The Camp Fire Play
By eight o'clock on Christmas evening every seat in the Sunrise cabin
living room was filled except two, and toward these the eyes of every
girl hidden behind the khaki curtain turned questioningly for the last
fifteen minutes before their Camp Fire play was to commence. However
then, to Polly's despair, their last hope died away--the great lady and
the great actress in one--would not form a part of their Woodford
audience, even her own Miss Adams had likewise failed her.
Nevertheless their entertainment was to begin promptly (on this Miss
McMurtry and Miss Dyer had both insisted), since punctuality was so
seldom a feature of amateur plays they wished thus to show one of the
superior results of the Camp Fire training.
A Camp Fire Morality Play: These words were printed on the Christmas
programs and it was an old time morality play such as we have seen and
read in "Everyman" that Polly and Betty had attempted to write, assisted
of course by both their guardians and with suggestions from every girl in
the Sunrise club. Whether they were successful in keeping close to the
old model was not so much their ideal as the desire to show both by words
and tableaux the aims and the influence of the Camp Fire organization,
and what women have given to the world since the primitive time when
human life centered about the camp-fire.
At a quarter past eight the curtain arose slowly, showing the stage in
semi-darkness and representing a scene in a primeval forest. In the
corner is the bare pine tree, the ground is strewn with twigs, fir cones
and needles, and there within the instant the figure of a woman enters.
It is Polly! And because of her great disappointment there is a tragic
droop to her shoulders, a pathetic expression in her great wide-open
Irish blue eyes. She had hoped so much from Miss Adams' promise and
now--well, she must not forget her part, she must try to do her best for
her friends' sakes.
Polly is dressed in a short skirt with a fox's skin fastened from one
shoulder to her belt, there are sandals on her feet and her straight
black hair is hanging about her shoulders. Unhappy, she gropes her way
about the stage shivering and finding nothing to do, no place in which to
rest herself. It is December, the month of the long moon, and the night
promises to be bitterly cold. In another moment there is heard from the
outside the crying of a child and next "Little Brother," very proud of
his rabbit coat and cap, runs forward throwing his arms about the woman's
knees and evidently begging for warmth and shelter. Still in pantomime
the mother mournfully shakes her head, and with this Eleanor Meade
appears representing a primitive man and carrying a brace of freshly
killed game over her shoulder. This he presents to the child and the
woman, but both of them shake their heads and a moment later the man
drops despairingly down on the frozen ground burying his face in his
hands, the child hiding between his parents for warmth. However the woman
does not cover her face and by and by, picking up two dry twigs from the
ground, she begins in an idle fashion to rub them together. Suddenly
there is a tiny spark of light and then darkness.
It was a wise selection on the part of the Sunrise club girls to have
chosen Polly O'Neill to represent the mother of all the Camp Fire women,
for though she had when needful the Irish gift of expression, she had
also a face so vivid and so emotional that to Polly's own chagrin it was
seldom possible for her to hide from other people what was going on in
her mind. Now, however, this characteristic was of excellent service, for
there was not a member of her little audience who did not in this instant
guess the inspiration that had just been born in the woman.
In a seat toward the back of the living room, in as inconspicuous a spot
as possible, a fragile looking woman, an unknown member of the small
Woodford audience, turned suddenly to the companion beside her, nodding
her head quickly. She had a plain, yet remarkably youthful looking face
illumined by a pair of wonderful gray eyes with an indescribably wistful
and yet understanding expression. And from now on she watched the girl on
the stage more attentively.
Rising quietly, Polly seemed almost to be holding her breath. Then with
eager fingers she can be seen searching along the ground until by and by
she has gathered together a few twigs, and now kneeling before them
appears to be uttering a silent prayer. A moment later and she picks up
her former sticks, again repeating the rubbing of them together. For a
while Polly seemed to be unsuccessful in making them ignite, so that in
the background and well out of sight the other Camp Fire girls hold their
breath with a kind of sick horror, fearing that she is going to fail here
and so make a fiasco of the entire scene. But the little waiting has only
made the final result more dramatic. There is a tiny flare of light, and
then bending over her pile of twigs the woman lights the first Camp Fire.
She guards it with her hands until there is a crackle and many spurts of
yellow flame and the instant after is across the stage shaking the man by
the shoulder and drawing the child toward the blaze. Together then they
heap on more fuel until a really splendid fire is a-light. (And for fear
any one may think that this fire in the middle of the wooden platform
would probably have put an end to Sunrise cabin it must be explained that
a sheet of iron had been fastened on the floor that the fire might be
built with entire safety.)
Like a flame herself the woman then flies from one home duty to the
other, making a bed of pine branches for the child near the fire,
appearing to roast the game for her husband. Far better by her actions
than by any possible words Polly told her story, until the curtain at
last goes down on the beginning of the first home with the woman as its
genius and inspiration.
But before the curtain has finally descended, for a moment Polly's
attention, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, centered upon the face
of a stranger in the back of the living room beyond the more familiar
ranks of her friends; and with a quick intake of her breath and a feeling
of thankfulness that her first trial is over and that she is not obliged
to speak, the young girl recognizes the famous actress. She is glad then
that she had not known of her presence sooner and also that her first
appearance before her has been made in pantomime, for she guesses it to
be a surer test of dramatic ability than any recitation an untrained girl
might be able to repeat. If she had the necessary temperament somehow in
the scene just past it must have revealed itself.
