Chapter IV: Act II

_Scene_: _Picnic grounds in the country near Harry Benson’s farm. Scene is at dinner-time on the picnic grounds. The band is heard playing in the distance. Ethel, Jennie, and Mrs. Benson are busy taking food from a large box. Mr. Benson is sitting on a spring buggy seat at one side of the stage. Toy balloon whistles can be heard at different intervals, some louder than others. Also auto horns tooting occasionally._

MRS. BENSON

_While working._

Ethel, I thought the pageant went just fine. Didn’t you, Jennie?

JENNIE

I certainly did. Ethel makes a mighty good milk-maid. That fellow in love with her seemed to think the same thing.

MR. BENSON

By jinks, it did me a lot of good to see her snub that city feller.

ETHEL

I’m glad you all enjoyed it. It went better than we thought it would.

MRS. BENSON

How did you train that dog to walk across the stage like he did?

ETHEL

We didn’t—he walked across of his own accord. It fitted in the scene fine, but I could hardly keep from laughing.

MRS. BENSON

Well, I declare, it looked just like he was supposed to do it. (_Looking in box_) I can’t find any salt or pepper.

_Auto horns toot in the distance._

JENNIE

They’re wrapped up in some white paper in one corner.

MRS. BENSON

Here they are.

_Unwraps and puts on table._

JENNIE

Wonder what’s keeping Harry. I saw him right after the game, and he said he’d be down in a little while. Which dish is the salad in, Ethel?

ETHEL

It’s in that large oval dish.

_Auto horn toots._

JENNIE

Do you know what we forgot? We forgot the sugar for the lemonade.

MRS. BENSON

Dear me, now what are we to do?

ETHEL

Do you remember I started to get it this morning when you asked me to whip the cream for the cake? I never thought of it again.

JENNIE

I wonder if the Newtons would have any more than they want.

ETHEL

I’ll run up to where they are eating and see.

_Exit Ethel. Enter Harry in baseball suit._

HARRY

My, but this shady place feels refreshing. Wow! Such a hypnotizing odor. Better watch me. I’m liable to go into a spell and eat the whole works. I feel like a starved wolf.

MR. BENSON

What’s the matter with you fellers, Harry—didn’t I hear you say our club had a better nine than the Lyon Club?

HARRY

Can’t expect to beat that umpire. We got another one for this afternoon’s game and I’ll bet they don’t beat us then. That umpire this morning was absolutely “rotten.” He called me out twice on second base and I was there a mile before the ball both times. Called Jones out on a home base and the catcher dropped the ball before he even touched him. We had to strike at everything that came along, for he’d call it a strike anyway.

JENNIE

We hope you’ll beat this afternoon. Are you too tired to get a pail of water from the spring?

HARRY

Not if you will have dinner ready when I get back.

_Takes bucket on exit._

MR. BENSON

I wonder why Hiram and his wife ain’t here to-day. They’re generally along the first ones at a picnic.

MRS. BENSON

I was talking with her over the phone yesterday and she said they were coming.

MR. BENSON

Doesn’t seem quite natural without Hiram around.

_Enter Ethel with Floyd._

ETHEL

Opal, I brought Floyd down to play with you.

OPAL

_Jumping from swing clapping hands._

Oh goodie, won’t you swing me, Floyd?

ETHEL

Here is lots of sugar.

JENNIE

Good, Harry has gone after the water.

MRS. BENSON

I guess everything is all ready when he gets here.

_Enter Harry with water._

HARRY

I feel just like a starved bear. If dinner isn’t ready I’m going to jump in this bucket of water and drown myself.

_Ethel and Jennie busy making lemonade._

JENNIE

All we’d need to do would be to pour in this juice and sugar (_they do so_) and you’d soon drink the pond dry.

HARRY

Yes, and I’d do it so quick I wouldn’t even get wet.

_Exit Opal and Floyd._

ETHEL

If you people are hungry, get around here, it’s all ready.

JENNIE

Grandma, you and grandpa sit around here.

HARRY

I’ll sit close to the salad.

_Has lemonade on box close to him—everybody takes seat, leaving two for Opal and Floyd and enough to set one more plate._

JENNIE

I wonder where the children have gone to.

MRS. BENSON

I didn’t see them leave. I expect they went up to play with the Smith children.

HARRY

When you run dry on lemo, just hand your cups this way. Will you pass the buns, please?

JENNIE

You ought not to be hungry after eating that big breakfast this morning. What do you think—he ate four eggs, six baking powder biscuits and about a cup full of syrup, to say nothing about potatoes.

HARRY

Just the same I don’t believe pa would advise me to go to the city to cure my appetite, would you pa?

MR. BENSON

I guess not, by jinks! We eat to live, so why not live where we have an appetite for what we eat?

_Enters Hiram smoking corn-cob pipe._

HIRAM

Golly, but I’m just in time.

MR. BENSON

Hello, Hiram, come and have some dinner.

HIRAM

Well, I never turn daon’ a meal when I’m hungry. Got some of those good biscuits, Mary?

_Ethel prepares a place._

MRS. BENSON

We’ve got some biscuits, but I can’t say as they’re very good.

