She was a little afraid of questions at the dinner-table; but it
happened that the older people were interested about some matter of
their own and she was not noticed at all. Except in a quiet way by Mr.
Randolph, who picked out nuts for her; and Daisy took them and thought
joyfully of carrying a testament to Molly's cottage and teaching her to
read it. If she could do but that--Daisy thought she would be happy.
The evening was spent by her and Preston over engravings again. Some new
ones were added to the stock already chosen for tableaux; and Preston
debated with her very eagerly the various questions of characters and
dresses. Daisy did not care how he arranged them, provided she only was
not called upon to be Priscilla to Alexander Fish, or Esther to Hamilton
Rush. "I will not, Preston--" she insisted quietly; and Preston was in
difficulty; for as he truly said, it would not do to give himself all
the best pieces.
The next day, after luncheon, a general conclave assembled, of all the
young people, to determine the respective parts and hold a little
rehearsal by way of beginning. Mrs. Sandford was there too, but no other
grown person was admitted. Preston had certainly a troublesome and
delicate office in his capacity of manager.
"What are you going to give me, Preston?" said Mrs. Stanfield's lively
daughter, Theresa.
"You must be Portia."
"Portia? let me see--O that's lovely! How will you dress me, Mrs.
Sandford? I must be very splendid--I have just been married, and I am
worth any amount of splendour. Who's to be Bassanio?--"
"George Linwood, I think. He must have dark hair, you know."
"What are wigs good for?" said Theresa. "But he has nothing to do but to
hold the letter and throw himself backward--he's surprised, you know,
and people don't stand straight when they are surprised. Only that, and
to look at Portia. I guess he can do it. Once fix him and he'll
stay--that's one thing. How will you dress Portia, Mrs. Sandford? Ah,
let me dress her!"
"Not at all; you must be amenable to authority. Miss Stanfield, like
everybody else."
"But what will you put on her, Mrs. Sandford? The dress is Portia."
"No, by no means; you must look with a very delicate expression, Miss
Theresa. Your face will be the picture."
"My face will depend on my dress, I know. What will it be, Mrs.
Sandford?"
"I will give you a very heavy and rich purple brocade."
"Jewels?"
"Of course. Mrs. Randolph lets us have whatever we want."
"That will do!" said Theresa, clapping her hands softly. "I am made up.
What are you going to do with Frederica?"
"She has a great part. She must be Marie Antoinette going from the
revolutionary tribunal."
"De la Roche's picture!" said Theresa.
"She's not dressed at all"--remarked Frederica coldly looking at the
engraving.
"Marie Antoinette needed no dress, you know," Theresa answered.
"But she isn't handsome there."
"You will be standing for her," said Mrs. Sandford. "The attitude is
very striking, in its proud, indignant impassiveness. You will do that
well. I must dress your hair carefully, but you have just the right hair
and plenty of it."
"Don't she flatter her!" whispered Theresa to Preston;--then aloud,
"How will you make up the rest of the tableau, Preston?"
"I am going to be that old cross-eyed woman--Alexander will be one of
the guards--George Linwood another, I think. Hamilton Rush must shake
his fist at the queen over my head; and Theresa, you must be this nice
little French girl, looking at her unfortunate sovereign with weeping
eyes. Can you get a tear on your cheek?"
"Might take an uncommon strong spoonful of mustard--" said Theresa--"I
suppose that would do it. But you are not going to let the spectators
come so near as to see drops of tears, I hope?"
"No matter--your eyes and whole expression would be affected by the
mustard; it would tell, even at a distance."
When they got through laughing, some one asked, "What is Daisy to be?"
"O, she is to be Priscilla here--I thought nobody but Daisy would care
about being a Puritan; but it is her chosen character."
"It'll be a pretty tableau," said Theresa.
"And what am I to be, Preston?" said Nora.
"You are to be several things. You and Ella must be the two young
princes in the tower."
"What tower?" said Nora.
There was another general laugh, and then Daisy, who was well at home in
English history, pulled her little friend aside to whisper to her the
story and shew her the picture.
"What are those men going to do?" said Nora.
"They are going to kill the little princes. They have got a featherbed
or something there, and they are going to smother them while they are
asleep."
"But I don't want the featherbed on top of me!" said Nora.
"No, no,--it is not to come down on you; but that is the picture; they
will hold it just so; it will not come down."
"But suppose they should let it fall?"
"They will not let it fall. The picture is to have it held just so, as
if they were going to smother the poor little princes the next minute."
