[Illustration]
_Lady Belledame_ (_discovered preparing parcels_). Old and
unloved!--yes, the longer I live, the more plainly do I perceive that
I am _not_ a popular old woman. Have I not acquired the reputation in
the county of being a witch? My neighbour, Sir VEVEY LONG, asked me
publicly only the other day "when I would like my broom ordered," and
that minx, Lady VIOLET POWDRAY, has pointedly mentioned old
cats in my hearing! PERGAMENT, my family lawyer, has
declined to act for me any longer, merely because MONKSHOOD
rack-rented some of the tenants a little too energetically in the
Torture Chamber--as if in these hard times one was not justified in
putting the screw on! Then the villagers scowl when I pass; the very
children shrink from me--[_A childish voice outside window_: "Yah, 'oo
sold 'erself to Old Bogie for a pound o' tea an' a set o' noo
teeth?"]--that is, when they do not insult me by suggestions of
bargains that are not even businesslike! No matter--I will be avenged
upon them all--ay, all! 'Tis Christmas-time--the season at which
sentimental fools exchange gifts and good wishes. For once I, too,
will distribute a few seasonable presents.... (_Inspecting parcels._)
Are my arrangements complete? The bundle of choice cigars, in each of
which a charge of nitro-glycerine has been dexterously inserted? The
lip-salve, made up from my own prescription with corrosive sublimate
by a venal chemist in the vicinity? The art flower-pot, containing a
fine specimen of the Upas plant, swathed in impermeable sacking? The
sweets compounded with sugar of lead? The packet of best ratsbane?
Yes, nothing has been omitted. Now to summon my faithful MONKSHOOD....
Ha! he is already at hand.
[_Chord as_ MONKSHOOD _enters_.
_Monkshood._ Your Ladyship, a child, whose sole luggage is a small
bandbox and a large banjo, is without, and requests the favour of a
personal interview.
_Lady B._ (_reproachfully_). And you, who have been with me all these
years, and know my ways, omitted to let loose the bloodhounds? You
grow careless, MONKSHOOD!
_Monks._ (_wounded_). Your Ladyship is unjust--I _did_ unloose the
bloodhounds; but the ferocious animals merely sat up and begged. The
child had took the precaution to provide herself with a bun!
_Lady B._ No matter, she must be removed--I care not how.
_Monks._ There may be room for one more--a little one--in the old
well. The child mentioned that she was your Ladyship's granddaughter,
but I presume that will make no difference?
_Lady B._ (_disquieted_). What!--then she must be the child of my only
son POLDOODLE, whom, for refusing to cut off the entail, I had falsely
accused of adulterating milk, and transported beyond the seas! She
comes hither to denounce and reproach me! MONKSHOOD, she must not
leave this place alive--you hear?
_Monks._ I require no second bidding--ha, the child ... she comes!
[_Chord._ _Little_ ELFIE _trips in with touching self-confidence._
_Elfie_ (_in a charming little Cockney accent_). Yes, Grandma, it's
me--little ELFIE, come all the way from Australia to see you, because
I thought you must be sow lownly all by yourself! My Papa often told
me what a long score he owed you, and how he hoped to pay you off if
he lived. But he went out to business one day--Pa was a bushranger,
you know, and worked--oh, _so_ hard; and never came back to his little
ELFIE, so poor little ELFIE has come to live with you!
_Monks._ Will you have the child removed now, my Lady?
_Lady B._ (_undecidedly_). Not now--not yet; I have other work for
you. These Christmas gifts, to be distributed amongst my good friends
and neighbours (_handing parcels_). First, this bundle of cigars to
Sir VEVEY LONG, with my best wishes that such a connoisseur in tobacco
may find them sufficiently strong. The salve for Lady VIOLET POWDRAY,
with my love, and it should be rubbed on the last thing at night. The
plant you will take to the little PERGAMENTS--'twill serve them for a
Christmas tree. This packet to be diluted in a barrel of beer, which
you will see broached upon the village green; these sweetmeats for
distribution among the most deserving of the school-children.