HIRAM

_Lays pipe at side of stage—takes seat at table._

Wall, I can say it without ever tastin’ them. John, I reckon ye can’t say ye haven’t had a good meal since you moved back ter the farm. I can’t keep from talkin’ about you movin’ to the city. Ye thought everything was going to be honey, but it turned out ter be merlasses. Ain’t I right, John?

MRS. BENSON

Where’s Rachel, didn’t she come?

HIRAM

She woke up with a headache this morning. I wanted ter stay hum with her, but she made me come down for a while. There seems to be a large crowd here, to-day.

HARRY

A very large crowd. I never saw the like of autos as were out to the game.

HIRAM

John, what do you know about these fellers. Henry tells me they got beat.

HARRY

The umpire played a fine game.

HIRAM

That’s what Henry was tellin’ me, but I just laughed at him. Everybody hates to acknowledge they’re whipped. John here even kinder hates ter say the city got the best of him. Of course, that’s different then getting beat in a game. It wasn’t any honor ter the city, but ye fellers were on equal footin’ and both teams are used ter the grounds, while John here, he was on a strange diamond. We never had umpires when I was a boy, but we found plenty of other excuses for getting beat.

MR. BENSON

Harry says they’re goin’ to beat them this afternoon.

HARRY

You two just watch us and see. We got a good umpire and we’re going to beat them on equal footin’ as you say.

_Enter Opal and Floyd, hold of hands—stop quick and stand looking._

JENNIE

You children are rather late—here’s your places around here between grandma and me.

_They take places at table, Jennie places bib around them._

Where have you been?

FLOYD

We went up to play with Ruth and Harold. They’ve got a swing fastened away up high and you can swing twice as far as you can with this one.

OPAL

It almost took my breath away.

HIRAM

The country’s the place to raise children in. Here they have all the fresh air and good plain food ter make them grow. In the city they are all crowded up together in a bunch. Their fresh air is all filled with smoke. They have no place for the children to play exceptin’ in the parks where they’re so careful with their hay they have signs all around ter “keep off the grass.” Why, we have to raise their food for them, but they don’t get it until it’s been in cold storage for a year or so or else canned. I tell ye people, God intended fer us ter live in the country—if He hadn’t He’d made the city instead. Ain’t that so, John?

JOHN

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right.

HIRAM

Of course, I’m right.

FLOYD

We’re going back after dinner, ain’t we, Opal?

OPAL

Can we, mama?

JENNIE

Oh maybe, if you’ll not get in anybody’s way and not get hurt.

OPAL AND FLOYD

Oh, we won’t.

HARRY

Pass the salad, please.

HIRAM

How was your play, Ethel?

ETHEL

It went off very well.

HIRAM

We were wantin’ ter see it so bad—such a fine day for it, too. Do ye know we’d enjoy a doin’s like that, where we know the actors, better than we would a play we’d have ter pay three or four dollars to see in the city? Ain’t that right, John?

JOHN

I guess you’re right, I never saw anything better anywhere.

HIRAM

Ethel, how about you? Do ye think ye’ll ever be wantin’ to move back? Rachel and I was just talkin’ the other day about what a loss it would be ter the community if you married a city feller and moved out; we were just wonderin’ if there were any on yer track.

MRS. BENSON

You don’t need to worry. One rich feller tried it and he didn’t get her.

ETHEL

Mother, you shouldn’t tell my little secrets.

FLOYD

I’m ready to go.

_Begins leaving table._

OPAL

So am I.

JENNIE

Let me wipe your hands before you go.

_Wipes their hands and mouths._

FLOYD

_As he begins leaving stage before Opal is ready._

Hurry up, Opal!

OPAL

I’m coming. (_As they go skipping out._) Good-by, mama!

_Exeunt._

HIRAM

Ain’t that just like little tots? I tell ye, people, we don’t appreciate being little till we’re old. Did ye ever notice how older people enjoy sittin’ around talkin’ about the things they did when they were little? Golly, but I’ll never forget the time when I was about three years old and my mother started to walk over ter one of our neighbors that lived about a mile and er half from our place. We didn’t get very far when I wanted ter be carried. Well, she couldn’t carry me so fur so she goes and breaks a hazel brush for a stick-horse and gives it ter me ter ride. Wall, I can remember just as well as if it was yesterday, how I gets on that stick-horse and begun ridin’, runnin’ on ahead kickin’ up my heels and runnin’ side ways like a proud army horse. Then I’d get scared and go to rearin’ and backin’. Then I run clear back again.

_Enters a little boy and begins fooling with swing._

Well sir, I rode that stick-horse all the way over and back and never asked once to be carried again. Ye’ve got ter give a kid something to do if you don’t want ter get into trouble.

Give a kid something to do
And he’ll grow up, pure, noble and true.

Ain’t that right, John?

MR. BENSON

I guess you’re right, that’s the way I was brought up.

ETHEL

_Speaking to boy at swing._

Hello, little man, why don’t you get in and swing?

_He does so._

MR. BENSON

How’s your cattle lookin’ lately, Hiram?

HIRAM

Fine, by golly, I never seen ’em grow so fast. I get ’em on that new field of bromus grass. They’ll be in mighty fine shape to fatten this fall.

_Enters Leslie Larsen in band suit, carrying horn._

LESLIE

Everybody seems to be happy.