"I think it is a horrid picture!" said Nora.
"But it will only last a little while. All you will have to do will be
to make believe you are asleep."
"I don't want to make believe I am asleep. I would rather have my eyes
open. What else am I going to be, Daisy?"
"Preston will tell. I believe--you are to be one of Queen Esther's
women, to hold her up when she fainted, you know."
"Let me see. Where is it?"
Daisy obtained the picture. Nora examined it critically.
"I would like to be the king, he is so handsome. Who will be the queen?"
"I don't know yet," said Daisy.
"Are you going to have any part where you will be dressed up?"
"We shall have to be dressed for them all. We cannot wear our own
dresses, you know; it would not be a picture."
"But, I mean, are you going to be dressed up with nice things?--not like
this."
"This will be dressed up," said Daisy; "she will be very nicely
dressed--to be one of the queen's ladies, you know."
"Daisy! Daisy!--" was now called from the larger group of
counsel-takers, Daisy and Nora having separated themselves for their
private discourse. "Daisy! look here--come here! see what you are to be.
You are to be an angel."
"You are to be an angel, Daisy," Theresa repeated,--"with wonderful
wings made of gauze on a light frame of whalebone."
Daisy came near, looking very attentive; if she felt any more she did
not shew it in her face.
"Daisy, you will do it delightfully," said Mrs. Sandford. "Come and
look. It is this beautiful picture of the Game of Life."
"What is it, ma'am?" said Daisy.
"These two figures, you see, are playing a game of chess. The stake they
are playing for, is this young man's soul; he is one of the players, and
this other player is the evil one. The arch-fiend thinks he has got a
good move; the young man is very serious but perplexed; and there stands
his guardian angel watching how the game will go."
Daisy looked at the picture in silence of astonishment. It seemed to her
impossible that anybody could play at such a subject as that.
"Whom will you have for the fiend, Preston?" the lady went on.
"I will do it myself, ma'am, I think."
Daisy's "Oh no, Preston!"--brought down such a shower of laughter on all
sides, that she retreated into herself a little further than ever. They
pursued the subject for a while, discussing the parts and the making of
the angel's wings; deciding that Daisy would do excellently well for the
angel and would look the part remarkably.
"She has a good deal that sort of expression in ordinary times," said
Mrs. Sandford--"without the sadness; and that she can assume, I day
say."
"I would rather not do it--" Daisy was heard to say very gently but very
soberly. There was another laugh.
"Do what, Daisy? assume a look of sadness?" said Preston.
"I would rather not be the angel."
"Nobody else could do it so well," said Mrs. Sandford. "You are the very
one to do it. It will be admirable."
"_I_ should like to be the angel--" murmured Nora, low enough to have no
one's attention but Daisy's. The rest were agreeing that the picture
would be excellent and had just the right performers assigned to it.
Daisy was puzzled. It seemed to her that Nora had a general desire for
everything.
"Ella will be one of the princes in the tower," Preston went on. "Nora
will be Red Riding-Hood."
"I won't be Red Riding Hood--" said Nora.
"Why not? Hoity, toity!"
"It isn't pretty. And it has no pretty dress."
"Why, it is beautiful," said Mrs. Sandford; "and the dress is to be made
with an exquisite red cashmere cardinal of Mrs. Randolph's. You will
make the best Red Riding-Hood here. Though Daisy would be more like the
lamb the wolf was after,"--continued the lady appealing to the manager;
"and you might change. Who is to be queen Esther? Nora would do that
well--with her black eyes and hair--she is more of a Jewess than any
other of them."
"Esther is fainting," said Preston. "Daisy's paleness will suit that
best. Nora could not look faint."
"Yes, I could," said that damsel promptly.
"You shall blow the cakes that Alfred has let burn," said Preston.
"Capital! Look here, Nora. You shall be that girl taking up the burnt
cakes and blowing to cool them; and you may look as fierce as you like.
You will get great applause if you do that part well. Eloïse is going
to be the scolding old woman. She and I divide the old women between
us."
"Too bad, Preston!" said Mrs. Sandford laughing. "What else are you
going to be?"
"I am going to be one of those fellows coming to murder the little
princes."
"Who is Bassanio?"
"Hamilton says he will undertake that. George declines."
"Suppose we do some work, instead of so much talking," said the former
person; who had hitherto been a very quiet spectator and listener. "Let
us have a little practice. We shall want a good deal before we get
through."