_Elfie_ (_throwing her arms around_ Lady B.'s _neck_). I _do_ like
you, Grandma; you have such a kind face! And oh, what pains you must
have taken to find something that will do for everybody!
_Lady B._ (_disengaging herself peevishly_). Yes, yes, child. I trust
that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,--but I do not
like to be messed about. MONKSHOOD, you know what you have to do.
_Elfie._ Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently he
smiles. You're such a good old man, you will take care that all the
poor people are fed, _won't_ you?
_Monks._ (_with a sinister smile_). Ah! Missie, I've 'elped to settle
a many people's 'ash in my time!
_Elfie_ (_innocently_). What, do they all get hash? How nice! I like
hash,--but what else do you give them?
_Monks._ (_grimly_). Gruel, Missie. (_Aside._) I must get out of this,
or this innocent child's prattle will unman me!
[_Exit with parcels._
_Elfie._ You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of
the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.
_Lady B._ No, no, some other time. (_Aside._) Pshaw! why should I
dread the effect of her simple melodies? Sing, child, if you will.
_Elfie._ How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [_Sings._
Dar is a lubly yaller gal that tickles me to deff;
She'll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.
When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man,
As she gets her upper lip o'er a plate o' "possum dip," cries,
"Woa, LUCINDY ANN!" (Chorus, dear Granny!)
Woa, LUCINDY! Woa, LUCINDY! Woa, LUCINDY ANN!
At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa,
Miss SINDY ANN!
_To Lady B._ (_who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has
burst into tears_). Why, you are _weeping_, dear Grandmother!
_Lady B._ Nay, 'tis nothing, child--but have you no songs which are
less sad?
_Elfie._ Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful
than that. (_Sings._)
Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago,
When I used to be a happy darkie slave. (_Trump-a-trump._)
But now I'se got to labour wif de shovel an' de hoe--
For ole Massa lies a sleepin' in his grave! (_Trump-trump._)
_Chorus._
Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa! (_Pianissimo._) Poor ole Massa, dat I
nebber more shall see!
He was let off by de Jury, Way down in ole Missouri--But dey lynched him
on a persimmon tree.
_Elfie._ You smile at last, dear Grandma! I would sing to you again,
but I am so very, very sleepy!
_Lady B._ Poor child, you have had a long journey. Rest awhile on this
couch, and I will arrange this screen so as to protect your slumbers.
[_Leads little_ ELFIE _to couch._
_Elfie_ (_sleepily_). Thanks, dear Grandma, thanks.... Now I shall go
to sleep, and dream of you, and the dogs, and angels. I so often dream
about angels--but that is generally after supper, and to-night I have
had no supper.... But never mind.... Good night, Grannie, good night
... goo'ni' ... goo ... goo! [_She sinks softly to sleep._
_Lady B._ And I was about to set the bloodhounds upon this little
sunbeam! 'Tis long since these grim walls have echoed strains so sweet
as hers. (_Croons._) "Woa, LUCINDY," &c. "Dey tried him by a jury, way
down in ole Missouri, an' dey hung him to a possum-dip tree!" (_Goes
to couch, and gazes on the little sleeper._) How peacefully she
slumbers! What a change has come over me in one short hour!--my
withered heart is sending up green shoots of tenderness, of love, and
hope! Let me try henceforth to be worthy of this dear child's
affection and respect. (_Turns, and sees_ MONKSHOOD.) Ha, MONKSHOOD!
Then there is time yet! Those parcels ... quick, quick!--the
parcels!----
_Monks._ (_impassively_). Have been left as you instructed, my Lady.
[_Chord_: Lady B. _staggers lack, gasping, into chair. Little_ ELFIE
_awakes behind screen, and rubs her eyes._
[N.B.--The reformation of a Grandmother being necessarily a process of
some length, the conclusion of this touching little Drama is
unavoidably deferred to a future number.]
* * * * *