HARRY

Hello Leslie, going to play at the game this afternoon? We’re going to beat ’em.

LESLIE

We’ll be right there, but I’m not so sure about the beating part since that game this morning.

JENNIE

Had your dinner, Leslie?

LESLIE

Yes, we’ve been through half an hour. I was just going to the bowry. We’re going to have a little concert before the speaking.

HIRAM

Who’s the speaker to-day?

LESLIE

Senator McDonald. I saw him coming this way before I started. I met him this morning. Seems like a fine fellow.

HIRAM

John, why don’t yer give ’em a talk on how to be happy in the city?

_Senator walks across rear of stage without noticing anyone. Leslie calls him._

LESLIE

Mr. McDonald, come here a moment.

MR. MCDONALD

Why hello, Mr. Larsen!

LESLIE

Mr. McDonald, this is the Benson family—one of our prominent farmers in this community.

MR. MCDONALD

People, I’m very glad to meet you. It does my heart good to get out and meet the tillers of the soil. I always consider it a great honor to have such a privilege as a day like this. I was out walking to get some fresh air before my talk.

HIRAM

No place like the country for fresh air, ain’t that right Senator?

MR. MCDONALD

You’re right. Hope you fellows will be at the speaking. I always like a large crowd.

MR. BENSON

You can count on our being there.

MR. MCDONALD

Good! bring all your friends. I’ll be walking on. Good-by.

_Exit._

JENNIE

If everyone has had enough, we’ll spread the tablecloth over the table—we’ve got to eat supper here before we leave.

_Women arrange table._

LESLIE

Well, I’ll have to be going or I’ll be late.

HARRY

Guess I’ll walk up with you. I guess the women will come together.

_Exeunt._

MR. BENSON

Hiram, you ought to order you a running water system and an electric light plant for your farm. They’ve got ’em down now so ye can’t afford to be without ’em.

HIRAM

John, are ye havin’ a nightmare about the city?

MR. BENSON

By jinks, I’m speakin’ my right mind. We just sent in an order for an electric light plant. Harry says we can get a motor so small we can carry it around under our arms and can attach it to the wire any place and run our fan mills, pumps, grinders, washin’ machines, in fact everything dependin’ on the size of the motor. In the house you can take off a light bulb and attach a “lectric” iron and cooker, make it do the churnin’ and sweepin’, run the sewin’ machine, and even rock the cradle, besides havin’ light all over yer buildin’s without any danger of fire.

HIRAM

Wall, I’ll be goll durned. John, are ye sure ye haven’t been drinkin’ too much lemonade?

MR. BENSON

It’s right. In the spring we’re goin’ ter git a runnin’ water system made especially for the farm. Harry has had it all planned for over a year now.

HIRAM

Wall, if that don’t beat the cat’s a fightin’. I knew that boy had the stuff in him when he planned that house for you and Mary.

JENNIE

If you folks are going, you had better be coming along.

MR. BENSON

_Looking at watch._

By jinks, it is time we were going.

ETHEL

I’ll be there as soon as I find my fan.

_Exeunt all but Ethel. Enters Clarence unobserved. Ethel looks through box and around for fan._

Well, I’m sure I brought that fan along, I couldn’t think of losing it, for it’s one Clarence gave me before he went away to school and before we moved to the city. Well, that’s funny—I know I couldn’t have lost it on the way, and we—

CLARENCE

You don’t need a fan in this cool place.

ETHEL

Clarence! You here?

_Rises and takes him by the hand._

CLARENCE

Yes, I graduated last week—came home to settle down and do something. One feels mighty ambitious after going through college and wants to get right out and begin applying his knowledge and getting the practical experience. But you? I thought you were in the city. Out for a visit, I suppose?

ETHEL

Visit! Why, the folks have moved back on the farm. Being the baby, I naturally had to come too. Of course, I hated to leave.

CLARENCE

I’m mighty glad to know your folks have moved back on the farm. Now that it won’t be necessary for you to look after them so closely, I suppose you will soon be moving back and start your practical applications, there.

ETHEL

Oh, maybe—things are mighty handy, you know.

CLARENCE

Lots of fine fellows there, too, I suppose?

ETHEL

Lots of them. The girls are scarce, too. Tell me about your college days. Suppose you graduated with high honors?

CLARENCE

Oh, no, no! Not many anyway. There was a lot—

_Enters Hiram, stops and listens._

of things I wanted to get at the bottom of; so many things I was in doubt about. I was too busy to think of honors. I went in to prepare myself for higher honors to be won later in life and that shall be remembered and enjoyed by those that follow after me when I’m gone.

HIRAM

That’s right, my boy. It ain’t so much what you do in school as it is what ye get, and you do after ye get out. That’s the time to do something. Look at Lincoln—he hardly seen the inside of a schoolhouse, but he studied and got something then went and done somethin’. He came from the farm, too. Pardon me, children, I left my pipe layin’ there by this tree when I set down ter dinner. (_Takes pipe and lights, taking long, loud draws._) I’ll be leavin’, I know young folks like to be alone.

_Exit._

CLARENCE

I guess he didn’t recognize me. Have I changed much, Ethel?

ETHEL

A little more mature in looks is all.

CLARENCE

Tell me about your life in the city, Ethel.

ETHEL

I haven’t much to tell—we had a fine house and servants, but the folks were out of place and didn’t feel at home. You see they had lived in the country too long to get any comfort out of the city life—there isn’t anything that seemed real to them. Mother didn’t like to let on for she was the strongest advocate of going, and you couldn’t blame her when she thought of all the conveniences in the city. But even at that she had lived in the country too long to get any enjoyment out of the city. As for me, I’m young and can soon adapt myself to the new conditions in the city. Can’t you imagine what a good city belle I would make?

CLARENCE

Ethel, you have been the best friend I ever had outside of mother and father and they’re both gone. The reason I went away to school was the thought that I might some day be worthy and capable of making a home for you equal to the best found anywhere. I realize that the majority of farmers buy conveniences for themselves without realizing the conveniences their wives need in the house, so they have to go on in the same way their grandmothers did. Ethel, you remember that last letter you wrote me, three years ago, I believe?

ETHEL

Yes, and you never answered it.

CLARENCE

No. When you went away to the city you were young and I did not dare ask you to wait for me. Besides I thought it would be useless for you were thinking that when the time came you would marry a city fellow who could offer you a home without the drudgery some women have on the farm. In that last letter, you were telling me about a certain rich man. Well, I knew your youthful dream had come true. I didn’t want to stand in your way. I knew you were old enough to know what you wanted, so I didn’t write. Ethel, I almost gave up then, and I don’t know but what I would had it not been for my roommate, noble old chap. He got me started right again. Ethel, I hope you will be happy in the city.

_Rises and crosses stage._

ETHEL

I did write about a certain young man, but—

CLARENCE

But what?

ETHEL

I didn’t think you would take it so seriously.

CLARENCE

You mean to say—

ETHEL

That I was only teasing you about the city.

CLARENCE

Then you’re not—

_Takes her hand._

ETHEL

Not if I can help it. How about that home you were dreaming about?

CLARENCE

It’s yours, Ethel, and it’s going to be the very best (_embrace_).

_Embrace. Enter Hiram and Mr. Benson. Stop short on seeing Ethel and Clarence in each other’s arms._

MR. BENSON

_Harshly._

Ethel!

_Ethel and Clarence separate embarrassed._

CLARENCE

_Going up and taking Mr. Benson by the hand._

Mr. Benson, I know this is no way to be caught with your daughter, but since it couldn’t be helped I suppose the only way to get around it will be for you to give your consent to marry her.

MR. BENSON

Are you going to live on the farm?

CLARENCE

Would you advise me to?

MR. BENSON

By jinks, you can’t have her unless you do.

_Clarence crosses and puts arm around Ethel._

HIRAM

By golly, it does me good to see the cream of the country come pourin’ back again. Don’t you know some of our greatest men like Lincoln and Washington, come from the farm? They’d all like to have gotten back again but they were so tied up in the world they couldn’t break loose. The cities are all right in a way, and I suppose we couldn’t get along without them now, but, by golly, there would never have been a city if it hadn’t been for the country. Why, I can remember when all the young men that wanted to do something worth while went to the cities and left the very poorest fellows at home. And the old fellows when they got enough money they moved ter the city and spent their money there. By golly, that’s right, ain’t it, John?

MR. BENSON

I guess you’re right, Hiram.

HIRAM

Of course, I’m right. By golly, it sure does me good ter see the change coming where the best people of the country stay on the farm instead of movin’ ter the city where they’re just as much out of place as “A Bee in a Drone’s Hive.”

Author of play—Cecil Baker.

CURTAIN.

LARIMORE

Somebody once said a pageant was a big outdoor play in which people in everyday walks of life—John and Joe and Susan—take an active part and tell the story of what happened in the neighborhood, county, or state in their own manner. It is something that might be called a human festival, because the people young and old and even “the animals, the oxen and the horse, the donkey and the dog” all take part.

This particular kind of a play was especially well portrayed in “The Story of Grand Forks County,” a historical pageant in five episodes, which was presented in the little town of Larimore on June second, nineteen hundred and twenty. Thirty different communities, working in coöperation and under the direction of a central committee, selected the material, dramatized the events, and acted the parts. One thousand persons, ranging in age from a seven-months-old baby to a white-haired man of sixty-five were the players. Schools, churches, clubs, bands, choruses, and various other social agencies contributed their enthusiasm and energies in making the spectacle a success. Ten thousand people saw the production. Eleven hundred automobiles were parked on the grounds, and this did not include those standing in rows in the center of down-town streets.

Larimore, after all, isn’t such a big town, but it is a mighty interesting place. Its population is made up of people who appreciate the big things in life. And when a worth-while thing comes along they put their shoulders to the wheel and—well they make whatever it is go. They showed their mettle when they built the stage for the pageant in a corner of their newly laid-out park. For several days, sometimes in the morning as early as five o’clock, the men in the community were up and at work. They used ice tongs to carry the four hundred bridge planks, which, by the way, were eighteen feet long, twelve inches wide, and four inches thick. They borrowed these from the county commissioners and constructed a huge platform seventy-two feet in width and thirty-six feet in depth. The background was one hundred and fifty-six feet long and twenty feet in height. There were two wings, fourteen and sixteen feet high respectively, on each side. All of these were covered with branches of trees cut and hauled on hayracks from a nearby brook. In the center of the background rows of seats were built in the shape of a tree which held a chorus of two hundred girls, robed in pure white. They came from different sections of the county and sang during the interludes. The seats were arranged in amphitheater style. At each corner a band was stationed. Tents pitched back of the stage were used for dressing rooms. The stage manager happened to be a local auto taxi owner.

