Appearance of the Greatest Dramatic Company
on Earth (fact).

The Coolest Theatre in the World.

A Royal Galaxy and Boyaxy of Artists in the play of
AS YOU LIKE IT,
By William Shakespeare, or Lord Bacon.

Cast.

“Alas! unmindful of their doom, the little victims play;
No sense have they of ills to come, or cares beyond to-day.”

The Comb Orchestra will play the Music of the Future.

The Usher will pass pop-corn between the Acts. Beds may be ordered at 10.30.

The scene between Adam and Orlando went off with good effect; and when Celia and Rosalind came through the trees in an affectionate attitude, and Celia’s blithe voice broke the stillness with, “I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry,” there was a hearty burst of applause which almost frightened them into silence.

At the end of the first act everybody was delighted; the stage-manager, carpenter, scene-shifter, costumier, and all the stars were called successively before the curtain.

Hop Yet declared it was “all the same good as China theatre”; and every one agreed to that criticism without a dissenting voice.

To be sure, there was an utter absence of stage-management, and all the “traditions” were remarkable for their absence; but I fancy that the spirits of Siddons and Kemble, Macready and Garrick, looked down with kind approval upon these earnest young actors as they recited the matchless old words, moving to and fro in the quaint setting of trees and moonlight, with an orchestra of cooing doves and murmuring zephyrs.

The forest scenes were intended to be the features of the evening, and in these the young people fairly surpassed themselves. Any one who had seen Neilson in her doublet and hose of silver-grey, Modjeska in her shades of blue, and Ada Cavendish in her lovely suit of green, might have thought Bell’s patched-up dress a sorry mixture; yet these three brilliant stars in the theatrical firmament might have envied this little Rosalind the dewy youth and freshness that so triumphed over all deficiencies of costume.

Margery’s camping-dress of grey, shortened to the knee, served for its basis. Round the skirt and belt and sleeves were broad bands of laurel-leaf trimming. She wore a pair of Margery’s long grey stockings and Laura’s dainty bronze Newport ties. A soft grey chudda shawl of Aunt Truth’s was folded into a mantle to swing from the shoulder, its fringes being caught up out of sight, and a laurel-leaf trimming added. On her bright wavy hair was perched a cunning flat cap of leaves, and, as she entered with Polly, leaning on her manzanita staff, and sighing, “Oh Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!” one could not wish a lovelier stage picture.

And so the play went on, with varying fortunes. Margery was frightened to death, and persisted in taking Touchstone’s speeches right out of his mouth, much to his discomfiture. Adam’s beard refused to stay on; so did the moustache of the Banished Duke, and the clothes of Sylvius. But nothing could dampen the dramatic fire of the players, nor destroy the enthusiasm of the sympathetic audience.

Dicky sat in the dress-circle, wrapped in blankets, and laughed himself nearly into convulsions over Touchstone’s jokes, and the stage business of the Banished Duke; for it is unnecessary to state that Jack was not strictly Shakespearean in his treatment of the part.

As for Polly, she enjoyed being Celia with all her might, and declared her intention of going immediately on the “regular” stage; but Jack somewhat destroyed her hopes by affirming that her nose and hair wouldn’t be just the thing on the metropolitan boards, although they might pass muster in a backwoods theatre.

“Hello! What’s this?” exclaimed Philip, one morning. “A visitor? Yes—no! Why, it’s Señor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega coming up the cañon! He’s got a loaded team, too! I wonder if Uncle Doc is expecting anything.”

The swarthy gentleman with the long name emerged from one cloud of dust and disappeared in another, until he neared the gate where Philip and Polly were standing.

Philip opened the gate, and received a bow of thanks which would have made Manuel’s reputation at a Spanish court.

“Going up to camp?”

“Si, señor.”

“Those things for us?”

“Si, señor.”

“What are they?”

“Si, señor.”

“Exactly! Well, are there any letters?”

“Si, señor.” Whereupon he drew one from his gorgeously-decorated leather belt.

Philip reached for it, and Polly leaned over his shoulder, devoured with curiosity.

“It’s for Aunt Truth,” she said; “and—yes, I am sure it is Mrs. Howard’s writing; and if it is—”

Hereupon, as Manuel spoke no English, and neither Philip nor Polly could make inquiries in Spanish, Polly darted to the cart in her usual meteoric style, put one foot on the hub of a wheel and climbed to the top like a squirrel, snatched off a corner of the canvas cover, and cried triumphantly, “I knew it! Elsie is coming! Here’s a tent, and some mattresses and pillows. Hurry! Help me down, quick! Oh, slow-coach! Keep out of the way and I’ll jump! Give me the letter. I can run faster than you can.” And before the vestige of an idea had penetrated Philip’s head, nothing could be seen of Polly but a pair of twinkling heels and the gleam of a curly head that caught every ray of the sun and turned it into ruddier gold.

It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth.

It was responded to promptly. Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of her tent prepared to receive tragic news. Bell followed; and the entire family would have done the same had they been in camp.

Polly thrust the letter into Mrs. Winship’s hand, and sank down exhausted, exclaiming, breathlessly, “There’s a mattress—and a tent—coming up the cañon. It’s Elsie’s, I know. Philip is down at the gate—with the cart—but I came ahead. Phew! but it’s warm!”

“What!” cried Bell, joyfully. “Elsie at the gate! It can’t be true!” And she darted like an arrow through the trees.

“Come back! come back!” screamed Polly.

“Elsie is not at the gate. Don S. D. M. F. H. N. is there with a team loaded down with things. Isn’t it from Mrs. Howard, Aunt Truth?”

“Yes, it is. Written this morning from Tacitas Rancho. Why, how is this? Let me see!”

Tacitas Rancho, Monday morning.

Dear Truth,—You will be surprised to receive a letter from me, written from Tacitas. But here we are, Elsie and I; and, what is better, we are on our way to you.

(“I knew it!” exclaimed the girls.)

Elsie has been growing steadily better for three weeks. The fever seems to have disappeared entirely, and the troublesome cough is so much lessened that she sleeps all night without waking. The doctor says that the camp-life will be the very best thing for her now, and will probably complete her recovery.

(“Oh, joy, joy!” cried the girls.)

I need not say how gladly we followed this special prescription of our kind doctor’s, nor add that we started at once.

(“Oh, Aunt Truth, there is nobody within a mile of the camp; can’t I, please can’t I turn one little hand-spring, just one little lady-like one?” pleaded Polly, dancing on one foot and chewing her sun-bonnet string.

“No, dear, you can’t! Keep quiet and let me read.”)

Elsie would not let me tell you our plans any sooner, lest the old story of a sudden ill turn would keep us at home; and I think very likely that she longed to give the dear boys and girls a surprise.

We arrived at the Burtons’ yesterday. Elsie bore the journey exceedingly well, but I would not take any risks, and so we shall not drive over until day after to-morrow morning.

(“You needn’t have hurried quite so fast, Polly dear.”)

I venture to send the tent and its belongings ahead to-day, so that Jack may get everything to rights before we arrive.

The mattress is just the size the girls ordered; and of course I’ve told Elsie nothing about the proposed furnishing of her tent.

I am bringing my little China boy with me, for I happen to think that, with the Burtons, we shall be fourteen at table. Gin is not quite a success as a cook, but he can at least wash dishes, wait at table, and help Hop Yet in various ways; while I shall be only too glad to share all your housekeeping cares, if you have not escaped them even in the wilderness.

I shall be so glad to see you again; and oh, Truth, I am so happy, so happy, that, please God, I can keep my child after all! The weary burden of dread is lifted off my heart, and I feel young again. Just think of it! My Elsie will be well and strong once more! It seems too good to be true.

Always your attached friend,

Janet Howard.

Mrs. Winship’s voice quivered as she read the last few words, and Polly and Bell threw themselves into each other’s arms and cried for sheer gladness.

“Come, come, dears! I suppose you will make grand preparations, and there is no time to lose. One of you must find somebody to help Philip unload the team. Papa and the boys have gone fishing, and Laura and Margery went with them, I think.” And Mrs. Winship bustled about, literally on hospitable thoughts in-tent.

Polly tied on her sun-bonnet with determination, turned up her sleeves as if washing were the thing to be done, and placed her arms akimbo.

“First and foremost,” said she, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “first and foremost, I am going to blow the horn.”

“Certainly not,” said Aunt Truth. “Are you crazy, Polly? It is scarcely ten o’clock, and everybody would think it was dinnertime, and come home at once.”

“No, they’d think something had happened to Dicky,” said Bell, “and that would bring them in still sooner.”

“Of course! I forgot. But can’t I blow it earlier than usual? Can’t I blow it at half-past eleven instead of twelve? We can’t do a thing without the boys, and they may not come home until midnight unless we do something desperate. Oh, delight! There’s Don S. D. M. F. H. N., and Phil has found Pancho to help unload.”

“Isn’t it lucky that we decided on the place for Elsie’s tent, and saved it in case she should ever come?” said Bell. “Now Philip and Pancho can set it up whenever they choose. And isn’t it fortunate that we three stayed at home to-day, and refused to fish? now we can plan everything, and then all work together when they come back.”

Meanwhile Polly was tugging at an immense bundle, literally tooth and nail, as she alternated trembling clutches of the fingers with frantic bites at the offending knot.

Like many of her performances, the physical strength expended was out of all proportion to the result produced, and one stroke of Philip’s knife accomplished more than all her ill-directed effort. At length the bundle of awning cloth stood revealed. “Oh, isn’t it beautiful?” she cried, “it will be the very prettiest tent in camp; can’t I blow the horn?”

“Look, mamma,” exclaimed Bell, “it is green and grey, in those pretty broken stripes, and the edge is cut in lovely scollops and bound with green braid. Won’t it look pretty among the trees?”

Aunt Truth came out to join the admiring group.

“O-o-o-h!” screamed Polly. “There comes a piece of the floor. They’ve sent it all made, in three pieces. What fun! We’ll have it all up and ready to sleep in before we blow the horn!”

“And here’s a roll of straw matting,” said Phil, depositing a huge bundle on the ground near the girls. “I’ll cut the rope to save your teeth!”

“Green and white plaid!” exclaimed Bell. “Well! Mrs. Howard did have her wits about her!”

“Oh, do let me blow the horn!” teased the irrepressible Polly.

“Here are a looking-glass and a towel-rack and a Shaker rocking-chair,” called Philip; “guess they’re going to stay the rest of the summer.”

“Yes, of course they wouldn’t want a looking-glass if they were only going to stay a month or two,” laughed Bell.

“Dear Aunt Truth, if you won’t let me turn a single decorous little hand-spring, or blow the horn, or do anything nice, will you let us use all that new white mosquito-netting? Bell says that it has been in the storehouse for two years, and it would be just the thing for decorating Elsie’s tent.”

“Why, of course you may have it, Polly, and anything else that you can find. There! I hear Dicky’s voice in the distance; perhaps the girls are coming.”

Bell and Polly darted through the swarm of tents, and looked up the narrow path that led to the brook.

Sure enough, Margery and Laura were strolling towards home with little Anne and Dick dangling behind, after the manner of children. Margery carried a small string of trout, and Dick the inevitable tin pail in which he always kept an unfortunate frog or two. The girls had discovered that he was in the habit of crowding the cover tightly over the pail and keeping his victims shut up for twenty-four hours, after which, he said, they were nice and tame—so very tame, as it transpired, that they generally gave up the ghost in a few hours after their release. Margery had with difficulty persuaded him of his cruelty, and the cover had been pierced with a certain number of air-holes.

“Guess the loveliest thing that could possibly happen!” called Bell at the top of her voice.

“Elsie has come,” answered Margery in a second, nobody knew why; “let me hug her this minute!”

“With those fish?” laughed Polly. “No! you’ll have to wait until day after to-morrow, and then your guess will be right. Isn’t it almost too good to be true?”

“And she is almost well,” added Bell, joyfully, slipping her arm through Margery’s and squeezing it in sheer delight. “Mrs. Howard says she is really and truly better. Oh, if Elsie Howard in bed is the loveliest, dearest thing in the world, what will it be like to have her out of it and with us in all our good times!”

“Has she always been ill since you knew her?” asked Laura.

“Yes; a terrible cold left her with weakness of the lungs, and the doctors feared consumption, but thought that she might possibly outgrow it entirely if she lived in a milder climate; so Mrs. Howard left home and everybody she cared for, and brought Elsie to Santa Barbara. Papa has taken an interest in her from the first, and as far as we girls are concerned, it was love at first sight. You never knew anybody like Elsie!”

“Is she pretty?”

“Pretty!” cried Polly, “she is like an angel in a picture-book!”

“Interesting?”

“Interesting!” said Bell, in a tone that showed the word to be too feeble for the subject; “Elsie is more interesting than all the other girls in the other world put together!”

“Popular?”

“Popular!” exclaimed Margery, taking her turn in the oral examination, “I don’t know whether anybody can be popular who is always in bed; but if it’s popular to be adored by every man, woman, child, and animal that comes anywhere near her, why then Elsie is popular.”

“And is she a favourite with boys as well as girls?”

“Favourite!” said Bell. “Why, they think that she is simply perfect! Of course she has scarcely been able to sit up a week at a time for a year, and naturally she has not seen many people; but, if you want a boy’s opinion, just ask Philip or Geoffrey. I assure you, Laura, after you have known Elsie a while, and have seen the impression she makes upon everybody, you will want to go to bed and see if you can do likewise.”

“It isn’t just the going to bed,” remarked Margery, sagely.

“And it isn’t the prettiness either,” added Polly; “though if you saw Elsie asleep, a flower in one hand, the other under her cheek, her hair straying over the pillow (O for hair that would stray anywhere!), you would expect every moment to see a halo above her head.”

“I don’t believe it is because she is good that everybody admires her so,” said Laura, “I don’t think goodness in itself is always so very interesting; if Elsie had freckles and a snub nose”—(“Don’t mind me!” murmured Polly)—“you would find that people would say less about her wonderful character.”

“There are things that puzzle me,” said Polly, thoughtfully. “It seems to me that if I could contrive to be ever so good, nobody ever would look for a halo round my head. Now, is it my turned-up nose and red hair that make me what I am, or did what I am make my nose and hair what they are—which?”

“We’ll have to ask Aunt Truth,” said Margery; “that is too difficult a thing for us to answer.”

“Wasn’t it nice I catched that big bull-frog, Margie?” cried Dick, his eyes shining with anticipation. “Now I’ll have as many as seven or ’leven frogs and lots of horned toads when Elsie comes, and she can help me play with ’em.”

When the girls reached the tents again, the last article had been taken from the team and Manuel had driven away. The sound of Phil’s hammer could be heard from the carpenter-shop, and Pancho was already laying the tent floor in a small, open, sunny place, where the low boughs of a single sycamore hung so as to protect one of its corners, leaving the rest to the full warmth of the sunshine that was to make Elsie entirely well again.

“I am tired to death,” sighed Laura, throwing herself down in a bamboo lounging-chair. “Such a tramp as we had! and after all, the boys insisted on going where Dr. Winship wouldn’t allow us to follow, so that we had to stay behind and fish with the children; I wish I had stayed at home and read The Colonel’s Daughter.”

“Oh, Laura!” remonstrated Margery, “think of that lovely pool with the forests of maiden-hair growing all about it!”

“And poison-oak,” grumbled Laura. “I know I walked into some of it and shall look like a perfect fright for a week. I shall never make a country girl—it’s no use for me to try.”

“It’s no use for you to try walking four miles in high-heeled shoes, my dear,” said Polly, bluntly.

“They are not high,” retorted Laura, “and if they are, I don’t care to look like a—a—cow-boy, even in the backwoods.”

“I’m an awful example,” sighed Polly, seating herself on a stump in front of the tent, and elevating a very dusty little common-sense boot. “Sir Walter Raleigh would never have allowed me to walk on his velvet cloak with that boot, would he, girls? Oh, wasn’t that romantic, though? and don’t I wish that I had been Queen Elizabeth!”

“You’ve got the hair,” said Laura.

“Thank you! I had forgotten Elizabeth’s hair was red; so it was. This is my court train,” snatching a tablecloth that hung on a bush near by, and pinning it to her waist in the twinkling of an eye,—“this my farthingale,” dangling her sun-bonnet from her belt,—“this my sceptre,” seizing a Japanese umbrella,—“this my crown,” inverting a bright tin plate upon her curly head. “She is just alighting from her chariot, thus; the courtiers turn pale, thus; (why don’t you do it?) what shall be done? The Royal Feet must not be wet. ‘Go round the puddle? Prit, me Lud, ’Od’s body! Forsooth! Certainly not! Remove the puddle!’ she says haughtily to her subjects. They are just about to do so, when out from behind a neighbouring chaparral bush stalks a beautiful young prince with coal-black hair and rose-red cheeks. He wears a rich velvet cloak, glittering with embroidery. He sees not her crown, her hair outshines it; he sees not her sceptre, her tiny hand conceals it; he sees naught save the loathly mud. He strips off his cloak and floats it on the puddle. With a haughty but gracious bend of her head the Queen accepts the courtesy; crosses the puddle, thus, waves her sceptre, thus, and saying, ‘You shall hear from me by return mail, me Lud,’ she vanishes within the castle. The next morning she makes Sir Walter British Minister to Florida. He departs at once with a cargo of tobacco, which he exchanges for sweet potatoes, and everybody is happy ever after.”

The girls were convulsed with mirth at this historical romance, and, as Mrs. Winship wiped the tears of merriment from her eyes, Polly seized the golden opportunity and dropped on her knees beside her.

“Please, Aunt Truth, we can’t get the white mosquito-netting because Dr. Winship has the key of the storehouse in his pocket, and so—may—I—blow the horn?”

Mrs. Winship gave her consent in despair, and Polly went to the oak-tree where the horn hung and blew all the strength of her lungs into blast after blast for five minutes.

“That’s all I needed,” she said, on returning; “that was an escape-valve, and I shall be lady-like and well-behaved the rest of the day.”

CHAPTER VI
QUEEN ELSIE VISITS THE COURT

Long before the boys appeared in sight, their voices rang through the cañon in a chorus that woke the echoes, and presently they came into view, bearing two quarters and a saddle of freshly killed mutton, hanging from a leafy branch swung between Jack’s sturdy shoulder and Geoff’s.

“A splendid ‘still hunt’ this morning, Aunt Truth!” exclaimed Jack. “Game plenty and not too shy, dogs in prime condition, hunters ditto. Behold the result!”

The girls could scarcely tell whether or no Laura was offended at Aunt Truth’s unexpected little lecture. She did not appear quite as unrestrained as usual, but as everybody was engaged in the preparations for Elsie’s welcome there was a general atmosphere of hilarity and confusion, so that no awkwardness was possible.

The tool-shop resounded with blows of hammer and steel. Dicky was under everybody’s feet, and his “seven or ten frogs,” together with his unrivalled collection of horned toads, were continually escaping from their tin pails and boxes in the various tents, and everybody was obliged to join in the search to recover and re-incarcerate them, in order to keep the peace.

Hop Yet was making a gold and silver cake, with “Elsie” in pink letters on chocolate frosting. Philip had pitched the new tent so that in one corner there was a slender manzanita-tree which had been cropped for some purpose or other. He had nailed a cross-piece on this, so that it resembled the letter T, and was now laboriously boring holes and fitting in pegs, that Elsie might have a sort of closet behind her bed.

As for the rustic furniture, the girls and boys declared it to be too beautiful for words. They stood in circles about it and admired it without reserve, each claiming that his own special piece of work was the gem of the collection. The sunlight shining through the grey and green tints of the tent was voted perfection, Philip’s closet a miracle of ingenuity, the green and white straw matting an inspiration.

The looking-glass had been mounted on a packing-box, and converted by Laura into a dressing-table that rivalled Mrs. Pinkerton’s; for green tarlatan and white mosquito-netting had been so skilfully combined that the traditional mermaid might have been glad to make her toilet there “with a comb and a glass in her hand.” The rest of the green and white gauzy stuff had been looped from the corners of the tent to the centre of the roof-piece, and delicate tendrils of wild clematis climbed here and there as if it were growing, its roots plunged in cunningly hidden bottles of water. Bell had gone about with pieces of awning cloth and green braid, and stitched an elaborate system of pockets on the inside of the tent wherever they would not be too prominent. There were tiny pockets for needle-work, thimbles, and scissors, medium-sized pockets for soap and combs and brushes, bigger pockets for shoes and slippers and stockings, and mammoth pockets for anything else that Elsie might ordain to put in a pocket.

By four o’clock in the afternoon Margery had used her clever fingers to such purpose that a white silesia flag, worked with the camp name, floated from the tip top of the front entrance to the tent. The ceremony of raising the flag was attended with much enthusiasm, and its accomplishment greeted by a deafening cheer from the entire party.

