[Illustration:
ENLISTED FOR THE WAR.
]
[Illustration:
'THE EXHIBITION STAGE
BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD.'
]
THE AMATEUR DRAMA SERIES.
THE
EXHIBITION DRAMA:
COMPRISING
DRAMA, COMEDY, AND FARCE,
TOGETHER WITH
DRAMATIC AND MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENTS,
FOR
_PRIVATE THEATRICALS, HOME REPRESENTATIONS, HOLIDAY AND
SCHOOL EXHIBITIONS_.
BY
GEORGE M. BAKER,
Author of "Amateur Dramas," "The Mimic Stage," "The Social Stage,"
"The Drawing-Room Stage," "Temperance Dramas," "A Baker's
Dozen," "Humorous Dialogues," "Running to Waste,"
&c.
ILLUSTRATED.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD, & DILLINGHAM.
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
GEORGE M. BAKER,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
BOSTON:
RAND, AVERY, & CO., STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS.
PREFACE.
In the preparation of "The Exhibition Drama," the author has endeavored
to present as great a variety as in the previous volumes of this series,
and to comply, as far as possible, with the requests of numerous
correspondents. Thus "Enlisted for the War" was written in response to a
demand for something, based on the late civil war, which should meet the
requirements of various Posts of the G. A. R. The musical allegories,
"The Visions of Freedom," and "The Tournament of Idylcourt," were
prepared for the graduating-class in a Boston grammar-school, and are of
the same general character as those previously issued. The Christmas
entertainment, and the dramatization of Dickens's "Christmas Carol,"
have both been successfully performed at sabbath-school entertainments.
These, as well as the allegories, are plentifully supplied with
tableaux, easily represented, and are adapted to the wants of many
occasional exhibitions.
That "Amateur Dramas" are successful, the appearance of a fifth volume
is convincing testimony. In addition to this, the warm commendations of
the press, frequent testimonials from public teachers, and last, though
not least, a steadily increasing demand for the old as well as the new,
convince the author that he is honorably catering to a healthy appetite
for innocent and wholesome recreation.
G. M. B.
207 WEST SPRINGFIELD STREET, BOSTON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
ENLISTED FOR THE WAR; OR, THE HOME-GUARD 9
NEVER SAY DIE 85
THE CHAMPION OF HER SEX 109
THE VISIONS OF FREEDOM 135
THE MERRY CHRISTMAS OF THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE 157
THE TOURNAMENT OF IDYLCOURT 173
A THORN AMONG THE ROSES 201
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 227
All the above are published separately, and can be obtained of LEE &
SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. Price 15 cts. each.
ENLISTED FOR THE WAR;
OR,
THE HOME-GUARD.
A DRAMA IN THREE ACTS.
_Also a complete two-act drama, by omitting the second
act, and two characters._
CHARACTERS.
ROBERT TRUEWORTH, a Soldier of the Union.
WILDER ROWELL, Guardian of Gaylie Gifford.
HOSEA JENKS, Auctioneer.
HIRAM JENKS, his Son, "a mere boy."
CRIMP, Colored.
GEN. GRANT.
LIEUT.-COL. BOXER.
GAYLIE GIFFORD, an Heiress.
MRS. TRUEWORTH, Robert's Mother.
MATTIE TRUEWORTH, Robert's Sister.
COSTUMES.
ROBERT. Acts 1 and 2, Uniform of a private. Act 3, Uniform of a
colonel.
ROWELL. Act 1, Modern dress, change to colonel's uniform. Act 2,
Colonel's undress uniform. Act 3, Fashionable dress.
HOSEA. Act 1, Make up "fat;" blue coat with brass buttons; nankeen
pants; striped vest; white necktie; face florid; nose a little
pimply; curly gray wig. Act 3, Something like the same, but figure
rather emaciated; cheeks sunken; and a little more bald than in
first act.
HIRAM JENKS. Act 1, Short jacket, through which his arms protrude;
light pants, very short; blue stockings; thick shoes; crop wig;
general juvenile appearance. Act 3, Short dress bob-tail coat,
&c.; not dandified, but neat; should be an entire change from Act
1.
CRIMP. Act 1, Black woolly wig; gray pants; white shirt, sleeves
rolled up; wide-rimmed straw hat. Act 2, Disguise of an old
darkey; gray wig; gray side-whiskers; blue shirt; white duck
pants, with one suspender. Act 3, Black coat and pants; white
vest; white necktie.
GEN. GRANT. Uniform of major-general, with cloak; military slouch
hat, full beard, and make up as usual.
GAYLIE GIFFORD. Act 1, Neat travelling-suit. Act 3, Handsome
evening-dress.
MRS. TRUEWORTH. Black dress, white collar and cuffs, and widow's
cap, very neat.
MATTIE. Act 1, Muslin dress and white apron; sleeves rolled up. Act
3, Evening dress.
NOTE.—"ENLISTED FOR THE WAR," here presented in its most simple
form, can be elaborately produced, if preferred. Where a military
display is desirable, the second act will allow of "an awkward-squad
drill," "relieving guard," a bayonet-drill, or the introduction of a
camp song. At the end of the third act, the returning company might
march across the stage, behind windows and door, illuminated with
white and red lights, with the chorus "Marching through Georgia."
ACT I.—SCENE. _Interior of farm-house. Door in flat_, R. C. _Window
in flat_, L. C. _Outside the window arrange flowers in pots, and
shrubbery. Inside, muslin curtain draped up at_ L. _Window open;
between it and door, bureau or secretary. Lounge or sofa_, L.
_Rocking-chair_, R. C. _Small table with a chair beside it_, L.
C.; _writing-materials on table. Chair_, L. MRS. TRUEWORTH
_discovered in rocking-chair, knitting and rocking_. MATTIE _in
chair beside table, her arms folded on table, her face hidden in
her arms_.
_Hosea_ (_outside_). It's a downright shame. Look at it; a fine
piece of property like this going, going at such a ruinous sacrifice;
and I'm only offered nine hundred and fifty dollars for it; literally
flowing with milk and honey. Shall I have ten,—ten, do you say? Quick,
or you lose it; nine hundred and fifty once, nine hundred and fifty
twice, nine hundred and fifty,—going, going, and gone to Wilder Rowell,
Esq., for nine hundred and fifty dollars. You've got a bargain.
_Mattie_ (_raising her head_). Do you hear, mother? To Wilder
Rowell.
_Mrs. T._ It's a shame to let it go for that price, and to a
stranger.
_Mattie._ Mr. Rowell is no stranger, mother. It's now five years
since he came to Grainlow with Mr. Gifford.
_Mrs. T._ For all that, he's a stranger,—a proud, haughty man, whom
nobody likes, nobody has confidence in.
_Mattie._ Mr. Gifford had confidence enough to give him the
guardianship of his daughter when he died two years ago; and Gaylie
likes him. As for being proud and haughty, to me he is always pleasant
and condescending.
_Mrs. T._ Condescending, indeed! You're just as good as he is.