June second was an ideal day. At two o’clock in the afternoon the buglers announced the opening of “The Story of Grand Forks County,” a historical pageant in five episodes. Then came the procession of the bands and a chorus. The prologue or story of the play followed. It was written by one schoolmaster and given by another. It is well worth quoting, for it not only shows a fine poetic temperament but tells the history of one of America’s finest agricultural counties.

“Friends, we have gathered here beneath the vaulted sky,
In God’s great out-of-doors, where nature greets the eye,
With grass and trees and flowers—we’ve gathered here to stage
The story of our County down to the present age.
In song and dance and tableau its history will be told;
In interludes and episodes our pageant will unfold.
We journey back in fancy a span of fifty years,
Back to the days of Indians and hardy pioneers.
Here waves a sea of prairie grass upon the endless plain;
Here lies a pile of whitening bones that mark the bison’s reign.
Within a fringe of forest green that skirts a river’s flow,
The Indians are breaking camp—’tis time for them to go.
‘The white man comes,’ the scouts report, ‘our hunting here is done,
The white man comes and we must go, on towards the setting sun.’

“As night comes on and in the west the sun sets for the day,
Full slowly up the valley an ox-team weaves its way.
It draws a covered wagon. On the driver’s seat a man,
His head turned back, is speaking to a woman in the van;
‘Look, Mary, there’s a likely spot in yonder grove of trees,
There’s water, fuel, fish, and game; the grass comes to my knees;
The land is fertile, level, smooth—what need to farther roam?
Come let us halt in this fair place and build ourselves a home.’
Thus did they come, our pioneers, brave husband, braver wife,
Heroic souls that sang and worked and asked no odds of life.
So friends, to-day, the picture that first will meet our sight,
Is the leaving of the red man and the coming of the white.
The world is restless, craves to move, and therefore mankind feels
A deep abiding gratitude to the man who first made wheels.
The great improvements made in wheels, the constant evolution
From wagon down to motor car has caused a revolution,
Affecting every phase of life, our business and our pleasure,
And proved itself in countless ways a blessing beyond measure.
It was a happy day indeed when on the frontier trails
The pioneers beheld the sight of shining iron rails,
That spelled the end of grueling trips to market by ox-team,
And heralded the coming of their greatest ally—steam.
When now the growth and progress of transportation’s shown,
It will explain one reason why prosperity has grown.

“Year after year more settlers came, each year more fields were tilled,
And lavish Nature blessed their work, their granaries were filled
With golden wheat and other grains; their herds of cattle grew;
They prospered greatly and progressed and those who failed were few.
Then one by one the towns sprang up, with smithy, bank, and store,
With elevator, mill, and yard, and markets at their door.
The towns and farms worked hand in hand, theirs was a common cause.
And from the start unto this day, advancing without pause,
Our industries have grown apace, have made our County great—
Till it is known both far and wide the banner of the State.

“The greatest factor in the growth of county, state, or nation,
No thing is dearer to our hearts than is the common school,
What makes for happiness and peace is public education;
For well we know that it must be if liberty shall rule.
Our fathers when they came built schools, albeit they were rude,
Judged by our standards, poorly taught, ill-disciplined, and crude.
These schools did foster splendid men and noble women too;
And from that small beginning our present system grew.
Our pageant here will show to you how we have forged ahead,
How in the work of betterment our schools have always led.
Yet, we can not be satisfied with that which we have done,
For after all our schools’ advance is only well begun.

“Whence came these men who wrought these deeds? What land did give them
birth?
They came from distant lands and climes, from far across the earth.
The Frenchman came; the Irishman; the German, Scotch, and Norse;
And every mother’s son of them, a man of strength and force,
That threw himself into the work with hands and heart and brain,
That labored for our Country’s weal with all his might and main,
Their children, born beneath our flag and fostered in our schools,
Hold for the land of liberty a love that never cools;
They all are real Americans—Americans through and through
They stand for order, law, and right, for all that’s good and true.
So in this pageant of to-day as episodes unfold
The marvels of our progress; as our wondrous growth is told,
All is centered round the people; ’tis their story we portray,
For the people made the County what the County is to-day.”

G. T. Almen.

After the prologue, the five episodes and interludes were enacted in a manner highly satisfactory to the ten thousand spectators. Real Indians, dog and pony travois, an old prairie schooner, a sod shanty, the Red River ox-cart, the first railroad engine to enter the county, a stage coach of pioneer days, the cradle, the reaper, the old breaking plow, the one room school house, the different peoples from foreign countries who settled in the county, added interest and gave color to the pageant. The children from the different schools in the county were costumed to represent the different grains, the prairie roses and the violets, the strawberries and the potatoes. One set of girls interpreted an original wind dance. A boys’ band, a business men’s band, a farmers’ band, and a chorus furnished the music.

