THE LITTLE THEATRE
It was the next evening; the fair was once more in its glory, and crowded
with an admiring throng. The great shows were again illuminated, and three
rows of brilliant stars shone forth from the little theatre belonging to
Rosalie's father. He had been out all day, strolling about the town, and
had only returned in time to make preparation for the evening's
entertainment.
'Norah,' said her husband, as he put his head in at the door of the
caravan, 'surely you mean to come and take your part to-night?'
'I can't, Augustus, and you would know it, if you stayed long enough with
me; I've been coughing nearly the whole day.'
'Well, I wish you would get better soon; it's very awkward to have to fill
your part up every time. Conrad has to take it, and every one can see he's
not used to it, he's so clumsy and slow.'
'I'll come as soon as ever I can,' said the poor wife, with a sigh.
'It's to be hoped you will,' said her husband. 'Women are always fancying
they are ill. They lie still thinking about it, and nursing themselves up,
long after a man would have been at his work again. It's half laziness,
that's what it is!' said Augustus fiercely.
'If you felt as ill as I do, Augustus,' said his wife, 'I'm sure you
wouldn't do any work.'
'Hold your tongue!' said her husband; 'I know better than that. Well, mind
you have Rosalie ready in time; we shall begin early to-night.'
Little Rosalie had crept to her mother's side, and was crying quietly at
her father's rough words.
'Stop crying this minute, child!' said Augustus harshly. 'Wipe your eyes,
you great baby! Do you think you'll be fit to come on the stage if they're
red and swollen with crying? Do you hear me? Stop at once, or it will be
the worse for you!' he shouted, as he shut the caravan door.
'Rosalie, darling,' said her mother, 'you mustn't cry; your father will be
so angry, and it's time you got ready. What a noise there is in the fair
already!' said the poor woman, holding her aching head.
Rosalie wiped her eyes and washed her face, and then brought out from one
of the boxes the dress in which she was to act at the play. It was a white
muslin dress, looped up with pink roses, and there was a wreath of paper
roses to wear in her hair. She dressed herself before a tiny looking-glass,
and then went to her mother to have the wreath of roses fastened on her
head.
The poor woman raised herself in bed, and arranged her little girl's long
tresses.
What a contrast Rosalie looked to the rest of the caravan! The shabby
furniture, the thin, wasted mother, the dirty, torn little frock she had
just laid aside, were quite out of keeping with the pretty little
white-robed figure which stood by the bed.
At length her father's voice called her, and after giving her mother a last
kiss, and placing some water near her on the box, in case a violent fit of
coughing should come on, Rosalie ran quickly down the caravan steps, and
rushed into the brilliantly-lighted theatre. A crowd of people stared at
her as she flitted past and disappeared up the theatre steps.
The audience had not yet been admitted, so Rosalie crept into the room
behind the stage, in which her father's company was assembled. They all
looked tired and cross, for this was the last night of the fair, and they
had had little sleep whilst it lasted.
At length Augustus announced that it was time to begin, and they all went
out upon a platform, which was erected half way up the outside of the
theatre, just underneath the three rows of illuminated stars. Here they
danced, and sang, and shook tambourines, in order to beguile the people to
enter. Then they disappeared within, and a crowd of eager spectators
immediately rushed up the steps, paid their admission money, and took their
seats in the theatre.
After this the play commenced, Augustus acting as manager, and keeping his
company up to their various parts. It was a foolish play, and in some of
the parts there was a strong mixture of very objectionable language; yet it
was highly appreciated by the audience, and met with vociferous applause.
There were many young girls there, some of them servants in respectable
families, where they enjoyed every comfort; yet they looked up at little
Rosalie with eyes of admiration and envy. They thought her life was much
happier than theirs, and that her lot was greatly to be desired. They
looked at the white dress and the pink roses, and contrasted them with
their own warm but homely garments; they watched the pretty girl going
through her part gracefully and easily, and they contrasted her work with
theirs. How interesting, how delightful, they thought, to be doing this,
instead of scrubbing floors, or washing clothes, or nursing children!
But they knew nothing of the life behind the scenes; of the sick mother,
the wretched home, the poor and insufficient food, the dirty, ragged frock.
They knew nothing of the bitter tears which had just been wiped away, nor
of the weary aching of the little feet which were dancing so lightly over
the stage.
And those little feet became more and more weary as the night went on. As
soon as the play was over, the people rushed out into the fair to seek for
fresh amusement; but the actors had no rest. Once more they appeared on the
platform to attract a fresh audience, and then the same play was repeated,
the same songs were sung, the same words were said; fresh to the people who
were listening, but oh, how stale and monotonous to the actors themselves!
And so it went on all night; as soon as one exhibition was over, another
began, and the theatre was filled and refilled, long after the clock of the
neighbouring church had struck the hour of twelve.
At last it was over; the last audience had left, the brilliant stars
disappeared, and Rosalie was at liberty to creep back to her mother. So
weary and exhausted was she, that she could hardly drag herself up the
caravan steps. She opened the door very gently, that she might not disturb
her mother, and then she tried to undress herself. But she was aching in
every limb, and, sitting down on the box beside her mother's bed, she fell
asleep, her little weary head resting on her mother's pillow.
Poor little woman! She ought to have been laid in a quiet little nest hours
ago, instead of being exposed to the close, hot, stifling air of the
theatre through all the long hours of a weary night.
In about an hour's time her mother woke, and found her little girl sleeping
in her uncomfortable position, her white dress unfastened, and the pink
roses from her hair fallen on the ground. Weak as she was, the poor mother
dragged herself out of bed to help her tired child to undress.
'Rosalie, dear,' she said tenderly, 'wake up!'
But for some time Rosalie did not stir, and, when her mother touched her,
she sat up, and said, as if in her sleep--
'"Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost."'
'She is dreaming of her picture, poor child,' said the mother to herself.
Then Rosalie woke, and shivered as she felt the cold night air on her bare
neck and arms. Very gently the poor weak mother helped her to take off her
white dress and her small ragged petticoats; and then the child crept into
bed and into her mother's arms.
'Poor little tired lamb!' said the mother, as the weary child nestled up to
her.
'Am I the lamb?' said Rosalie, in a sleepy voice.
The mother did not answer, but kissed her child passionately, and then lay
awake by her side, weeping and coughing by turns till the morning dawned.