Bless you, child, the Trueworths held their heads as high as the best
of folks until our troubles commenced. Your father took to borrowing to
experiment with his patent wrinkles, and mortgaged the farm to that
mean skinflint, Hosea Jenks. Ah, well! he did it for the best, no
doubt. Only six months dead, and now the old farm has gone too.
_Mattie._ Mother 'tis hard, 'tis cruel, to leave you homeless in
your old age. Had father been wise—
_Mrs. T._ Hush, child! not a word against him. He was a good, kind
father, and a husband to be proud of. In all his troubles he never
would touch a cent of the money we had put by to push Rob through
college. That was safely locked up; and the lad came through with all
the honors.
_Mattie._ What good can his learning do him now?
_Mrs. T._ That remains to be seen. When the call came for men, our
boy, bless him! stepped out with the first, and enlisted for the war.
Then came the hard blow, hardest of all to bear. My own dear, noble
husband breathed out his life in my arms, and joined the true and noble
in that better land. Hark! I hear Robert's step. (MATTIE _rises, and
goes up_ _to the window_. ROBERT _enters slowly door in flat; comes
down, places his hand on the back of his mother's chair_.)
_Rob._ Mother, the farm has gone. We are homeless.
_Mrs. T._ (_wipes her eyes, and endeavors to suppress emotion_).
Yes, Rob, the old home is ours no more. Perhaps it is as well we made a
change. Now he who, who (_rises, and stretches out her arms_)—O Rob,
Rob! I can't bear it; I can't bear it. (_Sobs, and falls upon his
neck._)
_Rob_ (_embracing her_). O mother! this should not have been.
Had I known the worst, I could have prevented it. I have strong arms
and a cool head. I could have managed the farm. I thought father was so
comfortably settled; and now my enlistment binds me. Oh, I could have
done bravely!
_Mrs. T._ (_recovering_). And you will do bravely now, where every
true man should stand in the hour of his country's peril, in the ranks
of brave defenders. Fear not for us: there's a power of strength in
these old arms yet, and a stout heart to struggle; ay, and a brave one.
Am I not the mother of a man who leaves all to serve his country?
_Rob._ Brave mother, you shall have a son to be proud of.
_Mrs. T._ Right, boy. And my prayers and blessing shall cheer you
on to victory.
_Rob._ Yet you are homeless, mother. Our regiment is ready for
the field: it only awaits the appointment of a colonel. I may be called
away at an hour's notice. If I could only have secured the old home for
you, I should have been content.
_Mattie._ Rob, why did you not ask the assistance of Gaylie
Gifford? She is rich, and I know would have helped us,—her old home
too.
_Rob._ Yes, her old home. Dear little girl! how fond we all were
of her, and she of us! But she went away to school two years ago,
perhaps has forgotten us.
_Mrs. T._ Why, Rob, not a week passes but I have a letter from her;
such a good, kind letter too!
_Rob._ Yes, I know; and yet I could not _ask_ her assistance.
_Mattie._ Perhaps you are right, Rob; but it does seem hard, after
all the care and attention she has received from mother, she could do
nothing for us. But they do say money makes inward changes as well as
outward. Thank Heaven, we're out of its temptation!
[_Exit_ R.
_Rob_ (_seating his mother in her chair, and kneeling at her
side_). Mother, there's one reason why I could not ask Gaylie for
assistance. I should like to tell you, for I would want her to know it
should I never return.
_Mrs. T._ Never return! O Rob! do not say that.
_Rob._ That is one of the chances of war, mother. We must think
of it. 'Tis the unlucky chance in this game of life, when so much
depends on my success. But Gaylie, mother.
_Mrs. T._ Well, Rob, what of Gaylie?
_Rob._ Mother, you will, perhaps, call me mad; but, since Gaylie
left us, a wild and strong desire has taken possession of my heart. I
could not see her growing up so good and beautiful, without becoming
more and more strongly attached to her. At college my dreams were of
her; my waking thoughts again and again fashioned her image into dear
companionship; and I have at last dared to believe that I might one day
woo her, perhaps win her.
_Mrs. T._ Rob, my boy, 'tis a wild dream. She is a rich heiress; in
a year will be mistress of that grand estate yonder. (_Enter door in
flat_ WILDER ROWELL.)
_Rob._ Yes, mother; but I am a soldier of the Union; and, out of
that glorious majority who are to battle for its rights, the North will
pick its trusty leaders. Why may not I rise? Why may not I win rank and
glory? and, when that is gained, why may not I dare to ask the hand of
her I love so dearly, Gaylie Gifford?
_Rowell_ (_at back_). I beg your pardon if I intrude. (ROB
_rises_.) Mr. Jenks asked me to step inside. He will soon join me to
complete the sale.
_Mrs. T._ (_rising_). You are in your own house, sir. 'Tis we who
intrude.
_Rob._ Mr. Rowell, I shall take immediate steps to find another
home for my mother and sister. We will not long trespass.
_Rowell_ (_down_ L.). Oh, take your own time: perhaps 'twill not
be necessary to remove.
_Rob._ How? I do not understand you.
_Rowell._ I will speak with you again: for the present, make
yourself perfectly at home in my house.
_Rob_ (_aside_). His house. Poor old house! you have fallen
among thieves. Come, mother. (_Puts his arm about his mother's waist,
and they exeunt_ R. ROWELL _looks after them, then places his hat on
bureau at back, and sits at table_.)
_Rowell._ Well, I certainly have heard something to my advantage.
So, my fine soldier-boy, you love my ward, Gaylie Gifford. So do I.
There we are perfectly agreed. But, when it comes to possession, I
think we shall quarrel. Forewarned, forearmed. I have purchased this
farm for the purpose of pleasing my ward; well knowing, that, had she
been informed of the sale, she would have requested its purchase, that
in gratitude she might have restored it to her old protectress. Her
gratitude to me, for my wise forethought, would, no doubt, bring me one
step nearer to my ambition. But this soldier loves her; should she be
allowed to carry out her wishes, would love her all the more, perhaps
arouse an answering affection. No. I'll keep the farm for my own
pleasure; perhaps play the _rôle_ of benefactor myself. Gaylie's large
fortune must be shared with me. I never dreamed of this fellow's
ambition. He rise? If fortune only smile upon me, I will guard against
that.
_Crimp_ (_outside_). I'm obleeged to you, Massa Jinks. I jes
w-w-want to know w-w-w-whar you gwine t-t-t-ote dis yere farm?
_Hosea_ (_outside_). Oh, bother! do you suppose we're going to
dig it up, and cart it off, you stupid? (_Enter door in flat, followed
by_ CRIMP.)
_Crimp._ S'pose, s'pose; donno nuffin 'bout s'posin, Massa Jinks.
You cum down here, Massa Jinks, betwixt eleben and seben, A.M., into de
forenoon. You stick up a red frag ober de do', and you gets up onto de
barril; and, when you's onto de barril, you gets a crowd round de
barril, and deliber a Fourfe-ob-July speech onto de barril, and you jaw
away, and ax 'em for dollars, nine hundred dollars, fify dollars, and
tell dat ar assemblin' dis yere farm am gwine, gwine, gwine; and all I
ax you for to tole me, whar it am gwine for to go. I'm obleeged to you.
_Hosea._ Oh! that's only a figurative expression. I've sold the
farm: that's all.
_Crimp._ Figger-who? Sole de farm; who tole you? who ax you?
_Hosea._ My interest.
_Crimp._ In-ter-which? who's he?
_Hosea._ I had a mortgage on the property, foreclosed, and sold
out.
_Crimp._ M-m-m-orgages onto de property. No, sar, don't raise 'em;
heaps ob cabbages, but no morgages. I'm obleeged to you.
_Hosea._ Well, I've sold the property,—house, land,
farming-utensils, and live stock.
_Crimp._ Live stock; horses, cows, by golly, and de hogs (HOSEA
_nods_), and de chickens and roosters?
_Hosea._ Yes, sold them all.
_Crimp._ By golly, you don't mean it; w-w-w-what we gwine to do
for Fanksgibben? And de ole ram Jim,—he gwine too?
_Hosea._ Yes, the old ram Jim.
_Crimp._ Golly, dat so? I'm obleeged to you, Massa Jinks. Dat are
ole ram Jim am de mos' dyspeptic biped—
_Hosea._ Quadruped, Crimp. Bipeds walk on two legs: he goes on
four.
_Crimp._ Does he, Massa Jinks? You jes' don't know ole Jim: by
golly, he's on two legs mos' de time, and gwine for me so (_imitates
butting_), see, so. Hope I may die, Massa Jinks, if dat ar ole Jim
didn't creep up a-hind me las' night when I was a-leanin' ober de
pig-sty, jes' as easy, and lif' me ober dat ar fence into de mud, afore
you could ax no questions. Nearly took away my bref. I'm glad he's
gwine; he's too sociable; he is always teasin' folks to take a horn wid
him, always wantin' to help gib you a boost. By golly, I's glad ole Jim
gwine.
_Hosea._ Suppose you go and tell him so.
_Crimp._ What, me? Guess not, Massa Jinks. We ain't on speakin'
terms; de conbersation am always interrupted wid so many buts, can't
get on at all. But I'll jes' go and gib him a hint, Massa Jinks,—wid a
stone. By golly, ole Jim gwine! Hi! de jubilum am come. I'm obleeged to
you.
[_Exit_ F.
_Hosea._ Now, Mr. Rowell, I'm at your service; sorry to have kept
you waiting.
_Rowell._ It's of no consequence, Jenks: by the way, Miss Mattie
Trueworth is a very pretty girl.
_Hosea._ Isn't she? If she only went with the farm you'd get the
_true worth_ of your money. You see: ha, ha, ha! I'm always doing it:
can't help it; will pop out in my office, at my table, even in my
dreams. It's a bad habit,—a _pun_icious habit, for which I ought to be
punished. There it is again! Ha, ha, ha! I can't help it. I try, but
it's no use; in my office, at my table—
_Rowell._ I'm to pay you one hundred dollars.
_Hosea._ Exactly, to bind the bargain; balance in ten days.
_Rowell_ (_takes out pocket-book_). These Trueworths are evidently
in a bad way.
_Hosea._ Very. Farm gone, all gone. Poor folks! my heart bleeds
for them.
_Rowell._ Does it, indeed? The farm is sold to pay your claim.
_Hosea._ Yes, and you've got a bargain. It's wartimes, and folks
ain't a-goin' to put out their money. A year ago, three thousand
dollars could not have bought this farm. What's the use of buying land
when there's no telling but what the Southern Confederacy will sweep
every thing afore the war's over?
_Rowell._ Indeed! then you've not much faith in the success of
Northern arms?
_Hosea._ It does look a leetle black for the North.
_Rowell._ If that's your opinion, perhaps I'd better withdraw
before the bargain's closed.
_Hosea._ What! back out? Don't you do it! It's always blackest
just afore day. The right must conquer: it's a magnificent farm.
It's only a question of time: a hundred dollars if you have it
ready. The Union must be preserved: best cows in the country. Look
at the uprising: a million freemen in arms,—ninety acres of
meadow-land,—marching on to victory. And we're so far north, you
know, it's a safe investment. I'll write a receipt.
_Rowell_ (_throws down money, and rises_). There's your money.
_Hosea._ That's good. (_Snatches the money._) The best investment
you ever made. (_Sits and writes._) There's your receipt. Thank you.
(_Rises and shouts._) Hi, sonny, take down the flag: bargain's closed.
That's my son out there; a mere boy, but awful smart if he's kept in
his place. Hiram Jenks is his baptismal name. I call him Hi, for short:
see the pun? ha, ha, ha! Hi Jenks, when I'm in a highly humorous
vein,—that's another; and when he's in a teasing humor, I call him Hi,
son. There's another! Ha, ha, ha! Can't help it: I'm always doing it. I
must be funny; in my office, at my table—
_Rowell._ You seem to be a very busy man, Mr. Jenks.
_Hosea._ I am. I'm a auctioneer, funeral undertaker, coroner,
lawyer, expressman, carpenter, shoemaker, any thing by which I can gain
an honest penny. There's only one office that seems necessary to my
happiness. I would be a postmaster; and Stamps is on his last legs.
Poor fellow! he's nearly stamped out of existence. You see: ha, ha, ha!
I can't help it; it will pop out. Perhaps it's better, for humor is
dangerous when it strikes in. See? Ha, ha, ha!
_Rowell._ Your humor is not of the strikin' kind, Mr. Jenks.
_Hosea._ Ha, ha, ha! very good; it's catching. Strike in: that's
(_looks grave_) rather good.
_Rowell._ There's a son at the head of this Trueworth family, I
believe?
_Hosea._ Yes; a splendid fellow, who enlisted a week before his
father died. Poor chap! he's awfully cut up. Thought the old folks
nicely settled, and was chock full of patriotism. Was disappointed in
that, but could not get out of Uncle Sam's clutches. I couldn't afford
to lose my money, so foreclosed and sold out. (_Enter door in flat_
HIRAM JENKS _with a long pole, on which a red auction-flag is rolled,
on his shoulder_.)
_Rowell._ 'Twas a hard blow for the family. (HIRAM _turns to shut
the door: pole swings round, and hits_ HOSEA _in the head_.)
_Hosea._ Oh, murder! you clumsy chap, you've broke my head.
_Hiram._ 'Twas a hard blow for you, dad,—an auctioneer knocked
down under his own flag.
"When pole meets poll, then comes the crack of skull."
_Hosea._ Shut up, sonny! Where's your manners? Hold up your head.
(HIRAM _obeys the directions as spoken_.) Boys should be seen, not
heard. Turn out your toes. That was good, though, "when pole meets
poll:" ha, ha, ha! He can't help it: takes it from me. I can't help it;
in my office, at the table—
_Rowell._ I'm anxious to settle this business at once, and get
possession of the farm. If you will arrange the papers, my check is
ready to-day for the whole amount of purchase.
_Hosea._ I like that. My son, hold up your head: here's an example
for you; a man who's anxious to pay,—turn out your toes,—who never puts
off until to-morrow what can be done to-day. When you grow up, sonny,
remember ready is the color of the winning horse on the racecourse of
life,—Ready-cash; by whom that _dun_-colored nag Promise-to-pay is
always distanced. Ha, ha, ha! There's a pair of 'em. I can't help it;
it will pop out; in my office, at my table—
_Rowell._ I'm in something of a hurry.