The final tableau or scene was a magnificent sight, something that will never be forgotten. In the center of the forest background on tiers of raised seats, two hundred girls clad in white were standing. Above them the Stars and Stripes were floating. Down on the stage, a thousand players, real country people, were grouped. On the ground and in a circle ten thousand people were standing. The bands were playing and everybody was singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

One who stood there and looked at it all could not help but think what tremendous opportunities there are out on these prairies, if only the people can find their true expression. As a certain person who was very active in making it a success said, “What shall we say of it? What shall be the future?” The joy of self-expression is a supreme one. “I was in it.” “I made a poster.” “We made the violet costumes.” “Our dog hauled the wigwam”—in fact, “I helped,” these are the words on every lip. Truly it was a pageant “of the people, by the people, for the people,” with none too great nor too small to participate.

For everyone it has meant a great lesson in patriotism and coöperation. For each community in the county it means a refreshing social contact and an unselfish interest in local affairs. It means the creating of pure and wholesome pleasure, rather than the purchasing of that which is often doubtful. It means the discovery of much hidden talent. For the individual it means greater development of social consciousness, a broader and deeper appreciation of his brother and friend, a desire not only to do something for himself but to help someone else. And this is the real gospel of America to-day, the flower of service, which with the aid of stirring imagination will develop into one of everlasting sweetness and beauty.

Up in Grand Forks County they have a county superintendent with a vision, one who not only sees but organizes and does the things. The pageant did what she dreamed it would do. It brought into play all the talent of the county. The art of the people was expressed through the setting, the costumes, the posters, and the light effects; the music, through song and instrument; the organizing power through promotion, seating arrangement, rehearsal, and presentation; the mechanical genius through the stage construction; and the literary ability through the gathering, the arranging, and the writing of the subject matter.

When all these faculties are brought into exercise, they cannot help but arouse the creative instincts in the mind of the county or the community. They appeal to the heart instincts. This is one of the pageant’s great values to society.

FORTY TOWNS

In order to feel the pulse of the people of the state in regard to their attitude toward plays, as well as to carry the drama to the people, a road tour of forty towns was made. Twenty-two counties were visited. The play selected for this trip was “Back to the Farm,” written by Merline Shumway, a former student at the Minnesota Agricultural College. It is a three-act rural comedy. The central thought running through the play is the old way of doing things on the farm versus the new method. It appeals to all classes of people and especially to those who have tilled the soil. One farmer said it was the best thing he had ever seen. Another told his friends that “‘Back to the Farm’ had ‘The Birth of a Nation’ skun a mile.” They were both right, because to them the play came out of the soil.

A cast of eight characters was taken on the tour. They were given twenty-five dollars a week and their railroad fares. In the evening they presented the play and during the day made a brief social survey of every community visited. For instance, one young man would go to the livery stable or garage and find out something about the roads in the surrounding community. Naturally, roads have something to do with people getting together. Another would measure the size of village halls, the assembly rooms in schoolhouses, the basements of churches, empty country stores, and lodge rooms—in fact, any place where people assembled. Listing musical activities in the town was the duty of one member of the cast. Still another looked up everything he could find about athletics in the different places. The various clubs, organizations, and societies in the town were tabulated by one young man. The three ladies in the cast ascertained the number of festivals, pageants, home talent plays, programs, games, folk dances, library facilities, and newspapers. All of these facts, combined with other data obtained before and since then, make a splendid social diagnosis of certain phases of country life in North Dakota. They give one an insight into the activities of country folks out on a prairie. Many interesting conditions were revealed by the survey and knowledge gained elsewhere.

As a rule the roads are good. Travel in the late spring, summer, and fall is comparatively easy. In the winter it is more difficult, just as it is in any state. In some places the roads are graded ten, fifteen, and twenty miles out from a center. The prairie or grass road is frequently used to save time. It is not an uncommon occurrence for parties to drive twenty and thirty miles to attend a picnic, a play or a social function of some kind. Even in the winter and early spring the snow and “gumbo” do not stop them from attending social activities. Automobiles average from one to three to a section of land. Means of communication are constantly improving. Inasmuch as the homes in the country in the state are far apart, due to the present large acreage of the farms, the roads are an important factor in developing the social life in the country districts.

Practically every community possesses some sort of a hall or a meeting place. In size they accommodate, so far as the seating arrangement is concerned, from one to six hundred persons. In the forty towns visited, four had halls with a seating capacity of less than one hundred and fifty, fifteen with two hundred, twelve with three hundred, five with four hundred and four with six hundred and over. The seats were not stationary, the halls being used for other purposes. For the most part they consisted of folding chairs, kitchen chairs, boxes, saw-horses, and barn floor planks. The stages were small and the scenery scarce. In several places one could stand on the stage, and touch the ceiling with his hands. The front curtains were usually roll curtains and covered with advertising. Very few stages had a set of scenery. Oil and acetylene lamps furnished the necessary light. Barn lanterns were not uncommon. Occasionally some enterprising community would have electricity. In one village hall electric light bulbs were set in large tomato cans which were cut down on one side. These served as footlights. Automobile head lights facing toward the stage quite frequently gave the necessary light. Plumbers’ candles were sometimes used. Dressing room facilities were generally lacking. Sometimes a ladder was placed at the back window near the stage and the characters in the play who found it necessary to change their make-up would climb out on the ladder and go down in the basement between acts and make the necessary adjustments. Screens, blankets, and sheets pinned across the back corners of the stage make a good impromptu stage dressing room. Several of the halls had excellent dining rooms in connection with them. All the buildings were used for many different community activities. Most of them lacked good architecture, simply because the agencies in education had never taken enough interest in planning community buildings for country districts. The present tendency in consolidated schools is to install stages, platforms, and gymnasiums, in order to make them available for every activity characteristic of community life. A great many of the communities had splendid well arranged halls.

