THEATRICALS
The rehearsals went on. Alene and Ivy recited their parts in the
dialogue in the same listless way, secretly criticising each other's
rendition, but Laura, busy in directing and arranging so many things,
failed to notice the discontent of those two important members of the
Company.
It was only their love of the manager that kept them silent, and even
then it was a hard task, considering Alene's ingenuousness and Ivy's
impulsiveness, both traits alike foes to concealment.
At the last meeting before the great event, everything seemed to go
wrong; the little ones forgot their lines or refused to obey the stage
manager, declaring she was cranky, and threatening to throw up their
parts and go out on the hillside to play; the boys were in a
mischievous mood and teased their sisters unmercifully; Laura was on
the point of tears, which fact Alene discovered by her unusual rigidity
of countenance.
Laura crying would be something terrible! Alene had seen the others
whimper and complain. She had been present when Ivy, in her sudden
fierce passions of anger, would attack the little ones viciously with
her crutches, unless they had previously stolen them away; in which
event she would gnash her teeth, and stamp her feet, in powerless rage,
and only Laura could bring peace by banishing her tormentors. But no
matter what happened, Laura seemed a rock upon which to lean, and if,
in adjusting a grievance, she sometimes failed to use tact, and the
remedy proved worse than the disease, they knew in their hearts she was
acting in good faith, trying to do what was right.
Therefore it behooved Alene upon this occasion to redouble her efforts
to be helpful and cheering.
She won over the babies by promising them each a beautiful doll out of
the trunkful she had at home; whereupon the big boys promised to be
good if she would give them one also, but Alene took their chaffing
good-naturedly and things began to proceed more smoothly.
The last thing on the program, "The Wishes," was called.
Laura, strange to say, for the first time found fault.
"Oh, Ivy, _do_ put a little animation into it! One would think you
were delivering a funeral oration," she cried testily.
Ivy's nerves, overwrought by the preceding irritations, gave way:
"Well, no wonder, for I hate it!"
"Hate that? Why, it's the finest thing in the whole piece; even the
mother says 'a noble gift,' while she chides Alene for wanting mere
beauty!"
Ivy's thin cheeks were like crimson roses. "I'd rather be a dancing
beauty than a broken-winged robin!" she declared defiantly.
"And I'd rather be a poet than go mincing through the world with just a
pretty face!" exclaimed Alene.
"Oh, Alene, would you really like my part?" cried the astonished Ivy.
"Why didn't you say so?"
"Why, because I thought anyone would prefer it to that detestable
beauty part! Why didn't you speak out?"
Now it would have taken quite a long explanation, each having, as we
know, several reasons for not having spoken, so they only looked at
each other and laughed.
Laura glanced from one speaker to the other, her look of surprise
changing to compunction.
"Oh, girls, why didn't I ask you which verse you preferred instead of
portioning it off as I thought you would like?" she queried ruefully.
While they sought to reassure her, Mrs. Lee entered the room, and
learning the cause of the excitement, said:
"That's just like Laura! The other morning I heard a great uproar. In
I came to find Laura helping to dress Lois, insisting upon putting a
certain shoe on her foot, while she cried against it. I investigated
and found--"
"That I was bent on cramming her fat little footsie into a shoe two
sizes too small for her--I had picked up Elmer's shoe in mistake!"
Although Ivy and Alene were somewhat embarrassed when they rehearsed
the dialogue after exchanging rôles and did not render the new parts
with the power of which they were capable, the improvement was marked
and brought forth much applause, which however was not to be compared
with the hand clappings received the night of the performance--but that
is another story.
Mrs. Bonner's double parlors were used, the front for the audience,
which filled the room. All of the boarders attended, and the neighbors
came, bringing their own chairs. The back parlor, ordinarily used as a
dining-room, was the stage, the sliding doors making a good substitute
for a curtain.
Mat had a funny speech by way of introduction; then Lois was called for
a song about lovers meeting at the garden gate, which in her baby
English she rendered, "Meet me at the Garbage Gate." An original poem
by Laura was unexpectedly brought to light by a mischievous friend, and
read in a sing-song style by Lafe Bonner:
"That poor old slate
I always did hate,
But I had to use it
At any rate.
One day by accident (?)
It fell on the floor,
It broke to pieces,
And I saw it no more."
Fortunately the author's blushes were hidden along with herself back in
a corner of the stage. "It's the only 'pome' I ever executed and I
felt like executing Lafe when I heard him reciting it," she explained
later.
Nettie, looking more than ever like a great waxen doll in her pink
gingham and golden curls, brought down the house by her recitation:
"Little Bobby, come to daddy!
Holdy up his tiny paddy,
Did he hurt his blessed heady?
Darling, come and get some bready,
Don'ty cry, poor little laddie,
Come and kiss his precious daddy."
Baby Elmer represented Bobby, and the little maid went through the
piece with appropriate gestures, unconscious of her audience and not
forgetting a word,--to the joy of her instructor, Laura, whose heart
beat nervously while she watched the performance.
Mr. Frederick Dawson and a few of his companions had come in rather
late and seats were found for them in the rear, as they refused to
allow any at the front to be vacated for them. It was just before the
doors opened on the great dialogue where Laura was the mother, in a
neat wrapper and gray wig and spectacles, standing in the midst of an
interesting family. The back of an easy chair served to support Ivy,
who was dressed in white, with red sash and hair ribbons.
What spirit she put in her lines, all leading up to, and centering in,
the wish for the young gazelle's light footfall, the rest being only a
prelude to that!
Then the other little white-robed girl from her seat in the big chair
rose to declare her wish. A color that was not all excitement glowed
in her cheeks, thrilling Uncle Fred with the conviction that the
Happy-Go-Luckys by banishing loneliness had brought the blessing of
health to Alene.
It was her first appearance before the public, and the thought of it
had brought her much nervous apprehension that she might forget her
lines, falter, or even run away at the last moment. To perform even
before the other boys and girls at rehearsal had always brought a
preliminary nerve tension which she had tried to conceal. This,
however, was nothing compared with her dread of the great night when
she thought of facing a whole roomful of people; but now, strange to
say, all her tremors died away. She found it less difficult to recite
before the crowd than at rehearsal; she forgot herself in the joy of
her lines. That she recited even better, if anything, than when her
Uncle had overheard her in the library is all that need be said.
When the ensuing applause died away and the doors refused to open
again, Uncle Fred noticed the lips of a small boy seated near him
puffed out in disdain. Stooping with a show of solicitude to learn the
cause, he heard him say to a companion:
"'A lip to tempt the honey-bee to sip'--I bet she never felt a stinger
or she wouldn't wish for such a silly thing!"
"I don't see why that Dawson girl wants the poet's gift, 'the liar!'
Do all poets tell whoppers, I wonder?" said the other boy, looking up
into Uncle Fred's face with wide, wondering eyes.