_Hosea._ All right: step over to my office, and we'll settle up at
once. Sonny, straighten up! You are released from official business,
and may go off fishing. (_Pats him on the head._) That's good, Ha, ha,
ha! I can't help it; 'twill pop out regardless of time and place. We
wits know no pent-up Ut_aca_. You take, hey, Rowell? Ha, ha, ha! I
really can't help it; in my office, at my table—
_Rowell._ Mr. Jenks, I really must insist—
_Hosea._ You can't stand it, hey? Then we'll move on. Sonny, stand
by the flag. I'm going, going, gone. Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit, followed by_
ROWELL, _door in flat_.]
_Hiram_ (_stands_ C., _and looks after them_). Sonny, sonny!
Well, if the old man keeps on his degenerating pace, he'll be in his
second childhood in six months. Calls me a boy, a mere boy: twenty last
month. Keeps me in a short jacket, and shorter pantaloons. Makes me
keep my hair sandpapered like an urchin of ten. It's about time this
thing was stopped. If my arm creeps through this jacket much farther,
I'm very much afraid it will rise in indignation, and smite my aged
sire. "Honor your parents" is a very good maxim, but it may be carried
a little too far. I'd go into the army, but he won't let me; swears I
shall stand by the old flag. (_Clasps the auction-flag in his arms._)
No matter: it's only a year, and I am free. Ah! here's Mattie
Trueworth, a girl I would lay down my life for, and who laughs at me.
Heigho! if I wasn't a boy, I should be very much in love with her. How
d'ye do, Mattie? (_Enter_ MATTIE R.)
_Mattie._ Oh! it's you, Hiram Jenks.
_Hiram._ Yes, it's me, Mattie: the standard-bearer, (_pompously_)
bearing the old flag, that has conquered in so many battles; under
whose folds so many household gods have fallen, never to rise again.
_Mattie._ Pshaw! you'd look more manly bearing the flag of your
country.
_Hiram._ S'pect I would, Mattie: it's what I'd like. But dad says
No.
_Mattie._ Oh, indeed! a dutiful son, truly. The house is sold: why
do you wait here?
_Hiram._ To get a word with you, Mattie. I've a great admiration
for you. If I dared, I would tell you that I love you. (_Places flag
in_ R. _corner back_.)
_Mattie._ Don't you dare do any such thing. You must know I detest
you, a mere boy; why, you're not yet out of jacket and trousers!
_Hiram_ (_stretching up his arms_). You're mistaken, Mattie: I'm
a long way out of them.
_Mattie._ Hiram Jenks, you're a fool.
_Hiram._ That's just what dad says, Mattie; but he's awfully
mistaken. He's old and queer, so I think it no harm to humor his
fancies, though I do get laughed at. He does not know, that, long after
he's asleep, the fool is studying by candle-light, way into the night;
that, while he's about his business, the fool's ears are open, and his
eyes sharp set, watching the kinks and tricks of trade. Only a year,
Mattie, and I shall be free,—free to laugh at him, free to win you.
_Mattie._ Win me! Hiram Jenks, have you lost your senses?
_Hiram._ Sometimes I think I have, Mattie, when I look at you.
Don't be hard on me. Think me a boy, if you will: only remember that I
love you dearly; for your sake, would die a thousand deaths.
_Mattie._ What unparalleled devotion! (_Sits in chair_ R., _and
turns her back_.)
_Hiram._ Mattie, Rob must soon leave for the battle-field. You
will then need a friend. Let me take his place, be a brother to you; or
give me the right to be nearer and dearer. (_Kneels, and takes her
hand._) Speak, Mattie: I love you dearly, truly. (_Enter door in flat_
HOSEA, _followed by_ ROWELL.)
_Hosea._ Good gracious, boy! what are you about? You're spoiling
your trousers. (HIRAM _jumps up_.) Mattie, don't let that boy pester
you with his nonsense. Sonny, go home. (_Aside._) 'Pon my word, I
believe the boy was making love to that girl. I must look after him a
little closer. (_Aloud._) Hiram, hold up your head, turn out your toes,
'bout face, march! (HIRAM _looks at his father as if he would defy him,
then obediently marches off_.) Now, Mr. Rowell, you are in possession.
There is the deed (_giving paper_), where you may read your title
clear. What's to prevent? Ha, ha, ha! there it is again! I can't help
it; in my office—
[_Exit_ D. _in_ F.
_Rowell._ Miss Mattie, will you be kind enough to inform your
brother that I would speak with him?
_Mattie_ (_rising_). Certainly sir, he's somewhere about the
place: I'll find him.
[_Exit_ R.
_Rowell._ I will make an attempt to dispose of this farm to
advantage. I must be quick: Gaylie is expected home to-day, may return
at any moment. If this fellow was only out of the way, 'twould be clear
sailing. Yet if I can manage to spike his guns before the prize heaves
in sight, the victory is mine. (_Sits at table. Enter_ R. ROB.)
_Rob._ You would speak with me, Mr. Rowell?
_Rowell._ Yes: take a chair. (_Rises, and offers chair to_ ROB,
_then goes_ L., _and brings chair to_ L. _of table: both sit_.) This
farm has passed from the possession of your family into my hands; the
purchase-money is all paid; and I now hold by right the title-deed.
Here it is. (_Lays it on table._)
_Rob._ I understand. Your property shall be vacated at once.
_Rowell._ Not so fast, my dear fellow: hear me out. You are a brave
man; you have enlisted in your country's cause. You must go to the
battle-field, and leave your dear ones to the tender mercies of this
little world. I cannot be insensible to such patriotism, and I would
befriend you in this emergency.
_Rob._ You befriend me! I have no claim upon you.
_Rowell._ But you have upon my ward. She was reared beneath this
roof. Were she here, I think she would uphold me in what I am about to
do,—restore to you this farm.
_Rob._ Restore it! I have no right to it. 'Tis yours by lawful
purchase.
_Rowell._ You're right; and as an act of justice to one who gives
himself to a great cause, that his dear ones shall not be left
helpless, I give you back the farm.
_Rob._ You do this, Mr. Rowell: you give me the farm freely,
unconditionally?
_Rowell._ Not exactly. There is one condition, and only one.
(MATTIE _appears at window outside, with a pair of scissors, and is
arranging and clipping her flowers, overhearing the following
dialogue_.)
_Rob._ One condition. Mr. Rowell, before you state that
condition, let us understand one another. I do not like you. I have
felt an instinctive dislike from the time you first entered this town.
I have heard hard stories concerning you,—that you have wronged men,
ay, and women too. With all that, I have no right to prevent my mother
and sister from remaining in their old home. I will not, can I do so
honorably. But I will accept no favor from you. Show me any way in
which I can redeem this place, the way to win it back by good service
that shall repay in full all expenses you have incurred in its
purchase, or encumber it with a mortgage and heavy interest; but give
me time to redeem, and I will believe you are my friend, will trust
you. Come, I have spoken plainly: now let me hear your condition.