The musical survey showed that in districts where the people were of foreign descent all kinds of music thrived. The majority of the places had the talent, but not the leadership and the organization. Music in the schools was fairly well developed. Dance orchestras were popular. One town had a good orchestra, a fine band, and a glee club. Another had just a band of fifteen pieces. Victrolas were popular and in use in every school for games and folk dances. An interesting feature of the different kinds of music was the popularity of the violin. Every orchestra was blessed with this particular kind of a string instrument.

So far as clubs and organizations are concerned, every community has plenty of them. Some of them are very active and broad-minded, as well as farseeing in their work. Others are petty in their attitude and inclined to do very little. Many duplicate each other’s work. Where there is leadership, the organizations are alert and perform many valuable acts of service.

Athletic activities in the various towns and country districts are extremely popular with both the young and the old. Baseball is generally played at twilight, between seven-thirty and nine-thirty in the evening. Basketball tournaments in consolidated school districts attract considerable attention. Field days at farmers’ picnics create an unusual interest.

County play days in which all the children in the county meet at some particular place and participate in games, folk dances, parades, and pageants have become an integral part of the social life of the state. Out of the fifty-three counties in the state over thirty-five have play days. From two to ten thousand people attend these annual affairs.

The attitude of the weekly papers toward social functions and public programs is excellent. Space is freely given. The library facilities for furnishing data for presentation on public programs are not good, due primarily to lack of material and funds with which to purchase it. The possibilities for library work in the country districts in the state and even other states are infinite. Thousands of letters besides the survey of the forty towns attest this fact.

Hundreds of plays are presented in the state every year. Home talent plays are generally greeted with great crowds everywhere. Everybody “likes ’em.” Operettas are popular because large casts of characters are necessary to produce them. And besides everybody likes to see his offspring, relative, or friend take part. It is human nature to see what is in a person. The audiences are always enthusiastic and appreciative. The repertoire consists of comedies, classical plays, Christmas festivals, pantomimes, operettas, and May fetes. The community without a play is one without a leader. In a great many towns and rural districts the play, the picnic, and the Christmas festival are annual affairs. It is doubtful whether anything proves so popular with the vast majority of people as a real play staged by honest-to-goodness country folks. It also unconsciously brings out a spirit of leadership.

These few facts which were gathered by the cast during the day, coupled with other information secured before and after the tour, tell one something, perhaps not much, about the social life of country people in a prairie state.

The experiences encountered during the forty-day sojourn were interesting, to say the least. The audiences ranged in size from twenty-six persons to seven hundred. A county fair or circus admission of fifty cents for adults and twenty-five for children was charged. Sometimes the audiences were made up of cowboys, or cow-punchers, as the Westerners say. In one community two hundred sheep herders saw the play. In another, lignite coal miners and their families witnessed the production. For the most part the halls were filled with wheat growers and dairymen and their kin. With a few possible exceptions the crowds were rural in their complexion. Out in the extreme western part of the state the lights balked and the play never started until nine forty-five in the evening. In one town a thirteen dollar and fifty cent crowd enjoyed the comedy. It was necessary to purchase a bolt of chocolate colored cambric in another place, because only one screen could be found in the whole community. The cambric was used as a background and the screen for a left wing. The back of a piano with the American flag drooped over it served as the right wing. Old-fashioned acetylene lamps gave the necessary light. A large dry goods box was used for a ticket stand. Planks resting on saw horses satisfied the crowd so far as a seating arrangement was concerned. Social functions frequently followed the presentation of the play. After paying all expenses, the profits on the forty town road tour amounted to six dollars and sixty-seven cents.

The tour showed that people actually like plays. It carried the drama to the people.

COLD SPRING HOLLOW

A little over a year ago it was my good fortune to spend several days in Berkley County, West Virginia. “Tepee,” a jovial and good natured fellow and myself were in a camp out three miles from historic Martinsburg. The place was not so very far from the Maryland border. The festival chosen was “The Ingathering,” a story about America, in which food for humanity was the central theme. The characters were the country youth from those West Virginia hills. The site selected was Cold Spring Hollow near Opequan Creek. It was a beautiful spot in a little valley on Uncle Nat’s farm. On the hillsides which rose right and left from the hollow, there were many stately pines. A spring in the upper part of the valley kept the grass green and furnished many a refreshing drink.

