Chapter V: Part 5

C. (_calmly_). Well, I don’t know as that would be a terrible fate. It would be a more independent life than marriage would give me. On the whole, I think I shall decide to live a single life. (_Smiling._) Still, as an old lady of eighty once said: “I’ve made up my mind not to get married, and I don’t expect to; but if the Lord should see fit to send me a good husband, I should try to be resigned.”

(_Curtain falls._)

THE GHOSTLY VISITATION.

CHARACTERS.

MRS. FLORA WILLIS, A Young Widow.
MRS. LAWRENCE, Her Mother.
ALFRED PERCIVAL, Flora’s Suitor.

SCENE I.—_MRS. LAWRENCE’S parlor. MRS. L., R., FLORA, C., and
MR. PERCIVAL, L., present._

FLORA. Oh, yes, mother believes in ghosts, and haunted houses, and all those things, and I suppose that, as a dutiful daughter, I ought to do the same; but I haven’t very much faith in them.

MR. PERCIVAL. Perhaps, if you had had any experience in that direction, you might feel differently about the matter. I never believed in haunted houses till I visited Charlie Baldwin, my former chum, last summer.

F. Do tell us all about it. I should like to hear a real nice ghost story.

MRS. LAWRENCE. I think we’d better wait till daylight before listening to a story of that character.

F. No, it’s just the time for it; it is cold and dark outside. We can more easily imagine the events real. So go on, please, Mr. Percival.

MR. P.—But my story is not a ghost story at all, and there is really very little to tell. But we heard strange noises for which we could not account. For instance, a door, which led from the house into the shed, had swollen so that it was difficult to shut it, and whenever it was opened and shut it creaked most musically, so that it could be heard in all the lower rooms. One evening we were seated at the tea-table, when we heard the door creaking. “Who is that coming in?” asked Mrs. Baldwin. “It is very strange,” answered Charlie; “I am sure I closed and locked that door not ten minutes ago.”—“Suppose we go out and see what it is,” said Mr. Baldwin. “It certainly had a natural sound.” We all went out in a body, and behold! the door was shut and fastened and everything all right.

F. (_interested_). Did you hear any other noises while you were there?

MR. P. Oh, yes, we frequently heard footsteps going up and down stairs after we had gone to bed. Sometimes we could hear the chairs moved about in the rooms below. And once, I remember, we heard a terrific noise, as if the side of the house had fallen in. But the next morning everything seemed as usual, and we laughed about the matter.

F. But were you not startled?

MR. P. Well, I cannot say I should like to live in that house long.

MRS. L. If you had heard all these things, Flora, don’t you think you would have faith to believe that there are some strange things which one cannot account for?

F. Oh, yes; “seeing is believing,” as the old saying is, and I suppose _hearing_ is believing also. But I must ask you to excuse me now, Mr. Percival, as I have a letter to write, which must go out by the next mail.

MR. P. Though we are sorry to lose your company, we will grant you leave of absence for a short time. (_Rises and opens the door for her, L. Exit FLORA._)

MR. P. (_sitting down near MRS. L._). The turn which the conversation took just now suggested a plan to me, which, with your permission, I should like to carry out.

MRS. L. What is it?

MR. P. You are, of course, aware that I love your daughter, and would gladly marry her. She has rejected me, but still I think she likes me as well or better than any one else. Now, cannot I, by stratagem, bring her to consent to a marriage with me?

MRS. L. I wish you might do so, and will gladly assist you in any way I can. But what is your plan?

MR. P. I thought I might, with your assistance, personate the spirit of her former husband, and appear to her to-night while this conversation is fresh in her mind, and warn her, if she wishes him to rest in peace, that she must marry a certain Alfred Percival, who will make her a good husband.

MRS. L. It is a capital idea. I think the conversation seemed to affect her considerably. Suppose you come here at ten o’clock to-night. I will remain up, and arrange your ghostship.

MR. P. Very well, I will do so. And I believe I will go now, as I have some preparations to make.

(_Exit MR. PERCIVAL, L. Curtain falls._)

SCENE II.—_A curtain is arranged from front to back, dividing
the stage into two rooms, as both must be seen at once. There
must be a door between. In right-hand room is a lounge with
pillow and blanket. FLORA sits in rocking-chair, soliloquizing._

F. There’s something going on, I’m sure, but what it can be isn’t quite clear to me. Mother has asked me half-a-dozen times if it wasn’t bed-time; and yet she, herself, hasn’t made any preparation toward retiring. I shall lie down, with my clothes on, ready for any emergency. There’s no danger of sleep overtaking me. I feel as if I shouldn’t sleep any at all to-night.

(_She lies down on lounge, in right-hand room, and covers herself with a blanket. A moment after, MRS. L. looks into FLORA’S room and seems satisfied at seeing her apparently asleep. She goes out into left-hand room. A tap is heard at outer door of left-hand room. Exit MRS. L._)

F. Hark! what noise is that? (_Assumes a listening attitude._)

(_Voices of MRS. L. and MR. P. are heard from behind the scenes._)

MRS. L. (_outside_). I am glad you are so punctual. Everything is in readiness. I just looked into Flora’s room and found she was fast asleep.

MR. P. (_in rather a high key_). Where shall I go to arrange my costume?

MRS. L. (_deprecatingly_). Hush! you mustn’t speak so loud, as her door is ajar. Come with me, and we’ll soon have you fitted out.

(_They enter left-hand room cautiously. A sheet lies unfolded on a chair. This MRS. L. drapes around her companion. He gathers it together so as to conceal his clothes._)

MRS. L. It will never do to allow your features to show so plainly. You are only Alfred Percival, after all. Flora would recognize you at once.

