"Did you dye that old petticoat and underwaist pink?" demanded Winona,
sticking her head into Marie's tent.
"Yes, I did," said Marie promptly, "and it's starched, and ironed with
the charcoal-iron."
"And did Adelaide borrow her brother's bathrobe for Louise?"
"No, she didn't, but I did--at least, I sent Frances over for it," said
Marie. "It's here, and safe."
"And did Louise sew the hood on it?"
"She did," said Marie resignedly. "Every single property for 'Gentle
Alice Brown' and the 'Oysterman' is in a mound in the dressing-tent. Go
look, for goodness' sake, or you'll have nervous prostration."
Winona, property-woman and general manager of the performance, pulled
back her head with a sigh of relief, and went to find the girl who had
promised to straighten out the fishing-tackle necessary to the Ballad of
the Oysterman--for they were to present that classic of Holmes's in a
very few hours.
The performance was to be at eight, and it was a strictly complimentary
one. The Scouts were invited, and various special friends from Wampoag,
most of them made over dealings in Camp merchandise. A committee had
been appointed to see about illuminations, and another to attend to the
refreshments. They were amassing honor beads by doing it. Marie's Blue
Birds were busy everywhere. Camp Karonya was dazzlingly clean, and
everyone was getting out the one dress-up frock she had brought along,
and giving it attention. There was to be an exhibit, also, as the
flaring posters Helen had prepared said, of "potteries, embroideries,
jellies, hand-carvings, pickles and other objects." It had been going to
be "other objects of art," but Winona pointed out that jellies and
pickles _weren't_, no matter what the rest might be. So the poster
stopped abruptly at "objects," and the space was filled up by a
life-like portrait of a jelly-glass.
Camp Karonya took a very brief meal of bread and milk and cookies, and
the dish-washers hurried through their tasks. For eight o'clock has a
way of coming long before you expect it. About seven-thirty the paddles
and oars and motor-boats of the audience began to be heard, and the
reception committee scurried down to the dock to meet their guests.
First came their friends the Scouts from down the river, about thirty
strong. After them, in little groups, came the summer people, including
Billy's Aunt Lydia, who never missed a Camp Fire function if she could
help it.
The audience was seated, as usual, on planks laid from box to box and
nailed. They did not have to sit there long. After a great deal of
giggling and rustling behind the big green curtain that had been made of
sacks, pieced together and dyed, Winona came out to announce the
beginning of the entertainment.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she commenced, "to-night we are going to have,
beside several musical selections, some moving pictures with explanatory
recitations--some _very_ moving pictures. After the opening song we will
have the first one, 'Gentle Alice Brown.'"
The audience applauded, and then the girls sang a Camp Fire song in
chorus. After that Louise and Edith played a conscientious
mandolin-banjo duet. Then Marie, who was the reader of the evening, came
out with a copy of Gilbert's Bab Ballads and very slowly began to read
"Gentle Alice Brown."
At the first line the curtain was pulled back, revealing Winona alone
against a sheet background. She was in an 1860 costume made from an old,
full petticoat and tight underwaist, dyed pink, and helped out with
small puffed sleeves and a sash. Her curls were bound with a wreath of
artificial roses from the ten-cent store, slightly over one ear. She sat
on a chair with her head on her hand, and she was looking mournfully
over the chair-back. Marie began,
It was a robber's daughter, and her name was Alice Brown,
Her father was the terror of a small Italian town;
Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing,
But it isn't of her parents that I'm going for to sing.
As Marie went on, across the stage galloped ferociously Helen, who had
been given the role of Robber Brown because she was one of the tallest
of the girls. A red flannel shirt of Tom Merriam's, topped by a fishing
hat and black mustachio, were most convincing. Her short kilt, which
gave her rather the look of a Greek than an Italian bandit, was met by a
pair of fishing-boots, and she wore three carving-knives and a cartridge
belt. She strode ferociously across the stage, looking neither to right
nor left.
Edith Hillis, trotting meekly behind her as Mrs. Brown, wore a baggy old
long skirt, a bandanna tied around her waist, one around her neck and
another on her head. She only had one carving-knife. But the lovely
Alice did not deign to look at her parents. She gazed sadly out over the
audience, while Marie went on to tell how--
As Alice was sitting at her window-sill one day
A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way,
A sorter at the Custom-house, it was his daily road--
(The Custom-house was fifteen minutes walk from her abode).
At this point the hero crossed the stage dashingly, with a cane under
his arm. It was Adelaide, in a plaid cap, a waxed mustache, and a very
precise duster which reached her heels. A pipe (she said afterwards it
had a dreadful taste) stuck from one corner of her mouth.
Gentle Alice sighed deeply, and so did her lover, who became aware of
her presence with a tragic start. He halted, waved to her, sighed with
his hand on his heart, and looked altogether very lovelorn. Gentle Alice
did not notice him at first, but she gradually seemed to yield, and
finally languished softly at him--and winked. So did he. Then he kissed
his hands at her and went off reluctantly to work, while Alice wiped
away her tears with a large bandanna such as her parents had worn. (They
were the historic bandannas which had served Winona and Louise so well
on their peddling trip.)
The ballad went on to relate how presently Alice's conscience bothered
her. So she asked the Brown's family confessor about it,
The priest by whom their little crimes were carefully assessed.
Here Louise appeared, in the brown bathrobe, with its hood pulled up
over her head, and sandals on. Alice threw herself at his feet, and
waved her hands in grief.
"Oh, father," Gentle Alice said, "'Twould grieve you, would it not,
To find that I have been a most disreputable lot?"
Louise assumed a benign expression and listened while Alice confessed
her sins. Marie stopped, while Winona herself spoke:
I assisted dear mamma in cutting up a little lad,
I helped papa to steal a little kiddy from its dad--
I planned a little burglary and forged a little check
And slew a little baby for the coral on its neck!
But Father Brown seemed inclined to be forgiving, and with a few
remarks, ended,
We mustn't be too hard upon these little girlish tricks--
Let's see--five crimes at half a crown--exactly twelve and six.
Alice thanked him in a few grateful couplets, and pulled out another
bandanna with money tied up in it from which she paid him. The ballad
went on to relate how Alice tremblingly confessed her last sin, about
the beautiful gentleman, who passed every day: