on._)

_Jack_

I've been here fourteen years, since I was a boy. It ain't a place for a man. It's too black. You get black outside and inside. Why, they say your lungs get black from breathing this dust. And your soul gets black. The place for an honest man to work is out in the white light, on your ocean or in your woods, or on the roads and railways, and in the big buildings. This kind of work is work with punishment added to it. A little of it would be all right for men who go wrong, or for some as needs discipline. Then some day they'll get machines to do the rest. Ah--there's the whistle. Come on, boys, to work again!

(_A whistle sounds and all start to work as before._)

(CURTAIN FALLS)

FINAL SCENE: _Curtain rises on final scene. Same as first, with
music as before, and with the mother and father and children among
the apple-trees._ CHO-CHO _appears, right, and says: "Here they
come!"_ EVERYCHILD _enters, right, bringing with her a number
of children, who follow her and then scatter under the trees._

_Everychild_

Oh, mother, I went everywhere, and we've brought all who could come! But there were some in holes in the ground that I couldn't reach, though we danced and danced, and called and called. They were too far down. And there were some ill and crippled, in hospitals, that couldn't walk, and some hidden away in great buildings called factories--and some in tenements, where there was no sun, and no green grass to walk on. Mother, what shall we do? It was so hard to leave them. Won't you go back with me, and help me?

_Mother_

Yes, Everychild. We must all go. Not one must be left down there.

_Father_

Yes, we cannot go on up the Morning Mountains until they come.

_Mother_

We will start at once, all of us, down through the highways and valleys and cities of the world, and bring them here. Come, children, let us go.

(_They gather about her and start down, right, singing as they
go._ CHO-CHO _lingers behind for a few moments and pronounces an
epilogue._)

EPILOGUE

Not all here yet--
But they must come
To this sunshine--
To these mountains--
To these birds and trees--
To the music--
To the Land of Health,
The Land of Happiness--
They may be gay _there_--
Sometimes--
Sometimes--
But _that_ is a fool's Paradise--
My old Kingdom--
And I must lead them up
To this new land
Of hope and joy.

(CURTAIN FALLS)

TWO DOCTORS AT AKRAGAS

BY

FREDERICK PETERSON

CHARACTERS

AKRON
EMPEDOCLES
PANTHEIA

TWO DOCTORS AT AKRAGAS

[_Atlantic Monthly_, 1911.]

_Akron_

She has been dead these thirty days.

_Empedocles_

How say you, thirty days! and there is no feature of corruption?

_Akron_

None. She has the marble signature of death writ in her whole fair frame. She lies upon her ivory bed, robed in the soft stuffs of Tyre, as if new-cut from Pentelikon by Phidias, or spread upon the wood by the magic brush of Zeuxis, seeming as much alive as this, no more, no less. There is no beat of heart nor slightest heave of breast.

_Empedocles_

And have you made the tests of death?

_Akron_

There is no bleeding to the prick, nor film of breath upon the bronze mirror. They have had the best of the faculty in Akragas, Gela, and Syracuse, all save you; and I am sent by the dazed parents to beseech you to leave for a time the affairs of state and the great problems of philosophy, to essay your ancient skill in this strange mystery of life in death and death in life.

_Empedocles_

I will go with you. Where lies the house?

_Akron_

Down yonder street of statues, past the Agora, and hard by the new temple that is building to Olympian Zeus. It is the new house of yellow sandstone, three stories in height, with the carved balconies and wrought brazen doors. Pantheia is her name. I lead the way.

_Empedocles_

The streets are full to-day and dazzling with color. So many carpets hang from the windows, and so many banners are flying! So many white-horsed chariots, and such concourses of dark slaves from every land in the long African crescent of the midland sea, from the pillars of Hercules to ferocious Carthage and beyond to the confines of Egypt and Phoenicia! Ah, I remember now! It is a gala day--the expected visit of Pindar. I am to dine with him to-morrow at the Trireme. We moderns are doing more to celebrate his coming than our fathers did for Æschylus when he was here. I was very young then, but I remember running with the other boys after him just to touch his soft gown and look into his noble face.

_Akron_

I have several rolls of his plays, that I keep with some new papyri of Pindar arrived by the last galley from Corinth, in the iron chest inside my office door, along with some less worthy bags of gold of Tarshish and coinage of Athens, Sybaris, Panormos, and Syracuse. Ah, here is the door! It is ajar, and if you will go into the courtyard by the fountain and seat yourself under the palm-trees and azaleas on yon bench, by the statue of the nymph, I will go up to announce your coming.

_Empedocles_

All is still save for the far, faint step of Akron on the stair, and the still fainter murmur from the streets. The very goldfish in the fountain do not stir, and the long line of slaves against the marble wall, save for their branded foreheads, might be gaunt caryatides hewn in Egyptian wood or carved in ebony and amber. That gaudy tropic bird scarce ruffles a feather. What is the difference between life and death? A voice, a call, some sudden strange or familiar message on old paths, to the consciousness that lies under that apparent unconsciousness, will waken all these semblances of inanimation into new life of arms and fins and wings. Let me try her thus! My grandfather was a pupil of Pythagoras who had seen many such death-semblances among the peoples of the white sacred mountains of far India. Ha! Akron beckons. I must follow him.

_Akron_

Enter yon doorway where the white figure lies resplendent with jewels that gleam in the morning sun.