MR. P. Suppose I put the sheet over my head? (_Does so._) Is that any improvement?

MRS. L. Yes; but still I think your features would betray you. Let me think a moment. I have it. I will get Mr. Willis’s wig; that will be just the thing.

MR. P. So it will. That’s a good idea. (_She takes wig out of box. MR. P. puts it on._)

MRS. L. That’s capital. Now stoop a little, and no one would be likely to recognize you, particularly if they had just waked.

(_FLORA covers herself again and feigns sleep. MR. P. enters her room and advances to lounge. FLORA moves uneasily; then opens her eyes, and fixes them upon her visitor._)

F. (_in apparent horror_). Who are you?

MR. P. (_in sepulchral voice_). Flora Willis, I am the spirit of your dead husband.

F. But why do you appear to me in this way? If you are really he, why should you come to me at the dead of night?

MR. P. (_in hollow tones_). We, who are tenants of another sphere, mingle not with mortals; and it is only when all eyes are closed in slumber that we are permitted to walk the earth.

F. (_gaining confidence_). But what is your object in coming?

MR. P. (_slowly_). I come to warn and advise you. You are young, and, I know, cherish my memory fondly; but I feel sure that you would be happier and enjoy life more, if you should marry again.

F. But who is there I should be happy with?

MR. P. You have many suitors; choose among them.

F. I’m afraid they want my money more than myself, and such a union would cause a lifetime of misery.

MR. P. You are mistaken. There is Alfred Percival. He would be a kind husband. It is my wish that you marry him. Promise me that you will do so.

F. I cannot promise; it is too sudden.

MR. P. Think of it, then. One week from to-night I will visit you again. (_Passes slowly out into left-hand room._)

F. (_musing_). Well, that’s curious. I’ve heard ghost stories of almost every description, but never before did I hear of a ghost making love. For, though he intended to personate a spirit, he certainly spoke of himself. And I suppose he is congratulating himself on having completely deceived me. (_Suddenly._) I’d like to know what he and mother are saying about it. And why can’t I? They are only in the next room.

(_She rises and creeps cautiously to the door, which stands ajar. MR. P. has laid aside his ghostly covering and is in the act of passing his wig to MRS. L. FLORA listens._)

MRS. L. Then you think she did not suspect you?

MR. P. Apparently not. She appeared quite startled at first, but soon regained her composure.

MRS. L. I suppose it would be better not to allude to the subject to-morrow.

MR. P. Not on any account. That would tend to arouse her suspicions. I wouldn’t have her know that I took part in the stratagem.

MRS. L. And what do you expect will come of it? Of course she would not be likely to come forward and tell you that she was willing to marry you, even if she felt favorably inclined toward you.

MR. P. (_hesitatingly_). I think I shall call upon her to-morrow, and then I shall be governed entirely by circumstances.

(_FLORA hurries back to the lounge. MR. PERCIVAL
goes out, L. MRS. L. cautiously goes and looks in
at FLORA, who appears to be asleep. Exit MRS. L., R.
Curtain falls._)

SCENE III.—_Parlor. FLORA present, C. She is arranging flowers
in a vase._

F. (_soliloquizing_). So Mr. Percival is going to call on me to-day. It is quite fortunate I happened to overhear his plans. I suppose he will repeat that momentous question again, and I’ve about made up my mind to accept him. Then the matter will be settled, and I shan’t be worried any more by his importunities. Besides, he is a person of good standing, and I don’t know as I love any one else more; and I don’t think he is after my money. (_A pause in which she completes the arrangement of the flowers. MR. P. enters._)

F. (_advancing toward him_). Ah, Mr. Percival, I was just thinking of you, and you know the old saying, “If you think of the angels, you’ll soon hear the rustling of their wings.”

MR. P. Excuse me, but I never heard it expressed in that way before. It has been told me in this wise: His Satanic Majesty is always near when you’re talking of him.

F. I must say my version is more complimentary than yours.

MR. P. So do I, and I draw encouragement from that fact. If you were thinking of me, I take it as a favorable omen, and shall consider that I am not so disagreeable to you as I feared I was.

F. (_interrupting_). Oh, by the way, Mr. Percival, I had quite an adventure last night. I saw a real, _bona fide_ ghost.

MR. P. Did you really?

F. Yes; as I was quietly dozing, a tall figure, clad in white, stalked into my room, and when I opened my eyes I beheld him close beside me, and looking down upon my face.

MR. P. (_avoiding her eyes_). And what did he say?

F. (laughing). Oh, he pretended to be the spirit of my former husband, and said I must marry again.

MR. P. (_taking both her hands in his_). Why will you not heed his advice? Let me, too, add my solicitations. Marry me, Flora, and you shall never have cause to regret it. (_He anxiously waits her reply._)

F. (_looking up into his face with an amused smile_). Why, Mr. Percival, how much you remind me of my last night’s visitor! The expression of your face, and the lines about your mouth—all but the white sheet and wig.

MR. P. (_changing color_). I see that you know all; but grant me a favorable answer, and I shall be well satisfied.

F. (_smiling_). I suppose I ought to, since it is decided on high authority that it is right and proper I should do so. In that way, if in no other, I shall convince you that I am not afraid of ghosts, if I promise to marry one.

MR. P. (_warmly_). And I shall feel well repaid for personating one by the promised reward. Henceforth I shall look with kindness on shadowy apparitions, feeling that, in other cases as well as my own, even ghosts may be of some practical use.

(_Curtain falls._)

PRACTICAL HUSBANDRY.

CHARACTERS.

FRANK WEBSTER, A Young Man from the City.
EDWIN ALDRICH, His Friend.
MRS. LEIGHTON, A Farmer’s Wife.
ANNIE MONTGOMERY, Her Niece.

SCENE I.—_FRANK is seated, R., in the depths of an arm-chair,
his feet resting on the table. He is smoking a cigar. Enter
EDWIN, L._

EDWIN. Well, Frank, you look decidedly cosey and comfortable, that’s a fact.

FRANK (_not altering his position, but motioning his visitor to a seat_). That’s the way to do. One might as well enjoy life as he goes along. Have a cigar, Aldrich? (_Offers him an open case, in which are cigars._)

E. (_throwing himself on a lounge, L. C._). No, Frank, I believe not. The fact is, I’ve reformed—given up smoking.

F. Whew! I’ll wager that’s one of the consequences of matrimony.

E. I don’t deny it. But I think smoking is a bad habit, and have thought of giving it up before, but never could persevere till now. That reminds me, Frank; why don’t you marry? I dare say you could find some one in the city foolish enough to take you for better or worse. And you don’t know what a comfort ’tis to a man to have a good wife and a pleasant home.

F. That’s where the trouble is (_fondly stroking his mustache_). As you say, I could easily persuade some one to marry me, knowing as they do that I possess plenty of money. But don’t you think it would make a difference if I were a poor man?

E. I dare say it might with some persons; but all are not alike. I am sure there are many who esteem wealth of less importance than personal worth.

F. (_assuming a sitting posture, and laying cigar down_). I have often thought I should like to marry; but when I looked around among the ladies with whom I was brought in contact, I became disgusted to see what frivolous lives they led.

E. But all women are not alike, Frank.

F. That may be so, but where shall I go to look for a different class? I have strong domestic tastes, and would be glad to change my present state of single blessedness for a married life. If I could find my ideal of a wife, I would marry at once.

E. I’ll tell you what it is, Frank. You must go into the country. The girls are mostly sensible there, and think less about dress and fashion. You can assume another name, and then look around you, and become acquainted with some of the country girls. My wife was born and brought up in the country, so I can speak from experience.

F. But how could I manage? I couldn’t go to a hotel and stop with nothing to do. Country girls are ambitious as well as those who live in the city, and if I remained there with no occupation, I should be supposed to be a man of some property, and I shouldn’t be much better off than I am here.

E. That’s so, my friend. I never gave you credit for so much shrewdness. But isn’t there anything you could do,—any kind of business, I mean?

F. I have it. I’ll hire myself out on a farm. In that way, as one of the family, I shall become more intimately acquainted with the neighborhood—girls included.

E. Imagine fastidious Benjamin Franklin Webster dressed in coarse clothes and cowhide boots! (_Looking upward._) Shades of the illustrious men whose names he bears, look down with benignity on the depth of degradation to which he proposes to descend!

F. (_smiling_). That’ll do, Ed. I am only following the example of at least one of those illustrious men in working on a farm.

E. And those delicate hands, that never did any manual labor, are to be used in milking the cows and holding the plough!

F. Laugh away, Ed. I’ve made my plans, and now I’m going to carry them out.

E. But, seriously, will your strength hold out?

F. Without doubt. Besides, every one says farming is the most healthful occupation any one can follow. So you may expect to see me back in the fall so stout and fleshy that my friends will hardly know me.

E. And perhaps you will bring Mrs. Benjamin Franklin Webster with you.

F. That’s very uncertain. I haven’t really very great faith in the project myself; but I’m tired of my present way of living, and any change will be welcome, even if it does not bring about the desired result.

E. But how are you going to obtain the situation?

F. How am I? (_Smiling._) That’s the question before the meeting.

E. Suppose you advertise for one. That would be the best way, I think.

F. The very thing. Couldn’t you write an advertisement for me, Ed? You know I’m modest, and couldn’t, of course, speak of my qualifications as well as you could.

(_EDWIN takes sheet of paper from the table, and writes for a few moments; then reads it._)

E. (_reading_). “WANTED—By a young man, a situation on a farm. Is willing to work for moderate wages, provided he can learn the business. Address Franklin Forrester, Box 68.” How will that do, Frank?

F. I guess that’ll answer. But what paper would it be best to insert it in? The evening “Herald”?

E. Oh no, that wouldn’t do. It must be an agricultural paper. Better put it into several; then you will be more sure of a reply.

F. I’ll insert it in every agricultural paper in the city. If I get one reply from each, I shall have at least six.

E. Very well. If one has an object in view, there’s nothing like taking every method to accomplish it.

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE II.—_FRANK seated C., before a table covered with
letters. Enter EDWIN, L._

E. Well, I must say the agricultural papers in the city have a goodly number of subscribers, judging from appearances. This is the first edition of letters, I suppose.

(_Exit, L._)

F. Yes, and, judging from the slight examination I have made, it already needs to be revised and corrected. But there’s no doubt about my getting a situation, Ed. You see what a demand there is for my services. Sixty letters already! I can almost imagine myself at the head of a village post-office.

E. The quality may not be as satisfactory as the quantity. But if all these letters are to be examined, we must to work, and use diligence too. Suppose you open them, and read them aloud.

F. That’s a good way. Here’s one written in a wretched hand, which I will read first.

(_Cutting off one end of the envelope he draws out a piece of paper about six inches square, which runs thus:_)

F. (_reading_).

“Mister Forrister: I seen your notis in the paper yisterdy. And
sez I to myself, I don’t bleeve I cood do better than to hire
that man. My bizness is diggin’ wells, wich is one branch of
farmin’, becoz every farm has to have one or more. As you say
you’re a green hand, I should expec you to pay your bord for
the fust month. I’d give you your bord the second month for
your work. After that we’d talk about wages, though I coodn’t
pay much. When cood you kum?