_Rowell._ Ha! I like plain speaking. You are an adept at it. You
don't like me. Well, then, in place of favor, I will offer a bargain.
Here it is: this farm to you and yours forever, for a promise—a
pledge—that you never offer your hand to my ward, Gaylie Gifford.
_Rob._ Gaylie Gifford,—my hand!—Mr. Rowell, you are jesting.
_Rowell._ No, I am serious. When I entered this house for the first
time to-day, I heard your confession to your mother. I know how
grateful Gaylie is for the kind care bestowed upon her here in
childhood; and I would not have her kind heart wounded by the belief
that one with whom she has been so intimate should presume upon her
friendship, to seek to gain her hand, and with it a fortune.
_Rob_ (_rising_). Mr. Rowell, you are insulting.
_Rowell._ Come, be reasonable! You can never hope to win her. Give
me your promise, and the farm is yours.
_Rob._ No! A thousand times no! You know my secret, but you know
not me. I do love Gaylie Gifford, and with a hopeless love. The very
fortune you taunt me with seeking is a bar to keep me silent.
_Rowell._ Then take the farm. I will willingly give it up to
purchase your silence. She can never be yours: 'twas her father's wish,
that, when she became of age, her hand should be given to another.
_Rob._ And that other, yourself. Am I not right, Wilder Rowell?
_Rowell._ 'Twas a pretty shrewd guess.
_Rob._ It is a lie. He had no such wish. My father was with him
when he died.
_Rowell_ (_rising_). Lie! this to me?
_Rob._ Ay, a lie! You like plain speaking. I know he left her
free to choose her own mate, and bade you, as her guardian, to respect
her choice.
_Rowell._ I am her choice. Already she trusts me, with a confidence
that only love can bring; and I, I love her, dearer than all else in
the world.
_Rob._ Except her fortune. You love her, Wilder Rowell, and she
is in your power. Poor Gaylie! You shall not win her. She is too good,
too pure, to mate with such as you, an adventurer, a fortune-hunter.
_Rowell._ Indeed! Come, we are rivals. I will be magnanimous: you
shall have the first chance. Speak, tell her of your love. If she says,
Yes, I'm silent.
_Rob._ O villain! you know your power. Speak to her, tell her of
my love; I a poor soldier, she a rich heiress! She would think me as
mercenary as I know you to be. No, no, I cannot: I love her dearly,
truly, but must still love on in secret. (_Falls into chair, and buries
his face in his hands on table_).
_Rowell_ (_rising. Aside_). Honorable to the last! There's no fear
of him. (_Aloud._) Think well of it, Trueworth. Take the farm, and make
your dear ones comfortable. The prize you covet hangs too high.
(_Aside._) Silent! I'll look in on him again (_takes deed_): an hour's
reflection may awaken a better spirit.
[_Exit door in flat, passing_ MATTIE, _who enters_.
_Mattie_ (_going to_ ROB). Why, Rob, what's the matter?
_Rob._ Nothing, Mattie: I was only thinking over a plan I have
for your future.
_Mattie._ Gaylie's back, Rob: I just saw her carriage drive up to
the house.
[_Down_ R.
_Rob._ Indeed! Then I shall see her before I go. Where's mother?
(_Enter_ MRS. TRUEWORTH, R.)
_Mrs. T._ Here, Rob. What had Mr. Rowell to say to you?
_Rob._ Nothing, mother, to benefit us. I must go out, and look
about for a new home. Home! home! that's a hard place to find, when the
roof that has so long sheltered us is stripped from our heads.
_Mrs. T._ Home is where the heart is, Rob; and, while the old love
binds us together, we can bid defiance to adversity, beneath the
humblest roof.
_Rob_ (C.). That's right, mother. Keep up a brave heart. We
shall weather the storm. (_Aside._) Oh! who will care for these dear
ones when I am gone? (_Crosses to_ L.)
_Gaylie_ (_outside_). Ha, ha, ha, old Jim! you know me, don't you?
keep away! Open, locks, whoever knocks. I'm home, I'm home! (_Runs in
door in flat._) Home, home again! You dear, good Mother Trueworth!
(_Runs into_ MRS. TRUEWORTH'S _arms_, C.; MATTIE R., ROB L.)
_Mrs. T._ Dear child, welcome, a thousand times welcome!
_Gaylie._ I knew you'd be glad to see me; and Mattie (_runs to her_
R., _and embraces her_), you dear darling, how rosy you look!
_Mattie._ Gaylie, this is a surprise. I'm real glad to see you.
_Gaylie._ Of course you are; isn't it jolly? But where's Rob?
_Rob_ (_advancing_). Here he is; patiently waiting to be
recognized.
_Gaylie_ (_runs to him, and catches his hands, shaking them
heartily_). Oh, you dear old fellow! How glad I am to see you! Why
don't you kiss me?
_Rob_ (_kissing her_). That was certainly an oversight. So you
are back again, the same dear, good Gaylie. Two years' schooling has
made little alteration in you.
_Gaylie_ (C. _with_ ROB; MRS. TRUEWORTH _sits in rocking-chair_;
MATTIE _stands_ L., _with arms akimbo_). Yes, it has. I'm spoiled,
completely spoiled. Got a beau yet, Mattie?
_Mattie._ No, indeed! I hope not.
_Gaylie._ Ha, ha, ha! what a girl! sneers at her destiny. She'll
get over it. Yes, I'm completely spoiled. Went away a _cheild_ of
nature, fresh, buoyant, and all that sort of thing: I've come back a
cultivated woman. Ahem! (_Struts across stage: comes back._) Oh, my
poor little head! it's had Latin squeezed into it, Greek pounded into
it, and French, German, Spanish, and Italian filtered through it. Oh,
it's a learned head! Then my fingers have been calloused into
familiarity with all the ugly notes in the musical scale; my feet
twisted and turned about all the figures a French dancing-master could
invent; and my poor little figure tortured with elegant movements and
graceful poses. Oh, bless you! I'm not myself at all. (_Goes back to
Rob._)
_Rob._ You are our own Gaylie still. I know it; I can feel it in
the warm clasp of your hand, in the clear light of your eyes.
_Gaylie._ Right, Rob: you're always right. For this dear old home,
you, my earliest, best friends, are a part of this my heart; and that
not all the teaching in the world could change. (_Goes to_ MRS.
TRUEWORTH, _and kneels at her side_. ROB _goes up stage, and watches
her_.) So here I am again, mother, at your feet. When my father went to
that far-off land, years ago, in search of wealth, he left me here, and
asked you to be a mother to his child. How well you took the place of
her who died when I was so little, let this testify. I am now the
heiress to his wealth; I have a home rich and attractive, servants at
my call, much that can make life bright and beautiful: but I could part
with all, sooner than lose the right to call this home, and you mother.
_Mrs. T._ (_putting her arms about her_). Dear, dear child! You are
my own; still the same fresh, warm heart.
_Rob_ (_aside_). She's an angel. Had I but the power to call
her mine!