All agreed; agreed also that something in the shape of artistic
draperies was needed for the practice. "It helps"--as Hamilton Rush
remarked. So Daisy went to desire the attendance of June with all the
scarfs, mantles and shawls which, could be gathered together. As Daisy
went, she thought that she did not wish Nora to be queen Esther; she was
glad Preston was firm about that.
The practising of Bassanio and Portia was so very amusing that she
fairly forgot herself in laughter. So did everybody else; except Mrs.
Sandford, who was intent upon draperies, and Preston whose hands held a
burden of responsibility. Hamilton was a quiet fellow enough in
ordinary; but now nobody was more ready for all the life of the play. He
threw himself back into an attitude of irresolution and perplexity, with
the letter in his hand which had brought the fatal news; that is, it was
the make-believe letter, though it was in reality only the New York
Evening Post. And Daisy thought his attitude was very absurd; but they
all declared it was admirable and exactly copied from the engraving. He
threw himself into all this in a moment, and was Bassanio at once; but
Theresa was much too well disposed to laugh to imitate his example. And
then they all laughed at Theresa, who instead of looking grave and
inquiring, as Portia should, at her lord's unusual action and
appearance, flung herself into position and out of position with a
mirthfulness of behaviour wholly inconsistent with the character she was
to personify. How they all laughed!
"What is it, Daisy?" whispered Nora.
"Why, he has got a letter,"--said Daisy.
"Is that newspaper the letter?"
"Make believe it is," said Daisy.
"But what are they doing!"
"Why, this man, Bassanio, has just got a letter that says his dearest
friend is going to be killed, because he owes money that he cannot pay;
and as the money was borrowed for his own sake, of course he feels very
badly about it."
"But people are not killed because they cannot pay money," said Nora. "I
have seen people come to papa for money, and they didn't do anything to
him because he hadn't it."
"No, but--those were different times," said Daisy--"and Bassanio lived
in a different country. His friend owed money to a dreadful man, who was
going to cut out two pounds of his flesh to pay for it. So of course
that would kill him."
"O, look at Theresa now!" said Nora.
The young lady had brought her muscles into order; and being clever
enough in her merry way, she had taken the look of the character and was
giving it admirably. It was hardly Theresa; her moveable face was
composed to such an expression of simple inquiry and interest and
affectionate concern. The spectators applauded eagerly; but Nora
whispered,
"What does she look like that, for?"
"Why, it's the picture," said Daisy. "But what does she _look_ so for?"
"She is Bassanio's wife--they have just got married; and she looks so
because he looks so, I suppose. She does not know what is in the
letter."
"Is he going to tell her?"
"Not in the picture--" said Daisy, feeling a little amused at Nora's
simplicity. "He did tell her in the story."
"But why don't we have all the story?" insisted Nora.
"O, these are only pictures, you know; that is all; people dressed up to
look like pictures."
"They don't look like pictures a bit, _I_ think," said Nora; "they look
just like people."
Daisy thought so too, but had some faith in Preston's and Mrs.
Sandford's powers of transforming and mystifying the present very
natural appearance of the performers. However, she was beginning to be
of the opinion that it was good fun even now.
"Now, Daisy,--come, we must practise putting _you_ in position," said
Mrs. Sandford. "We will take something easy first--what shall it
be?--Come! we will try Priscilla's courtship. Where is your John Alden,
Preston?"
Preston quietly moved forward Alexander Fish and seated him. Daisy began
to grow warm with trepidation.
"You must let your hair grow, Sandie--and comb out your long curls into
your neck; so,--do you see? And you will have to have a dress as much as
Priscilla. This tableau will be all in the dress, Mrs. Sandford."
"We will have it. That is easy."
"Now, Alexander, look here, at the picture. Take that attitude as nearly
as you can, and I will stroke you into order.--That is pretty
well,--lean over a little more with that elbow on your knee,--you must
be very much in earnest."
"What am I doing?" said Alexander, breaking from his prescribed
attitude to turn round and face the company.
"You are making love to Priscilla; but the joke is, you have been
persuaded to do it for somebody else, when all the time you would like
to do it for yourself."
"I wouldn't be such a gumph as that!" muttered Alexander as he fell back
into position. "Who am I, to begin with?"
"A highly respectable old Puritan. The lady was surprised at him and he
came to his senses, but that is not in the picture. Now Daisy--take that
chair--a little nearer;--you are to have your hand on your spinning
wheel, you know; I have got a dear little old spinning wheel at home for
you, that was used by my grandmother. You must look at Alexander a
little severely, for he is doing what you did not expect of him, and you
think he ought to know better. That attitude is very good. But you must
look at him, Daisy! Don't let your eyes go down."