“Unless one wants Paradise,” sighed Margery, “who wouldn’t be contented with dear Camp Chaparral?”

“Who would live in a house, any way?” exclaimed Philip. “Sniff this air, and look up at that sky!”

“And this is what they call ‘roughing it,’ in Santa Barbara,” quoth Dr. Winship. “Why, you youngsters have made that tent fit for the occupancy of a society belle.”

“Now, let’s organise for reception!” cried Geoffrey. “Assemble, good people! Come over here, Aunt Truth! I will take the chair myself, since I don’t happen to see anybody who would fill it with more dignity.”

“I am going to mount my broncho and go out on the road to meet my beloved family,” said Jack, sauntering up to the impromptu council-chamber.

“How can you tell when they will arrive?” asked Mrs. Winship.

“I can make a pretty good guess. They’ll probably start from Tacitas as early as eight or nine o’clock, if Elsie is well. Let’s see: it’s about twenty-five miles, isn’t it, Uncle Doc? Say twenty-three to the place where they turn off the main road. Well, I’ll take a bit of lunch, ride out ten or twelve miles, hitch my horse in the shade, and wait.”

“Very well,” said Geoffrey. “It is not usual for committees to appoint themselves, but as you are a near relative of our distinguished guests we will grant you special consideration and order you to the front. Ladies and gentlemen, passing over the slight informality of the nomination, all in favour of appointing Mr. John Howard Envoy Extraordinary please manifest it by the usual sign.”

Six persons yelled “Ay,” four raised the right hand, and one stood up.

“There seems to be a slight difference of opinion as to the usual sign. All right.—Contrary minded!”

“No!” shouted Polly, at the top of her lungs.

“It is a unanimous vote,” said Geoffrey, crushingly, bringing down his fist as an imaginary gavel with incredible force and dignity. “Dr. and Mrs. Winship, will you oblige the Chair by acting as a special Reception Committee?”

“Certainly,” responded the doctor, smilingly. “Will the Chair kindly outline the general policy of the committee?”

“Hm-m-m! Yes, certainly—of course. The Chair suggests that the Reception Committee—well, that they stay at home and—receive the guests,—yes, that will do very nicely. All-in-favour-and-so-forth-it-is-a-vote-and-so-ordered. Secretary will please spread a copy on the minutes.” Gavel.

“I rise to a point of order,” said Jack, sagely. “There is no secretary and there are no minutes.”

“Mere form,” said the Chair; “sit down; there will be minutes in a minute,—got to do some more things first; that will do, sit down. Will the Misses Burton and Messrs. Burton and Noble kindly act as Committee on Decoration?”

“Where’s the Committee on Music, and Refreshments, and Olympian Games, and all that sort of thing?” interrupted Polly, who had not the slightest conception of parliamentary etiquette; “and why don’t you hurry up and put me on something?”

“If Miss Oliver refuses to bridle her tongue, and persists in interrupting the business of the meeting, the Chair will be obliged to remove her,” said Geoffrey, with chilling emphasis.

Polly rose again, undaunted. “I would respectfully ask the Chair, who put him in the chair, any way?”

“Question!” roared Philip.

“Second the motion!” shrieked Bell, that being the only parliamentary expression she knew.

“Order!” cried Geoffrey in stentorian accents. “I will adjourn the meeting and clear the court-room unless there is order.”

“Do!” remarked Polly, encouragingly. “I will rise again, like Phœbus, from my ashes, to say that—”

Here Jack sprang to his feet. “I would suggest to the Chair that the last speaker amend her motion by substituting the word ‘Phœnix’ for ‘Phœbus.’”

“Accept the amendment,” said Polly, serenely, amidst the general hilarity.

“Question!” called Bell, with another mighty projection of memory into a missionary meeting that she had once attended.

“I am not aware that there is any motion before the house,” said Geoffrey, cuttingly.

“Second the motion!”

“Second the amendment!” shouted the girls.

“Ladies, there is no motion. Will you oblige the Chair by remaining quiet until speech is requested?”

“Move that the meeting be adjourned and another one called, with a new Chair!” remarked Margery, who felt that the honour of her sex was at stake.