But now an intermission of twenty minutes passes and the second act
represents a scene wholly different from the first, for now the stage is
intended to present as nearly as possible the picture of an ideal home.
It was difficult to portray, of course, but then the bigger things must
always be trusted to the imagination, for this home was not intended to
suggest merely a single home but a kind of universal and representative
one. There were beautiful pictures in it and soft rugs and many books and
windows everywhere, supposedly letting in all the possible sunlight,
while over in the corner the solitary pine tree still stood, but now
covered with many white candles, although none of them were yet a-light.
Then the door opens and the first spirit of the home enters. This is
Esther Clark wearing a kind of blue tunic with a silver band about her
unloosened red hair. With swift steps and busy fingers she moves about,
bringing a bunch of winter roses to a table, putting fresh logs on the
fire, drawing chairs nearer to the inspiring blaze, which is now no
longer a primitive camp fire but a great, hospitable open hearth.
Then Esther goes to the front of the stage and waits there for a moment
in silence before beginning her speech, and there are but few persons
watching her who have yet guessed what spirit she is illustrating.
Esther is awkward and not handsome; nevertheless, because she has a clear
and beautiful speaking as well as singing voice she had been chosen for
this particular part. Now she is plainly heard throughout the room.
"I am Work, the great Mother Spirit of the earth.
I have borne many children with a fairer fame,
Service, who is my daughter with a gentler name."
And here Nan Graham in a yellow costume with her black hair flowing over
her shoulders and her dark eyes shining walks forward and takes her place
at one end of the stage just a little back of the speaker, followed by
Eleanor Meade in a white robe with a wreath of laurel on her head and a
scroll in her hand, who is seen by the audience as Esther continues:
"Knowledge, who needs no word of mine to prove her worth,
Beauty that shall not fade, surely it lives through me
In music, books and art, a noble trinity."
Then Betty Ashton, whom there is no difficulty in recognizing as the
spirit of Beauty, approaches the front of the stage in a dress of some
soft silvery material with three stars in her hair and stands beside
Eleanor.
"And Health and Happiness, would they deny their birth?
Then let them seek it in some nobler form than mine,
The quest is everlasting but the choice is thine."
Sylvia and Beatrice Field then advance together and take their places in
the center of the group, Sylvia as Health dressed in the green of the
open fields and Beatrice in deep rose color.
"Trustworthiness and Sympathy dwell by my hearth
With Purity; we are the graces of the home.
And yet there is one other fairer still to come
Whose handmaids are these spirits named above;
To her alone I yield my gracious place,
The inspiration of the home--the world--is Love!"
While Esther has been finishing her verse, Juliet Field has come forth to
portray the spirit of Trustworthiness in a dress of deep violet, carrying
a sheath of purple lilies. Meg, with her charming face so full of humor
and tenderness, is the embodiment of Sympathy, and Edith Norton as Purity
has her long fair hair falling almost down to her knees and wears a dress
of the palest green--like Undine when she first comes forth from the sea.
And now a crescent has slowly formed about the figure of Esther who is a
little in advance of the other girls, but now as she speaks the final
word--Love--she steps quietly backward and Mollie O'Neill as the spirit
of Love occupies the center of the stage. She has never looked half so
lovely in her life as she does to-night. Her gown is of pale pink, she
has a wreath of roses in her black hair, her usually too grave expression
is illumined by a smile born partly of fear and the rest of pride, which
has nothing to do with her own appearance, but is a kind of shadowy
pleasure in the beauty and the significance of the tableau surrounding
her.
From his place behind the curtain Billy Webster wonders how he was ever
able even at the beginning of their acquaintance to confuse the twin
sisters. Polly in all her existence has never looked so pretty as this
and probably never will, and then Billy comes to his senses in a hurry,
realizing that it is now his duty to assist in letting the curtain drop
on this second scene in the Camp Fire allegory.
In the last act the Christmas tree is all a-blaze with pure white candles
and silver tinsel and above it is suspended a great silver star, while
the girls in their many colored costumes are seen dancing before it. Then
at the close of the dance Polly again enters. She is to recite the
epilogue, to make plainer the ideals of the Camp Fire. But some change
has come over her since the first scene, her color is entirely gone, her
eyes are rimmed and, worst of all, she feels that a deadly weight is
settling on her chest and that her voice is nowhere to be found. She is
having an attack of stage fright, but Polly does not yet know it by that
name. The truth is that she has grown desperately tired, the strain and
excitement of waiting after the long day's pleasure with the very foolish
thought that her fate is probably to be decided by one person's judgment
of her abilities has proved too much for her. She tries pulling herself
together, she sees many eyes turned up toward her, with one face shining
a little farther off like a star. Polly opens her mouth to speak, but
there is a great darkness about her, the world is slowly slipping away.
She puts out both arms with a pathetic appeal for silence and patience
and then suddenly some one is holding her up and the other girls are
forming a rainbow circle about her so that she is safely hidden from
view.
For in a flash Betty Ashton has guessed at Polly's faintness, has
signaled her companions and then reached her first, so that the curtain
finally fell on perhaps the prettiest scene of all.