_Crimp_ (_outside_). Go 'way dar, you Jim! don't yer shake yer
head at me. Go' way dar! help! murder! help! (_Tumbles in at door, as
if "butted;" jumps up, runs, and shuts door, placing his back against
it._) Go 'way, yer fool! Nobody to hum.
_Rob._ What's the matter, Crimp?
_Crimp._ Dat ole fo-fo, Jim, he will insist on squartin' me to de
door, an' I don't want none of his attention. Go 'way, out dar: stop
dat knockin' at do'!
_Gaylie._ Oh, here's our black Cupid! Why, Crimp, old friend,
aren't you going to speak to me?
_Crimp_ (_comes down_). Why, bress my soul! No, 'tain't. Yes, it
am: it's Miss Gaylie hersel'. You dear little honey! bress us an' save
us, am dat yerself?
_Gaylie_ (_taking his hand_). Yes, it's your old torment; home
again, and ready for a frolic.
_Crimp._ Wh-wh-at! bress yer purty face; yer ain't grown a mite;
gwine fur a frolic; climb de yapple-trees, ride onto de darky's back.
Oh, golly! what times we did hab, to be sho'!
_Gaylie._ Only give me a chance, Crimp. I'm as spry as ever.
_Crimp._ What! would you, dough, ride onto dis year darky's back?
By golly! I'm obleeged to you. I's powerful glad to see ye back, honey.
Comfort de ole lady, now Massa Rob gwine fur a sojer.
_Gaylie._ What! our Rob a soldier?
_Crimp._ Yaas, indeed! Don't you see de uniform? gwine along de
tramp, tramp, tramp fellars, he am.
_Rob._ Yes, Gaylie, enlisted for the war.
_Gaylie._ But where are your shoulder-straps, your sword?
_Rob._ I am but a private, Gaylie. The emblems of command are
yet to be won: they'll come in time, I hope.
_Gaylie._ I know they will. O Rob! I'm proud of you.
_Crimp._ Same here, Massa _Rob._ I'm obleeged to you. Golly! if I
was only a white man, I'd jist go down dar, I would. Hi! I'd lay 'em
out. I'd go for dem are fellars, like ole Jim, so (_butting_). But dey
don't want no brack guards; oh, no! S'pect dey will, dough, glad to git
'em afore de war am ober; and, when de do, hi! Tumms Jeffsum Crimp am
dare, he am.
_Rob._ It strikes me, Crimp, you are rather monopolizing the
conversation. Fall back, sir.
_Crimp._ I'm obleeged to you, Massa Rob. I's dumb. (_Goes to
window, and in dumb show pesters the imaginary_ JIM _by shaking his
fist, throwing things out of the window, &c._)
_Rob_ (L. C.). Yes, Gaylie, I am expecting daily orders to
march. I only hope I shall have time to completely settle mother and
Mattie in their new home.
_Gaylie_ (R. C.). Their new home! what do you mean?
_Rob._ The farm has been sold, Gaylie,—sold to-day, to satisfy
the claim of Hosea Jenks.
_Gaylie._ Sold! Why have I heard nothing of this?
_Rob._ You must have known it. Pardon me: I see I have been
mistaken. Your guardian—
_Gaylie._ Has not written me a word concerning you; not a word have
I heard of this. But 'tis not too late: the farm can and must be
redeemed. Who is the purchaser?
_Rob._ Your guardian, Wilder Rowell.
_Gaylie._ He bought it? then it's all right. Dear, good fellow! he
knew I could not desert you. That's just splendid! (_Enter hurriedly_,
ROWELL, _door in_ F.)
_Rowell._ Miss Gaylie, I have this moment heard of your arrival.
Welcome home! (_Gives his hand._)
_Gaylie_ (_eagerly shaking it_). A thousand, thousand thanks,
Guardy: you have indeed made me welcome. So, sir, you have a surprise
in store for me. Come, disclose it: I am all impatience. It's so
splendid to be surprised, when you are all prepared for it!
_Rowell._ A surprise? I do not understand.
_Gaylie._ O Innocence! thy name is Wilder Rowell. But I know your
secret. You have bought this farm.
_Rowell._ Yes: a good piece of property, they say.
_Gaylie._ Indeed it is! the very investment I should have proposed.
Thank you for your thoughtful consideration. So it's my property?
_Rowell._ No, it's my property. Not as your agent, but for myself,
I bought this farm. I mean to settle down, and become a sober, plodding
farmer, and, in time, take to myself a wife. (_Looks at_ ROB, _who is
in_ L. _corner_.)
_Gaylie._ Guardy, I _have_ been mistaken. But you will sell _me_
the farm. Come, you never yet refused me a request; and it is one of
the dearest wishes I have, to possess this farm.
_Rowell._ Sorry I cannot oblige you. But, for particular reasons, I
would not sell this farm for ten times the money I gave for it.
_Gaylie._ But you are turning from their dear home the best friends
I have in the world.
_Rowell._ They are not very much attached to it, Gaylie; for, not
an hour ago, 'twas offered them on easy terms.
_Gaylie._ Offered them, by you?
_Rob._ Yes, Gaylie: on terms no honest man could for a moment
consider.
_Rowell._ I offer it again. Consider, Robert Trueworth, 'tis you
who are driving your family from home.
_Rob._ You have had your answer. Scoundrel!
_Rowell._ That name again!
_Rob._ Ay, again and again! Plead no more, Gaylie. Ask no favors
for me or mine, of that man: even from your dear hands, I could never
take the fair farm which he has polluted by ownership.
_Rowell._ Robert Trueworth, you shall repent this. (_Comes close to
him._) You are making me your enemy.
_Rob._ I am satisfied. Better open war than false friendship
with a heartless foe.
_Gaylie._ No more of this, I beg. You have quarrelled. For my sake,
be friends.
_Mattie_ (R.). Silence, Gaylie! you know not what you ask.
_Gaylie._ You too, Mattie? What means this mystery? (_They pass to_
R., _and converse in dumb show_. ROB _goes up stage, and passes round
to back of his mother's chair, on which he leans, conversing with her,
as_ HOSEA JENKS _enters, followed by_ HIRAM. CRIMP _runs to_ HIRAM,
_and keeps him back, conversing in dumb show about_ "JIM;" CRIMP _going
through pantomime, to convey an idea of an attack_. HOSEA _comes down_,
C.)
_Hosea_ (_speaks as he enters_). Oh, here you are, Rowell! I
thought I should find you. I've just been down to the post-office. Poor
Stamps has gone. He has distributed his last batch, and been
transferred to the dead-letter office. Ha, ha, ha! that's a grave pun;
but I can't help it; you know my weakness.
_Crimp._ Weakness? am you got de lumbago, Massa Jinks? Golly! I
had de rheumatiz awful, las' winter. Tell you what you do, Massa Jinks:
you jis get a poorhouse plaster; only draw a quarter out ob yer pocket,
and all de anguish out ob yer back.
_Hosea._ Ha, Ha, Ha! he little understands my facetious humor.
_Crimp._ Oh, humor! face itches; den clap it onto yer face. Draw
out all de pain, and some ob yer cheek too.
_Rob._ Crimp, be silent!
_Crimp._ Ob course, ob course! I'm obleeged to you.