“Move that this motion be so ordered and spread upon the minutes, and a copy of it be presented to the Chairman,” suggested Philip.

“Move that the copy be appropriately bound in calf,” said Jack, dodging an imaginary blow.

“Move that the other committees be elected by ballot,” concluded Scott Burton.

“This is simply disgraceful!” exclaimed the Chair. “Order! order! I appoint Miss Oliver Committee on Entertainment, with a view of keeping her still.”

This was received with particular as well as general satisfaction.

“Miss Winship, we appoint you Committee on Music.”

“All right. Do you wish it to be original?”

“Certainly not; we wish it to be good.”

“But we only know one chorus, and that’s ‘My Witching Dinah Snow.’”

“Never mind; either write new words to that tune or sing tra-la-la to it. Mr. Richard Winship, the Chair appoints you Committee on Menagerie, and suggests that as we have proclaimed a legal holiday, you give your animals the freedom of the city.”

“Don’t know what freedom of er city means,” said Dicky, who feared that he was being made the butt of ridicule.

“Why, we want you to allow the captives to parade in the evening, with torch-lights and mottoes.”

“All right!” cried Dicky, kindling in an instant; “’n’ Luby, ’n’ the doat, ’n’ my horn’ toads, all e’cept the one that just gotted away in Laura’s bed; but may be she’ll find him to-night, so they’ll be all there.”

This was too much for the various committees, and Laura’s wild shriek was the signal for a hasty adjournment. A common danger restored peace to the assembly, and they sought the runaway in perfect harmony.

“Well,” said Jack, when quiet was restored, “I am going a little distance up the Pico Negro trail; there are some magnificent Spanish bayonets growing there, and if you’ll let me have Pancho, Uncle Doc, we can bring down four of them and lash them to each of the corners of Elsie’s tent,—they’ll keep fresh several days in water, you know.”

“Take him, certainly,” said Dr. Winship.

“Do let me go with you!” pleaded Laura, with enthusiasm. “I should like the walk so much.”

“It’s pretty rough, Laura,” objected Margery. “If you couldn’t endure our walk this morning, you would never get home alive from Pico Negro.”

“Oh, that was in the heat of the day,” she answered. “I feel equal to any amount of walking now, if Jack doesn’t mind taking me.”

“Delighted, of course, Miss Laura. You’ll be willing to carry home one of the trees, I suppose, in return for the pleasure of my society?”

“Snub him severely, Laura,” cried Bell; “we never allow him to say such things unreproved.”

“I think he is snubbed too much already,” replied Laura, with a charming smile, “and I shall see how a course of encouragement will affect his behaviour.”

“That will be what I long have sought,
And mourned because I found it not,”

sang Jack, nonchalantly.

“Oh, Laura,” remonstrated Bell, “think twice before you encourage him in his dreadful ways. We have studied him very carefully, and we know that the only way to live with him is to keep him in a sort of ‘pint pot’ where we can hold the lid open just a little, and clap it down suddenly whenever he tries to spring out.”

“Do not mind that young person, Miss Laura, but form your own impressions of my charming character. Excuse me, please, while I put on a celluloid collar, and make some few changes in my toilet necessary to a proper appearance in your distinguished company.”

“I prefer you as you are,” answered Laura, laughingly. “Let us start at once.”

“Do you hear that, young person? She prefers me as I are! Now see what magic power her generosity has upon me!” And he darted into the tent, from which he issued in a moment with his Derby hat, a manzanita cane, a pocket-handkerchief tied about his throat, and a flower pinned on his flannel camping-shirt—a most ridiculous figure, since nothing seems so out of place in the woods as any suggestion of city costumes or customs. Laura was in high good-humour, and looked exceedingly brilliant and pretty, as she always did when she was the central figure of any group or the bright particular star of any occasion.

“Be home before dark,” said Dr. Winship. “Pancho, keep a look-out for the pack-mule. Truth, one of the pack-mules has disappeared.”

“So? Dumpling or Ditto?”

“Ditto, curiously enough. His name should have led him not to set an example, but to follow one.”

Elsie came.

Perhaps you thought that this was going to be an exciting story, and that something would happen to keep her at the Tacitas ranch; but nothing did. Everything came to pass exactly as it was arranged, and Jack met his mother and sister at twelve o’clock some four miles from the camp, and escorted them to the gates.