“Yours to command,

“SOLOMON PORCUPINE.”

E. (_laughing_). Ha! ha! ha! That’s a good one. If you go there you’ll be sure to learn one branch of the business pretty thoroughly. Shall you accept, and become a member of Mr. Porcupine’s family? By the way, he has a charming name.

F. Yes, characteristic, I dare say. Accept the first chance? No indeed; not as long as I have fifty-nine more left. (_Opens another letter._) But what is this?

E. I’m all attention.

F. (_reading_). Mr. Forrester: “I notice by my paper that you want to learn to farm. I should like to teach you ‘what I know about farming.’ It would take some time to do it, but I would warrant you a good knowledge of farming in six years. You couldn’t fail to get a thorough knowledge of the business, as I should let you do all the work. My health is poor, and I am only able to oversee the work. As you want a situation, you may as well consider yourself engaged. I shall expect you next Monday. HORACE GREGORY.”

F. Well! that’s cool! I am afraid that man is troubled by a disease called indolence. But, Ed, we are getting along too slowly. Suppose you and I read letters as fast as we can, and if either of us finds one that we consider suitable it shall be read aloud. If not, it shall be thrown into the waste basket.

E. Agreed.

(_They look over letters very hurriedly, occasionally laughing aloud as they read something which excites their mirth. At length EDWIN says:_)

E. Here, Frank, here’s just the place for you. Shall I read?

F. Do so by all means. I am nearly discouraged.

E. (_reading_). “Franklin Forrester, Esq.—Dear Sir: Uncle William wishes me to write to you concerning an advertisement of yours which he read in our paper. He judges from it that you are not accustomed to working on a farm. He has already two men, but wishes a little more help, provided arrangements satisfactory to both parties could be made. He is willing to pay whatever is reasonable as regard wages, but not knowing how much you can do, he can say nothing more definite. If you wish any further information, a letter directed to William Leighton, Ballardvale, Vermont, will receive prompt attention. But if you prefer to come without writing, uncle will be glad to see you at any time after the receipt of this letter.”

F. (_eagerly_). What is the signature?

F. There is none, but it is evidently a lady’s hand. What do you think of it?

F. I think I shall start for Ballardvale to-morrow.

E. That’s a wise conclusion. You will be back by Christmas, I doubt not. Probably by that time you will have become a practical farmer.

F. (_absently_). Time will show.

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE III.—_Sitting-room at MR. LEIGHTON’S. Time, evening.
MRS. LEIGHTON, C., ANNIE, R., and FRANK, L., present. FRANK is
dressed in a coarse suit. MRS. L. is knitting._

MRS. LEIGHTON. Well, Mr. Forrester, how do you like your first day’s experience on a farm?

F. Very much, indeed. But, you know, I have not had any work to do yet. Mr. Leighton, unlike most employers, has given me a vacation to start with.

MRS. L. He wishes you to have a little time in which to look around first.

ANNIE (_smiling_). You find the hour for rising a little earlier here than in the city, I suppose.

F. Yes, I do. This morning I was awakened by the sound of a bell. I listened, wondering what could be the matter. There were sounds from below, as if something had happened. Doors were opened and shut hurriedly, and I could hear the voices of men outside. I dressed as quickly as I could, and hurried downstairs. But it appeared that nothing unusual had taken place. Mrs. Leighton was getting breakfast, and you were laying the table. I glanced up at the clock, and saw that it was a quarter past four o’clock (_smiling_),—about four hours earlier than I have been accustomed to rise. Then it occurred to me that people living on farms are obliged to get up early.

MRS. L. Yes, my mother used to say that an hour in the morning was worth three later in the day. But did you rest well, Mr. Forrester?

F. Oh yes, very well.

MRS. L. When I pass the night in the city I can’t sleep, there is so much noise. But last summer a lady who was visiting here could not sleep because _she missed the noise_.

F. There is a great deal in habit. (_A pause._) By the way, I said that I had done no work to-day. I forgot to mention that I had accomplished a feat which I never attempted before.

A. What was that?

F. I unharnessed the horse.

A. How did you succeed?

F. I got the harness off, but not very scientifically, I’m afraid, for I heard Mike tell Jerry that that city chap was the curiousest feller he ever see, for he unfastened every buckle that was in the harness, and then left it in a heap on the floor.

A. (_smiling_). I think that’s a little worse than I should do, for I believe I should endeavor to hang the harness up.

F. To tell the truth, I thought of doing so, but there were so many small pieces that it was impossible. If I had found a basket near, I should have gathered them up and put them in that.

A. That would be a novel method of disposing of it.

MRS. L. I expect, Mr. Forrester, that you are one of those students who don’t know much about anything but books.

F. At all events I find, in looking around me, that I don’t know much about farming. But there’s one good feature in the case: I am anxious to learn.

MRS. L. Oh, I haven’t any doubt but you’ll make quite a farmer yet!

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE IV.—_MRS. L.’S sitting-room. Enter FRANK and ANNIE, R.,
wearing their hats. FRANK is carrying a basket of grapes (or
some other kind of fruit). They take off their hats, and FRANK
lays both on the table. ANNIE seats herself, R., and FRANK
brings a chair and sits near her, L._

F. (_taking up the basket_). Now I feel like treating myself and you. Here are some tempting clusters.

(_ANNIE spreads a clean napkin over her dress, while FRANK places the grapes upon it. They sit for a moment eating the fruit._)

MRS. L. (_entering, R._). So you have got back again. I was wondering what kept you so long.