_Rowell._ So Stamps is dead?
_Hosea._ Yes: poor fellow, I grieve for him. Who can take his
place?—I should say, his post. Postmaster, see? ha, ha, ha! There it is
again! I can't help it.
_Rowell._ Mr. Jenks, if you could contrive to drop this jesting
humor—
_Hosea._ But I can't. I try, but I can't drop it: it's a drop too
much. Ha, ha, ha!
_Crimp._ Ya, ya, ya! dat's good: de ole man's been drinking jes' a
drop too much.
_Rowell._ If I understand you, Mr. Jenks, you would be his
successor.
_Jenks._ That's just it. I know you have influence. See, here's an
official envelope addressed to you, and from the war-office too.
_Rowell_ (_snatches and opens it_). For me? Ah, good, good! Jenks,
I shall remember you. Now comes my turn. Gaylie, I must home at once:
will you go with me?
_Gaylie._ I prefer remaining here.
_Rowell._ As you please. Mr. Trueworth, a word with you. (ROB
_advances_.) I give you one more opportunity to embrace my offer. 'Tis
the last chance. This fine property for your silence.
_Rob._ I will make no terms with you. When I have won the right,
I will speak. (_Turns up stage._)
_Rowell_ (_walking up slowly to door_). When you have won the
right: that time will never come. Fool! you have made an enemy of one
who can strike deep and well.
[_Exit door in_ _F._
_Hosea._ Rowell, Rowell! don't forget me. I must run after him:
there's no time to be lost. Come, Hiram! fall in, or we shall fall out.
Ha, ha, ha!
[_Exit door in_ F.
_Crimp._ Take care, Massa Jinks, you don't fall onto ole Jim's
horns! (_Looks out at door._) golly, he's a-laying fur him. Dere de go!
Go in, ole man; he's a arter ye! By golly, see 'em run: see 'em run!
(_Exit._ HIRAM _starts for door, stops irresolutely, and then comes,
and stretches himself upon lounge_.)
_Hiram._ It's right comfortable here: I think I'll stop.
_Gaylie_ (_aside_). He denies my request. What motive can he have
in thus appropriating the property of my friends? I must know more of
this. (_Aloud._) Come, mother, show me to my old room. I want to talk
to you: I've so much to say! I shall not tell you what I have bought
for you. Such a cap, a perfect beauty! and such a shawl! You'll be the
envy of the town.
_Mrs. T._ (_rising_). Dear, dear child! ever thoughtful of my
comfort.
_Gaylie._ If I were not, I should not deserve so good a mother.
Good-by, Mattie: good-by, Rob! [_Exit with arm about_ MRS. TRUEWORTH.]
_Rob._ Good-by, Gaylie. Bless her dear heart! mother will have
one friend when I am gone. Now, Mattie, I'll take a look about, and see
if there's a poor but neat tenement to be had: I won't be gone long.
_Mattie._ O Rob! where can we go?
_Rob._ Trust all to me, Mattie: I will not leave you homeless.
(_Going._)
_Hiram_ (_on sofa_). Sh—sh—sh!
_Rob_ (_returning_). Why, Hiram, what's the matter? (HIRAM
_rises, walks on tiptoe to the window, looks out, turns, "Sh!" then
walks to the door, and performs the same manœuvre; then comes down_ C.
_on tiptoe, beckoning_ ROB _down_.)
_Mattie._ What ails the boy? is he crazy?
_Hiram._ Don't mind me. If the old man should happen about, I'm
ruined. But, sh—you want a friend.
_Rob._ Well, Hiram, I am not quite destitute.
_Hiram._ Sh—if I only dared, I could find a friend for you. If I
only dared; but I'm such a coward. No matter, I'll take the risk. You
know the Widow Smith place?
_Rob._ Yes: 'twas sold at auction six months ago.
_Hiram._ Exactly. Sh—it's mine: I bought it.
_Rob._ You? why, 'twas knocked down to Crane!
_Hiram._ Yes; and Crane crooked his long neck round, and took his
cue from me. I bought it: my money paid for it. Never you mind where
the money came from; it was an honest purchase. Now you're in trouble:
you want a home. Take mine, and welcome; only don't let the old man
dream I'm its owner. Crane holds it now; but, when I am free, 'twill be
known as my property. Will you have it? Not a cent will I take for it
until the war is over. It's a pretty place: not much land; but flowers,
good gracious! and woodbine, why, the front is completely covered. Will
you take it? Quick! the old man will return, and then I am a boy again.
_Rob_ (_takes his hand_). Hiram, you're a man: you are a true
friend. Thank you: I will accept your offer.
_Mattie._ O Hiram! I've treated you shamefully. Forgive me: I never
dreamed you had such a noble heart.
_Hiram._ I haven't any heart, Mattie: you had it all long ago. So
you'll take the place (_enter Gaylie_ R.), and be my tenant until the
war is over. Sh—sh! not a word!
_Gaylie._ You're too late, conspirators: I have heard all. Rob, you
have found a home?
_Rob._ Yes, Gaylie, thanks to a true friend.
_Hiram._ Sh—not so loud; the old man drops round mighty sudden.
_Gaylie._ Rob, you have done this without consulting me. Why am I
shut out from your counsel?
_Rob._ Ah, Gaylie! you cannot befriend me. You are not of age,
and I will not be indebted to your guardian.
_Gaylie._ Tell me, why have you quarrelled with my guardian? What
means this enmity between you and him?
_Rob._ Gaylie, you must not ask me.
_Gaylie._ But I must know: you have no right to keep it from me.
_Rob._ I cannot tell you, Gaylie. Let it suffice, we are
enemies; that he would do much to crush me and mine.
_Gaylie._ Let him dare! I stand between you and him. You go to
battle in a noble cause: fear not; if he has the will to wrong the dear
ones you leave behind, I have the power to crush him, and I will. Face
the enemy in the South with a brave heart, Rob. Against the enemy here,
I will be the Home-Guard.
_Rob._ You, Gaylie? what can you do, little woman?
_Gaylie._ Woman's work. Think you we will sit idle at home, while
husbands, fathers, brothers, are in the field? No! there is work for
tender hands and willing hearts. To care for the needy, to protect the
helpless, at home; to heal the wounds, and charm away the pain, in the
hospitals,—this is our work: to it I give my whole heart; my whole
fortune, if need be. Henceforth I am the guardian of your mother and
your sister. (_Enter_ CRIMP _door in flat_). Alone, if need be, I will
stand the Home-Guard, a bulwark against adversity.
_Hiram._ You shall not stand alone, Miss Gaylie. They say I'm but
a mere boy, but I'm heart and hand with you in this cause.
_Crimp._ Same here. I'm obleeged to you; I'll be de drum-major in
dat ar corpse.
_Gaylie._ See, Rob; they muster at my call. Home-Guard, attention!
fall in! (_Stands_ L. C. HIRAM _steps up beside her_; CRIMP _up stage
next him; form in line up and down stage_. MATTIE _sits in
rocking-chair_, R.; ROB _leans upon the back of her chair_.)
_Rob._ Raw recruits, Gaylie!
_Gaylie._ Yes, almost as raw as those who take the field, Rob.