The scene of the story of “The Ingathering” is laid in the Garden of Freedom where the Altar of Liberty is concealed. Mother Earth is escorted through a field of golden grain to the Garden. Here she stops and tells her escort that the Holy Earth has a soul and that through the ages her friends have been, Story, Art, and Song and that the elements of nature when the seasons were made selected Autumn as the most beautiful of all. The Spirit of Autumn, arrayed in all the colors characteristic of that season, moves about the field with graceful rhythm. Story then comes running through the field into the Garden of Freedom and tells Mother Earth that her children, representing many different races, are coming in search of the Altar of Liberty. They enter the field talking, though they do not understand each other. They babble. As they approach the Garden she halts them, asks them to be seated and gives Story a basket of bread that they may have food to eat. Mother Earth realizes that when people break bread with each other they not only understand each other better, but they also exemplify the noblest virtues of mankind—sacrifice and charity. Story then tells Mother Earth that people since time immemorial have commemorated the ingathering of food. Art comes and teaches the races many games and frolics with them. In the distance Song is heard. She enters and succeeds in getting all these people singing together. Mother Earth beckons Story, Art, and Song to bring all these people to the Garden of Freedom. They come and kneel with hands outstretched. For a moment darkness reigns everywhere. Story, Art, and Song uncover what these children for generations have been praying for. Light again appears and before their eyes the Altar of Liberty is seen in the Garden of Freedom which is located in the land called America.

The Altar of Liberty was constructed out of poles and evergreens cut from the nearby woods. Joe and Jim, two country lads, were the architects and builders. Joe was fat and chubby and about as large around as an apple barrel. He had a pair of merry blue eyes and everybody liked him. One day after the rehearsal, when we were laying out the frame work of the altar with poles, I said, “Joe, don’t you think you had better get a saw and cut the ends of these poles straight so they’ll stand erect?” Joe looked at me and said, “Don’t you think I can cut them?” He was standing with his hand and foot resting on the handle and blade of a wood chopper’s ax. When told he might try, he raised the ax over his shoulder and with several strokes cut the pole off as straight and clean as any first-class carpenter would have sawed it. After that day when anybody saw Joe carrying an ax around the camp they would follow him, because they knew Joe was an expert woodsman. Jim, his pal, was lean, had brown eyes, and was somewhat rough spoken. But Jim could drive twenty penny spikes. His aim was true. Of the many he drove he never missed a head. The construction of the Altar of Liberty was the medium through which Joe and Jim got interested in the festival.

The evening it was presented the automobiles which usually furnished the lights were not there. The hilly roads prevented their coming down into the valley. Some other kind of light had had to be found. One day during the week a fourteen-year-old boy had been seen scratching a match on the edge of a tin can cover. When asked what made the flame he said it was pitch. After a few trials as to its light power, the lads were sent up into the woods to get all they could find. They brought back large quantities. Chunks of pitch as large as your fists were placed on flat pieces of limestone near the altar. These natural footlights with a huge bonfire furnished all the light necessary for the production. A small organ, about the size of three suit-cases placed on top of each other, was used for the musical effects. The audience was made up of about a hundred and twenty-five country people. They were seated on peach crates, buggy seats, camp stools, horse blankets, and checkered bed quilts.

The evening the festival was presented was an ideal one. The air was cool and crisp. The stars were out. In the distance Opequan Creek could be heard. The scene was a most impressive one. Evergreen boughs laid on the ground in the form of a circle separated the audience from those who took part in the play. At the right and up the hill a little way the organ could be heard at intervals. The most beautiful part of it all was near the end of the festival when the reflection of the lights on the flat stones showed the ensemble of the characters. They were kneeling in the Garden of Freedom with their hands outstretched toward the Altar of Liberty singing—

“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of Liberty
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!”

The effect was thrilling. In a valley in the foothills of West Virginia a group of country people were not only finding themselves, but they were also expressing a great American ideal.

The message of The Little Country Theater—to help people find their true expression in the community in which they live—was carried beyond the golden stubbled field of the land of the Dacotahs into the heart of the hills of West Virginia.

Knowledge is of two kinds—We know a subject ourselves or we
know where we can find information upon it.

_Samuel Johnson._

APPENDICES

He reads much. He is a great observer, and he looks quite
through the deeds of men.

_Shakespeare._

In order to give the reader of this narrative on The Little Country Theater an insight into the hidden possibilities for the development of a life in both town and country, a life with more color and romance, a select list of reading materials is given. Aside from the program material sources, a careful reading of such books as _The Holy Earth_, by Liberty Bailey; _Three Acres and Liberty_, by Bolton Hall; _The Fairview Idea_, by Herbert Quick; _The Village_, by Ernest Poole; _The Farmer and The New Day_, by Kenyon Butterfield, and scores of other books cannot help but broaden one’s outlook upon life. A reading taste could easily be developed in this and other countries if every community, regardless of its size, would place a book shelf containing interesting literature in the country store, village post office, community hall, school house, or somebody’s home. A few dollars, say fifteen or twenty-five would be a sufficient fund to begin the reading circle. The school master, especially the county superintendent, would soon see a changed attitude and a renewed interest in education. The grown-ups, the folks whose school days are no more, as well as the school children would, if a library bookshelf was placed in every hamlet, be given an opportunity to spend at least a part of their leisure time, with pleasure and profit. Good books are good friends. Reading one is like visiting somebody you haven’t seen in a long while. The author dedicates the several pages left to those who want to read that they may know.