F. Congratulate me, Aunt Lucy. Annie has promised to marry me.

MRS. L. That accounts for your being gone so long. I thought you couldn’t be all this time getting a few grapes. But I’m very glad for you, and think you have both chosen wisely.

F. (_slyly glancing at his companion_). Perhaps you wouldn’t think it, but Annie offered to pay me for doing it.

A. (_with mock indignation_). Why, Franklin Forrester!

F. Didn’t you offer me a penny for my thoughts? And haven’t I been thinking of this very thing for the last three months? (_Turning to MRS. L._) But I indignantly refused to receive the money.

MRS. L. (_benignantly_). Don’t be foolish, children. Come out now—supper is ready.

(_Exit, MRS. L., R._)

F. (_gently detaining ANNIE, who is about to follow her aunt_).—Wait a moment, Annie, I have a disclosure to make. My name is not Frank Forrester, but Franklin Webster.

A. What! Benjamin Franklin Webster, who lives on Marlborough street?

F. Yes.

A. Then you are the Mr. Webster that I have heard Edwin Aldrich speak of.

F. (_surprised_). Are you acquainted with him?

A. Oh, yes, he’s my cousin.

F. Your cousin? The young reprobate! Excuse me, but he was the very person who suggested the idea of my coming here. I believe he planned the whole affair.

A. I think you are mistaken there; for Uncle William had no thought of hiring another person till he saw your advertisement.

F. Well, of course Ed knew about it when he saw Mr. Leighton’s letter in reply to the advertisement. But, as I was saying, I had the misfortune to lose my parents when quite young, and thereby became heir to a large amount of property. As I grew up to manhood, my society was sought after by all the marriageable young ladies and managing mammas. I determined to find someone who would love me for myself alone; so I came out here, and found my wishes realized. Can you forgive me, Annie?

A. What! for coming out here, and wishing to marry me? Yes, I’ll try to. But (_archly_) I, too, have a confession to make. I also am possessed of property, and came out here to Uncle William for the self-same reason that you did. But I didn’t change my name. I lived on the street beyond you, in the city. But it seems we were obliged to go a hundred miles from home to become acquainted.

(_EDWIN enters R., FRANK and ANNIE start up in surprise._)

EDWIN. Look here, supper’s been ready this half hour, and the biscuits are nearly cold already.

A. (_interrupting_). Why, Cousin Ed, when did you arrive?

F. Look here, you villain! You planned this affair!

E. (_striking an attitude and speaking in a melancholy tone_). He calls me a villain for being the means of making him happy. Annie, if I were you, I’d release him from the engagement at once.

A. (_smiling_). Come, Edwin, you haven’t told me when you arrived.

E. I have been here two hours.

F. (_in a comico-threatening manner_). Tell me, sir, did you not plan this whole affair?

E. (_more seriously_). No, I knew nothing of it till I read the letter in reply to the advertisement. I then recognized the handwriting, and in that way discovered that Annie was stopping here. I felt sure that you would be pleased with one another, and would both pass a pleasant summer, if nothing more came of it. Yesterday was the first day of my vacation, and I thought it time to be looking after you. But aunt tells me you are engaged.

F. Yes, and I feel amply repaid for coming so far, and for working three months on a farm, in order to secure a wife to my mind. If any of my friends in the city are troubled in the same way that I was, I shall recommend to them to try my remedy, trusting it may produce the same gratifying results.

E. And in that way I suppose they may expect to get a good knowledge of “_Practical Husbandry_.”

(_All three bow, and Curtain falls._)

MR. SMITH’S DAY AT HOME.

CHARACTERS.

MR. SMITH.
MRS. SMITH.
WILLIE (_five years old_).
MRS. ASHTON.
MISS ASHTON.
BRIDGET.

SCENE I.—_MRS. SMITH’S parlor. Table in centre of the room.
MRS. SMITH is engaged in reading a letter. Her husband, L., is
looking over the evening paper. He lays it down._

MR. SMITH. Well, Mrs. Smith, what is the news? You look as sober as if you had lost all your friends.

MRS. SMITH. It is a serious matter. This letter informs me that my sister Sarah is sick, and it is doubtful if she recovers. I ought to go and see her, but I am afraid I shall not be able to do so.

MR. S. Why, what is the difficulty? I see nothing to prevent your going. I’m sure you haven’t much to do. There are only three of us in the family, and Bridget does all the work.

MRS. S. Yes, Bridget will do very well, if there’s some one to look after her. But she isn’t one to be depended upon. I shouldn’t dare to leave Willie with her.

MR. S. I think she would get along well enough.

MRS. S. I shouldn’t be willing to go under any such circumstances.

MR. S. Would you be any better satisfied if I should stay at home and look after things?

MRS. S. Oh, yes, certainly. But could you leave the office for a whole day?

MR. S. I think so.

MRS. S. Well, then, I will go on the first train to-morrow morning.

MR. S. You needn’t hurry back. We shall get along famously, I am sure; so you’d better stay till the late train, if you have the least desire to.

MRS. S. I should like to do so. That would give me a nice long day there.

MR. S. (_rising_). If you take the first train we must be up betimes. What time do the cars leave here?

MRS. S. At eight o’clock, I believe.

MR. S. I will go now and write a note to Mr. Ferguson, saying I shall not be at the office to-morrow.

(_Exit._)

MRS. S. (_sola_). This is a good chance for me. I want very much to see Sarah. And then Mr. Smith is constantly telling me that I can’t have much to do. It will be a good thing for him to have a little experience in house-keeping. I think one day’s trial will be sufficient to satisfy him.