There was a decided disposition to laugh among the company looking on,
which might have been fatal to the Puritan picture had not Preston and
Mrs. Sandford energetically crushed it. Happily Daisy was too much
occupied with the difficulty of her own immediate situation to discover
how the bystanders were affected; she did not know what was the effect
of her pink little cheeks and very demure down-cast eyes. In fact Daisy
had gone to take her place in the picture with something scarcely less
than horror; only induced to do it, by her greater horror of making a
fuss and so shewing the feeling which she knew would be laughed at if
shewn. She shewed it now, poor child; how could she help it? she shewed
it by her unusually tinged cheeks and by her persistent down-looking
eyes. It was very difficult indeed to help it; for if she ventured to
look at Alexander she caught impertinent little winks,--most unlike John
Alden or any Puritan,--which he could execute with impunity because his
face was mostly turned from the audience; but which Daisy took in full.
"Lift your eyes, Daisy! your eyes! Priscilla was too much astonished not
to look at her lover. You may be even a little indignant, if you choose.
I am certain she was."
Poor Daisy--it was a piece of the fortitude that belonged to her--thus
urged, did raise her eyes and bent upon her winking coadjutor a look so
severe in its childish distaste and disapproval that there was a
unanimous shout of applause. "Capital, Daisy!--capital!" cried Preston.
"If you only look it like that, we shall do admirably. It will be a
tableau indeed. There, get up--you shall not practise any more just
now."
"It will be very fine," said Mrs. Sandford.
"Daisy, I did not think you were such an actress," said Theresa.
"It would have overset _me_, if I had been John Alden--" remarked
Hamilton Rush.
Daisy withdrew into the background as fast as possible, and as far as
possible from Alexander.
"Do you like to do it, Daisy?" whispered Nora.
"No."
"Are you going to have a handsome dress for that?"
"No."
"What sort, then?"
"Like the picture."
"Well--what is that?"
"Brown, with a white vandyke."
"Vandyke? what is a vandyke?"
"Hush," said Daisy; "let us look."
Frederica Fish was to personify Lady Jane Grey, at the moment when the
nobles of her family and party knelt before her to offer her the crown.
As Frederica was a fair, handsome girl, without much animation, this
part suited her; she had only to be dressed and sit still. Mrs. Sandford
threw some rich draperies round her figure, and twisted a silk scarf
about the back of her head; and the children exclaimed at the effect
produced. That was to be a rich picture, for of course the kneeling
nobles were to be in costly and picturesque attire; and a crown was to
be borne on a cushion before them. A book did duty for it just now, on a
couch pillow.
"That is what I should like--" said Nora. "I want to be dressed and look
so."
"You will be dressed to be one of the queen's women in Esther and
Ahasuerus, you know."
"But the queen will be dressed more--won't she?"
"Yes, I suppose she will."
"I should like to be the queen; that is what I should like to be."
Daisy made no answer. She thought she would rather Nora should _not_ be
the queen.
"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Nora went on, referring again to
Frederica.
Which Frederica did. The tableau was quite pretty, even partially
dressed and in this off hand way as it was.
Next Mrs. Sandford insisted on dressing Daisy as Fortitude. She had seen
perhaps a little of the child's discomposure, and wished to make her
forget it. In this tableau Daisy would be quite alone; so she was not
displeased to let the lady do what she chose with her. She stood
patiently, while Mrs. Sandford wound a long shawl skilfully around her,
bringing it into beautiful folds like those in Sir Joshua Reynolds'
painting; then she put a boy's cap, turned the wrong way, on her head,
to do duty for a helmet, and fixed a nodding plume of feathers in it.
Daisy then was placed in the attitude of the picture, and the whole
little assembly shouted with delight.
"It will do, Mrs. Sandford," said Preston.
"Isn't it pretty?" said the lady.
"And Daisy does it admirably," said Theresa. "You are a fairy at
dressing, Mrs. Sandford; your fingers are better than a fairy's wand. I
wish you were my godmother; I shouldn't despair to ride yet in a coach
and six. There are plenty of pumpkins in a field near our house--and
plenty of rats in the house itself. O, Mrs. Sandford! let us have
Cinderella!"
"What, for a tableau?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You must ask the manager. I do not know anything about that."
Preston and Theresa and Hamilton and Alexander now went into an eager
discussion of this question, and before it was settled the party
discovered that it was time to break up.