_Empedocles_

The arm drawn downward by the heavy golden bracelet is cold, yet soft and yielding like a sleep. The face has the natural ease of slumber, and not the rigid artificiality of death. 'Tis true there is no pulse, no beat of heart nor stir of breath, yet neither is there the sombre grotesqueness of the last pose. But the difference between life and death is here so small that it is incommensurable, the point of the mathematicians only. I shall hold this little hand in mine, and, with a hand upon her forehead, call her by name; for, you know, Akron, one's name has a power beyond every other word to reach the closed ears of the imprisoned soul.

Pantheia! Pantheia! Pantheia! It is dawn. Your father calls you. Your mother calls you. And I call you and command you. Open your eyes and behold the sun!

_Akron_

A miracle, oh, Zeus! The eyelids tremble like flower-petals under the wind of heaven. Was that a sigh or the swish of wings? Oh, wonder of wonders! she breathes--she whispers!

_Pantheia_

Where am I? Is this death? Some one called my name. That is the pictured ceiling of my own room. Surely that is Zaldu, my pet slave, with big drops on her black face.... And father, mother, kneeling either side. And who are you with rapt face and star-deep eyes, thick hair with Delphic wreaths, and in purple gown and golden girdle? Are you a god?

_Empedocles_

Be tranquil, child, I am no god, only a physician come to heal you. You have been ill and sleeping a long time.

_Pantheia_

Yes, I feel weakness, hunger, and thirst. I remember now that I was well, when suddenly a strange thought came to me on my pillow. I thought that I was dead. This took such possession of me that it shut out every other thought, and being able to think only that one thought, I must have been dead. It seemed but a moment's time when the spell of the thought was broken by an alien deep voice from the void of nothing about me, calling me by name, calling me to wake and see the day. With that came floods of my own old thoughts, like molten streams from Ætna, that were rigid as granite before the word was given that loosed them.

_Empedocles_

Did you not see new things or new lands or old dead faces, for you have been gone a month? I am curious to know.

_Pantheia_

How passing strange! No, I saw neither darkness nor light. I heard no sounds, nor was conscious of any silence. I must have had just the one thought that I was dead, but I lost consciousness of that thought. I remember saying good night to Zaldu, and I handed her the quaint doll from Egypt and bade her care for it. Then the thought seized me, and I knew no more. My thoughts which had always run so freely before, like a plashing brook, must have suddenly frozen, as the amber-trader from the Baltic told me one day the rivers do in his far northern home. Oh, sir, are you going so soon?

_Empedocles_

Yes, child. You must take nourishment now, and talk no more. But I am coming again to see you, for I have many earnest questions still to put regarding this singular adventure.

_Akron_

Let me walk with you. I will close the great door. Already the gay streets are silent, and the people crowd this way, whispering awe-struck together of the deed of wonder you have done this day. You have called back the dead to life, and they make obeisance to you as you pass, as if you were in truth a son of the immortals. Your name will go down the ages linked with the miracle of Pantheia. You are immortal.

_Empedocles_

Nay, 'tis not so strange as that, and yet 'tis stranger.

_Akron_

I would know your meaning better.

_Empedocles_

The power of a thought, that is the real wonder! We just begin to have glimpses of the effects of the mind upon the body. To me, Akron, the faculty has set too great store upon herbs and bitter drafts, and cutting with the knife. I would fain have the soul acknowledged more, our therapy built on the dual mechanism of mind and substance. For if an idea can lead to the apparent death of the whole body, so might other ideas bring about the apparent death of a part of the body, like, for example, a paralysis of the members, or of the senses of sight, feeling, hearing; and in truth I have seen such things. Or a thought might give rise to a pain, or to a feeling of general illness, or to a feeling of local disorder in some internal organ; and I feel sure I have likewise met with such instances. And if an idea may produce such ailments, then a contrary idea implanted by the physician may heal them. I believe this to be the secret of many of the marvels we see at the temples and shrines of Æsculapius and of the cures made by the touch of seers and kings.

But this teaching goes much deeper and further. If we could in the schools implant in our youth ideas which were strong enough, we should be able to make of them all, each in proportion to his belief in himself and his ambition, great men, great generals, thinkers, poets, a new race of heroes in all lines of human endeavor, who should be able by their united strength of idea and ideal finally to people the world with gods.

I have among my slaves, who work as vintners and olive-gatherers, a physician of Thrace, as also a philosopher of the island of Rhodes, a member of the Pythagorean League. These I bought not long ago from the Etruscan pirates. Every evening I have them come to me on the roof after the evening meal, and there under the quiet of the stars we discuss life and death, the soul and immortality, and all the burning problems of order, harmony, and number in the universe. What surprises me is that this Thracian should be so in advance of the physicians of Hellas, for he holds as I do that the mind should be first considered in the treatment of most disorders of the body, because of its tremendous power to force the healing processes, and because sometimes it actually induces disease and death. And we have talked together of the incalculable value of faith and enthusiasm so applied in the education of the child, this new kind of gardening in the budding soul of mankind, and of what new and august races might thereby come to repeople this rather unsatisfactory globe.

I am minded to free these slaves, indeed all my slaves, and I have the intention of devoting the most of a considerable fortune, both inherited and amassed by me, to the spread of these doctrines and to the public weal, particularly in the matter of planting in the souls of our youth, not the mere ability to read and write Greek and do sums in arithmetic, but the seeds of noble ideas that shall make this Trinacria of ours a still more wonderful human garden than it has been as a granary for the world's practical needs. From this sea-centre we send our freighted galleys to Gades in the West, Carthage in the South, Tyre in the East, and to the red-bearded foresters of the Far North. I would still send on these same routes this food, but also better food than this, stuff that should kindle and feed intellectual fires in all the remote places of the earth.