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE II. _Dining-room at MR. SMITH’S._

BRIDGET, R. C. (_washing dishes_). An’ what’s Misther Smith at home to-day for, I wonder? Didn’t the missis think she left me enough to do, widout havin’ him round? I was goin’ to invite Ann Malony to come and pass the afthernoon and take tay wid me; but how can I do it wid him spyin’ round?

(_Enter MR. SMITH, L._)

MR. S. Well, Bridget, we are left to keep house all alone to-day.

B. (_sullenly_). Yis, sir.

MR. S. What did Mrs. Smith say we were to have for dinner?

B. Cold roast beef and rice puddin’; an’ I was to make some hot biskit.

MR. S. It won’t take very long to do that, will it?

B. (_hoping for leave of absence after dinner_). No, sir, I could do that much in an hour.

MR. S. Well, Bridget, Mrs. Smith is to be away all day, and I thought we’d clean the kitchen closet while she’s gone, and so surprise her when she comes home.

B. An’ d’ye think I’ll begin a big job like that while she’s away? She always helps me at cleanin’-house time.

MR. S. Oh, well, I’ll help you. I’ll take down the dishes, and you can wash and wipe them, and wash out the closet. Then I’ll help you put them back again.

B. Axin’ yer pardon, sir, I can’t do it.

MR. S. What! do you refuse to obey orders? (_Sarcastically._) I suppose you’ll expect to receive your wages just the same.

B. Av coorse I shall. I never refuses to do anything the _missis_ requires, but I aint goin’ to be ordered round _by a man_.

MR. S. If you’re not willing to do what I tell you, the sooner you find another place, the better.

B. (_angrily_). I’m goin’ to lave the house this blessed minnit, so I am. It’s Bridget McFinnigan that won’t be imposed upon by the likes uv you, or any other man! (_She takes off her apron hastily, throws it over a chair, and leaves the room, R., full of indignation._)

MR. S. Well, I’m afraid I’ve got myself into trouble. I’d better have waited till after dinner before speaking about cleaning. But, as it seems I’ve got to do what I can, alone, I might as well finish washing the breakfast dishes. (_Takes BRIDGET’S apron, and ties it on loosely. He begins to wipe a plate, but it falls from his hands and is broken._) There goes a plate. I must go and throw it into the stove, or Mrs. Smith will be twitting me about breaking things. (_Goes to the next room, R., where a stove is supposed to be, and leaves the broken plate. Returns and commences washing dishes again._) After all, there isn’t much work about keeping house. It’s astonishing how these women can employ all their time! Perhaps it is better that Bridget left me as she did to-day, as now I can show Mrs. Smith how easily housework may be disposed of.

WILLIE (_enters, L., with torn clothes, and rubbing his eyes with his hands_). Ur-r-r-r, ur-r-r-r, (_louder_) ur-r-r-r!

MR. S. What’s the matter? What’s the matter?

W. (_crying_). Sammy Snow set his dog on to me, and hurt me. Ur-r-r-r!

MR. S. Well, be a brave boy, and don’t cry.

W. (_crying_). Give me some raisins, and I won’t.

MR. S. I don’t know where mamma keeps them.

W. I do; it’s in the kitchen closet.

MR. S. Does mamma give them to you?

W. Sometimes, and sometimes I get them myself.

MR. S. Well, you can get a _very few_. Raisins are not good for little boys.

W. (_aside_). I guess I’ll have enough raisins this time. (_Goes out, R._)

MR. S. I ought to finish washing the dishes, but perhaps I’d better see about dinner, first. Let me see. We were to have rice pudding. I haven’t time to make an elaborate pudding. I think I’ll just boil some rice. That is always good.

(_He goes toward the table, but steps on his apron and falls. He reaches forward to take hold of the table, but, instead, grasps the paper of rice, and both go on to the floor, the rice scattering in all directions. He gets up, rubbing his bruised arm, and looks ruefully at the scene before him; just then WILLIE comes in crying._)

W. There aint any raisins there, ur-r-r! Papa, what was I crying for, ur-r-r!

MR. S. (_coaxing him_). Don’t cry, Willie, but come and help papa pick up this rice, and you shall have an orange when I go to the store.

W. I want it now.

MR. S. I haven’t got one now; but here’s an apple, and I’ll give you an orange this afternoon. (_WILLIE takes the apple. They gather up some of the rice, leaving the greater part of it on the floor._) I wonder how much of this I ought to boil. There are only two of us. I think a quart will be enough. (_Measures it._) I don’t know but it ought to be picked over. (_Looks at watch._) No, I shan’t have time. Of course it’s clean enough; the floor is swept every day. (_Goes out, R., with rice; returns._) The next thing is biscuit. That’s an easy matter. I have only to mix flour and water together, and put it into the oven. (_Pours flour into a pan, and adds water._) I believe it is customary to knead it well with the hands. (_Puts his hands in, and stirs ingredients together. At that moment a ring is heard at the door._) I declare if that isn’t the door-bell. But I shan’t answer it,—not if they ring a dozen times.

W. (_who has peeped out of the window, L._) Papa, it’s the Ashtons! (_An aristocratic family who have never before called on the SMITHS._)

MR. S. Is it? (_Thinks for a moment; the bell rings again._) Willie, can’t you go to the door, and show the ladies into the parlor? Then come out here, and I will go in and see them. Stop a moment, your face isn’t clean. (_The bell rings again._) No matter; come here and wipe it on my apron. Now go, like a good boy.