Company, attention!
_Crimp._ Hole on, Miss Cap'n. Whar's de colors? mus' have a frag.
Golly, dis year's de ticket. (_Takes auction-flag from corner, and
unrolls it_). Dar! look at dat; and, as I's de only pusson ob color in
dis yer corpse, I'll be de color-bearer.
_Gaylie._ Attention, company!
_Crimp._ Yes, Missy Cap'n; I's all attention.
_Gaylie._ Eyes right: eyes left: salute! (_They bring their hands
to a salute. Enter door in_ F. ROWELL, _in full uniform of a colonel_.)
_Rowell._ Ah! what new recruits have we here?
_Gaylie._ Mr. Rowell, what does this mean?
_Rowell._ That an honor for which I have exerted much influence
has, at the last moment, been conferred upon me. I am appointed colonel
of the 10th. (_Bows, and comes to_ L. _corner_.)
_Gaylie_ (C.) Rob's regiment, and his enemy at its head! Oh, this
is cruel!
_Rob._ He in command! He our colonel! Another blow: fate can do
no more. (_Goes up_ C.)
_Rowell._ Robert Trueworth, you will join your regiment at once.
All furloughs are countermanded. We march at sunrise to-morrow.
_Gaylie_ (_aside_). Oh, this is terrible! Rob's bitter foe in
command: oh, why have they quarrelled? (_Goes to rocking-chair, and
leans upon it._)
_Rob_ (_aside_). To serve under that man, whom I detest! There
is no escape. I must submit. There's one comfort: his position takes
him away from Gaylie. (_Enter_ MRS. TRUEWORTH R.) The time has come,
mother. I have orders to join my regiment at once: we march at sunrise.
Keep a stout heart, mother. I leave kind friends behind, who will see
to it you do not suffer.
_Mrs. T._ (_her arms about his neck_). My brave boy, serve well
your country, and do not forget your mother. She gives you up freely,
with a prayer that you may be found true to your duty. Heaven bless and
keep you, Rob! (_They stand together conversing._)
_Gaylie._ Mattie, before Rob goes, I must know the meaning of this
quarrel between him and my guardian. Why is it kept from me? You must
know: I conjure you, as you value my friendship, as you love your
brother, speak before 'tis too late.
_Mattie._ O Gaylie! I do know; for his sake I will speak. You are
the cause of this quarrel. Both these men love you.
_Gaylie._ Indeed! Oh, I'm so glad!
_Mattie._ Glad! You should be ashamed of yourself. You can't marry
them both.
_Gaylie._ Oh! you don't know what I can, what I will do.
_Rob_ (_approaching_). Mattie, sister, good-by.
_Mattie_ (_rising, and running into his arms_. GAYLIE _slips into
her seat, and covers her face_). O brother! so soon? what shall we do
without you?
_Rob._ Keep a good heart, sister. You will do bravely. (_Kisses
her._ MATTIE _goes to her mother_, C. ROB _comes down, looks at_
GAYLIE, _sighs, and turns up stage_.) Good-by, Crimp. (_Shakes hands._)
_Crimp._ Good-by, Massa Rob. I'm obleeged to you. You'll come home
a drum-major, sartin sure.
_Rob._ Thank you, Crimp. Good-by, Hiram, and thank you for your
friendly aid.
_Hiram._ Good-by, Rob. I'll look out for the women-folks, sharp
too. (ROB _goes to door_.)
_Gaylie_ (_running up stage_). Rob, Rob! you've forgotten me!
_Rob._ True, Gaylie. I had not the heart to say farewell to you.
You are so dear—
_Rowell._ This is but tardy obedience.
_Rob._ Ah! you fear me, Col. Rowell, no more than I fear myself.
But am I not bound in honor to be silent? Gaylie, farewell: you have
been a kind friend to us, will still be to my dear ones when I am gone.
Good-by.
_Gaylie._ Rob, is there nothing more you would say to me? (_Looks
at him tenderly._)
_Rob._ Nothing, Gaylie: were you but the poor girl I once
thought you; but no, no—
_Gaylie._ Rob, whatever you would have said to the poor girl, say
to the rich heiress: there's the same heart here.
_Rowell._ Confusion! is she leading him on to confession?
_Rob._ O Gaylie! am I awake? You give me life; you give me hope:
you make me bold to speak. Gaylie, I love you, dearly, truly.
_Gaylie_ (_placing her hands on his shoulders_). As dearly and
truly as I love you? O Rob! it must be deep and strong.
_Rob_ (_clasping her in his arms_). Mine, Gaylie, mine! oh,
this is happiness indeed!
_Crimp._ Hi, das a fac. De Union foreber!
_Rowell._ Girl, are you losing your senses? I forbid this folly.
_Gaylie._ And who are you?
_Rowell._ Your guardian. You shall not throw yourself away upon a
common soldier.
_Rob_ (_comes down_). A common soldier! True. I glory in my
rank. You leap to a command by power and influence. My spurs must yet
be won. I am content. Should I rise by merit, no emblems of rank could
shed a brighter glow than gleams from the trusty bayonets of Liberty's
common soldiers.
_Rowell._ Enough! To your regiment. You forget I am your superior.
_Rob._ No, I do not forget it; and I know what to expect,—hard
service, and an enemy in command. I am satisfied, for I have won the
victory here. (_Takes Gaylie's hand._)
_Rowell._ Be not so sure of that. You forget the enemy has a long
arm, and it may reach even here.
_Gaylie._ And, if it does, I fear it not.
_Rowell._ Indeed!
_Gaylie._ Ay, indeed, Col. Rowell. You are my guardian, true; but
you forget my father's will. In one year I am free: even now I have the
power of appeal to two noble men, should you distort your power. I will
be mistress of my fortune. I will be free to bestow my hand. With the
one, I will protect the homeless; with the other, cheer him at whom you
sneer, a common soldier. Deny my right at your peril.
_Rowell._ No more of this. Quit that man's side. I command you,
obey me!
_Gaylie._ You command? You forget I am a leader here. I entreat
you, in the name of justice, to deal fairly and honorably by this true
hero, who leaves all to serve his country, to recognize his right to
the hand which I freely give. Come, sir, do we part friends?
_Rowell._ Not on such terms as you offer. (_Crosses to_ R.)
_Gaylie._ Then beware! you make yourself my enemy. Already you
disgrace the rank you've bought, not won. You have command, and my hero
in your power. I have love, wealth, and a loyal heart, that abhors
injustice. Against all treachery and deceit, against the wily arts you
may contrive to shame my hero, I am the Home-Guard, the firm friend,
enlisted for the war.
_Tableau_: ROB _and_ GAYLIE, C. ROB _has his right arm about her
waist, her left hand in his left; she bends forward, with her right
hand outstretched to_ ROWELL, R., _defying him_. MRS. TRUEWORTH _sits
on sofa_, L., _with her handkerchief to her eyes_. MATTIE _with her
hand on her mother's shoulder_. CRIMP, _back_ R., _has the flag rolled
up, and is menacing_ ROWELL _with it_. HIRAM _catches it in his hand as
it descends, and holds him back. Slow curtain._