(_WILLIE goes to answer the bell, but, being a little confused, shows the visitors into the dining-room, L. MRS. and MISS ASHTON look around the room and exchange significant glances._)

MR. S. (_discomposed, takes his hands out of the dough, and wipes them on his apron_). Willie, why did you bring the ladies into this room? I beg your pardon, ladies; won’t you go into the parlor? I will be in directly.

MRS. A. (_superciliously_). Thank you; but we called to see Mrs. Smith. Is she at home?

MR. S. No, she is not. Her sister is dangerously ill, and has sent for her. She will be at home this evening.

MRS. A. Then we will call again (_significantly_), at a more auspicious time.

MR. S. I trust you will excuse my appearance. Soon after Mrs. Smith was gone, the servant left me and—

MRS. A. Ah, yes! I understand—Good morning! (_Aside to her daughter._) What a low family! I shall not think of calling again.

(_Exeunt, L._)

MR. S. (_provoked_). Why didn’t you take those ladies into the parlor, as I told you, Willie?

WILLIE (_terrified_). I didn’t mean to, papa. Don’t scold. I won’t do so again.

MR. S. Well, see that you don’t. (_Soliloquizes._) I wonder if I ought to put this bread in another pan before baking. I guess, however, this one will do just as well. I’ve got dishes enough to wash already. I must put this bread into the oven, and look after the rice. It is fortunate we have some cold meat for dinner, as I haven’t time to cook any. (_Goes out with bread; returns._) I must pile up those dishes and set the table for dinner. Then I can wash all the dishes at once. Who would think that that rice would have swelled so? There is nearly a peck of it already, and it is still rising. Half a cup full would have been enough. But, no matter, we shan’t have to cook any again very soon. I declare I must go and see to the bread; it must be done by this time. (_Goes out; returns, and finishes setting the table._) The bread is all done. It didn’t rise much, and, somehow, I can’t get it out of the pan, but it seems to have baked well. Perhaps I ought to have buttered the pan. (_Suddenly._) There, I forgot to boil some potatoes. Well, it can’t be helped. At all events, we’ve got plenty of rice, and that must take its place.

(_Exit, R._)

(_He brings in a small dish of meat, the pan of bread, and afterwards an enormous soup tureen heaped up with boiled rice. The tureen may be nearly filled up with any other substance, and the rice placed on top, causing an observer to think it is entirely filled with rice._)

MR. S. (_goes to the door, L., and calls_). Willie! Willie! dinner is ready.

W. (_entering_). I’m as hungry as a bear.

MR. S. Well, we’ve got plenty to eat. (_Helps him to meat and rice._)

W. Isn’t there any potatoes?

MR. S. No, but here’s some bread. (_Tries to cut the bread, but does not succeed. At that moment the door opens, and MRS. SMITH walks in, L. She glances at the table, and bursts into a laugh._)

MRS. S. What _have_ you got for dinner, Mr. Smith? I think you must be fond of rice!

MR. S. (_rising_). Don’t say a word, my dear, don’t say a word! I’ve had trials enough this morning to drive a man crazy. Say anything you please about the drudgery of housework, and I will agree with you. I’ve had an experience this forenoon which I shall not forget in a lifetime!

MRS. S. If it causes you to be more considerate in future, I shall not regret having left you. I think you must have done something, judging from the appearance of the room. (_Looks around._)

MR. S. And I suppose you think the prospect is, that there is still something left to do. But as you have got home so early, I think I’ll go down to the office a while. I have a slight headache, and think a change of scene would benefit me.

(_Exit, L._)

W. (_rushing to door_). Don’t forget my orange, papa.

(_Curtain falls._)

THE COUNTRY COUSIN.

CHARACTERS.

MRS. ATHERTON, Eunice’s Aunt.
BLANCHE, Mrs. A.’s Daughter.
EUNICE HAYNES, The Country Cousin.
MR. WARNER, A Visitor.
A SERVANT, GUESTS, ETC.

SCENE I.—_MRS. ATHERTON’S drawing-room. BLANCHE, L., and her
mother, R., present._

MRS. ATHERTON. Did you hear your father say we were to expect a visitor to-day?

BLANCHE (_surprised_). No, I heard nothing of it. Who is it?

MRS. A. The daughter of his only sister, who married a farmer in the little village of Donnellsville.

B. Do you know anything of her?

MRS. A. No. They live at such a distance, that there has been but little communication between the two families. Your father met Mr. Haynes in the city a few days ago, and invited him to send his daughter here for a visit. This letter, which he has just received, announces that she will be here to-day.

B. Do you know her name?

MRS. A. Eunice Haynes.

B. What a wretchedly countrified name! And how unfortunate that she should come just at this time. Next week, you know, we are to have our party, and of course she will have to be present. I have no doubt she is a country gawky, whose conversation will be mostly of “aour caows,” and how much butter and cheese we make.

MRS. A. No doubt. I wonder that your father should have invited her here until some of us had seen her.

B. As to that, I don’t know how we should ever see her unless she came here. It will be bad enough to receive a visit from her, but it would be still worse for us to visit them. I have no doubt they are genuine rustics, who keep no servants, talk bad grammar, and take their meals in the kitchen.

MRS. A. Very likely.

B. And then I suppose her dresses will all be calico or gingham, having all the colors of the rainbow. No doubt she will select the gayest of them all for the party. How disgusted I am at the thought of this visit! I wish it were well over.

MRS. A. So do I. But couldn’t you pass her off as Isabel’s governess?

B. No, that wouldn’t do at all. In fact, she probably couldn’t sustain that character. Besides, papa has such strange, out-of-the-way notions on such points, that I fear he would be angry if such a thing were attempted.

MRS. A. Perhaps, after all, it may not be as bad as you think, Blanche. We will wait patiently, and not judge her till she arrives.

B. And, by the way, you promised to go out with me to select a dress for the party. We ought to go now, I think. Otherwise we shall be obliged to invite _our cousin_ (_with emphasis_) to go with us.

(_Exeunt, R. Curtain falls._)

SCENE II.—_The curtain rising shows two chambers formed by
a curtain extending from front to back of stage, it being
necessary that both should be seen at once. SERVANT ushers
EUNICE, who has just arrived, into R., one of them._

SERVANT. This is the room you are to have, miss. Mrs. Atherton and Miss Blanche have gone out, but will be in soon.

EUNICE. Very well. (_Exeunt SERVANT, R. EUNICE takes off bonnet and shawl, and lays them on the table. Afterward takes up a book, sits down, and begins to read._)

(_MRS. B. and BLANCHE enter the other chamber, L., and lay aside their outer garments._)

B. I wonder when our rustic friend will arrive? (_EUNICE looks and listens attentively._) I am quite curious to see her. I suppose she will begin by giving me an account of all the household matters in particular, and the farm-work in general. I can imagine her dressed in a rainbow-colored costume, making a deep courtesy to you, and giving a nod of recognition to your humble servant. I dare say before night she will tell me confidentially all about the country swain whom she most favors.

MRS. A. Why, Blanche, how you do run on! Don’t, I beg of you, make her appear any more ridiculous than she naturally is. And, above all things else, pray don’t introduce the subject of cows.

B. I’m sure I don’t see any harm in drawing her out. It will be so amusing. I will invite her to go shopping with me to-morrow, just to see how she will stare in the windows. There will be a slight contrast between our large and fashionable stores and the one little variety store in her native village, where they sell everything from a peck of potatoes to a silk dress.

MRS. A. I should be too much mortified to do so. But she may have arrived already. Let us go down and see.

(_Exeunt._)

E. (_astonished and amused_). Is it possible that my aunt and cousin expect to find me so countrified? It would be cruel in me to disappoint their expectations. I have always been considered quite good at imitation, and I have a great mind to personate, for a little while, the character of a backwood’s maiden—for my amusement as well us theirs. I must practise a little, first, in order to carry it out well. (_Goes to mirror and makes a low courtesy._) Why, haow d’ye do, Aunt Tildy? I’m proper glad to see ye. And haow d’ye do, Blanche? I’m dreadful tickled to meet ye. (_Turns round smiling._) I wonder how it would do to give her what Charlie calls a “Down East hug.” They would be fairly horrified, I think. But I will be governed by circumstances, and go down to meet them without further delay.

(_Goes out, R. Curtain falls._)

SCENE III.—_MRS A.’S drawing-room. EUNICE enters, R._

E. (_looking round_). What! are they not here yet? I supposed they were coming directly downstairs. However, I will sit down and await their coming. Ah! there they are now.

(_MRS. A. and BLANCHE enter, L._)

MRS. A. (_coming forward_). I didn’t know you had arrived, Eunice. I have just returned from—

E. (_interrupting her by advancing and throwing her arms around her neck_). Why, haow d’ye do, Aunt Tildy? I’m proper glad to see ye. (_MRS. A. withdraws from the embrace with a disgusted expression of countenance, and smooths down her collar, which was disarranged by it. E. advances to BLANCHE, who, fearing a like salutation, takes a step backward, and holds out the tips of her fingers to her cousin. E. grasps them vigorously, and, stepping forward, bestows a loud kiss upon her cousin’s cheek. BLANCHE, with a slight frown, takes her handkerchief and wipes it off._) How d’ye do, Cousin Blanche? I’m dreadful tickled to meet ye.

B. (_smiling_). And I am glad to make your acquaintance, Eunice. When did you leave home?

E. Day before yesterday.

MRS. A. You must be quite fatigued (_E. stares_)—tired, perhaps I should say—with your journey.

E. No; I aint tired a mite.

B. Were you ever in the city before?

E. I guess not. I don’t remember it if I was. It looks queer enough to see the houses crowded so thick together. And I haven’t seen a barn since I came. I suppose, though, they’re all in back of the houses; but then I don’t see how folks get their caows in and out. I s’pose they pastur’ ’em on the common.

B. Oh, no, they wouldn’t be allowed in any of the parks. It is too thickly settled here for any one to keep cows.

E. You don’t mean to say that you have to buy all your butter! It must cost a sight. Why, if I’d a’ known it, I’d have brought you a mess. We churned the day before I came away, and the butter came tip-top.

(_MRS. A. quietly leaves the room, R._)

E. (_noticing her aunt’s exit_). I s’pose your mother’s gone out to get tea. If you want to help her, don’t let me hinder you. And if there’s anything that I can do, jest let me know, for I’d just as lieves help as not.

B. Thank you, but there’s no need. We leave that for the servants.

E. How many helps do you keep?

B. There are four, I believe.

E. And how many have you in family?

B. (_smiling_). Four persons.

E. (_in assumed amazement_). Well, that beats all that ever I heard. What do they all do?

B. We have a cook, housemaid, chambermaid, and seamstress, and they all seem to find enough to occupy their time.

(_Bell rings._)

E. What’s that bell for?

B. (_rising_). That is to call us to dinner.

E. (_rising_). What, dinner at six o’clock! At home we have dinner at twelve, and supper at five. And you ought to see our bell! Why, you can hear it most half a mile. We have it to call the men from the field to their meals.

(_Exeunt, R. Curtain falls._)

SCENE IV.—_MRS. A.’S drawing-room. BLANCHE, R., and her mother,
L., engaged in crocheting or other fancy work._