Sally. Then her over there with the short puffy sleeves.

Tibbie. Taken!

Sally. She taken, too? Well, then, her in the pink Mother Hubbard, with the little knitting-bag on her arm.

Tibbie. Taken, Sally! Can't you remember anything? Those belong to me; I chose them long ago. These are the not taken ones over here; here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and——

Sally. Aw, you're a great girl! [Suddenly throws her arms around Tibbie and casts herself back on the floor, where they tumble and roll in a frenzy of fun.] Oh, Tibbie, ain't we having a time of it?

Tibbie [almost shouting]. Yes!—ain't we having a time of it!

Sally. Ain't this a night?

Tibbie. Oh, yes,—ain't it a night! [They tickle and poke each other until almost hysterical. At last Tibbie disentangles herself from the panting and laughing Sally, and gets up.] Here, Sally, now stop laughing, and let's go on. It was your turn. You'd best take that one. She looks as if she might be a little girl of yours, her cheeks are so red—red as a great big cabbage! [Laughs till she nearly cries.]

Sally. Well, it's sure none of 'em has legs to make 'em look like children of yours! [At this Tibbie flings out her thin black legs with the action of a young colt, and drops to the floor, where they frolic as before. In the midst of their gale of mirth, a bell rings. They sit up, and look at each other in silent consternation.]

Sally [after a pause, in a solemn whisper]. Murder!

Tibbie [in her ear]. What is it?

Sally. Was it the front door or the back door?

Tibbie. I dunno, Sally. [Sally picks herself up, and casts a hurried glance on the dolls and about the room, to see if things are nearly as she found them, then turns down the light. Leads Tibbie to bedroom door.]

Sally [glancing at clock]. It ain't late. It ain't a bit later than I supposed. It can't be her! It might be Mrs. Bonnet, though, getting home before Catherine, who's got the key. I shouldn't want her to catch you here for the whole world. Look here, Tibbie. You stand in here till I find out who it is, and if it's Mrs. Bonnet, you'll have to stay hidden till I find a good chance to come and smuggle you down. [Pushes Tibbie through door, and exit by other door. Tibbie very cautiously pokes her head out and looks around.]

Tibbie. What's that scratching? I know there's a mouse here somewhere. Go right away, mousie. There's nobody in here. Go right away!

Sally [without. Her voice calm, and pleasant with a kind of company pleasantness]. Tibbie! It's all right. It's just a friend dropped in for a moment. You can play a little longer. Turn up the light carefully. But remember what I told you.

[Enter Tibbie at the first sound of Sally's
voice. Turns up the light, draws back the
curtain in front of the dolls, and kneels
before them. Takes up the bride with a
reverent hand, and after long contemplating
her, kisses her very seriously and tenderly.
Then moves the dolls about to
bring those she has chosen closer together.

Tibbie [meditatively]. I can't play they are a family, there are too many all the same age and all girls. I will play they are a hundred girls in an orphan asylum—a very rich orphan asylum—and that I am the superintendent. To-morrow I'm going to give each a beautiful doll for a Christmas present. This little girl's name is Rosa. That one is Nellie. That one is Katie. That one is Sue. And Mary. And Jennie. And Ethel, and Victoria, and Blossom, and Violet, and Pansy, and Goldenlocks, and Cherrylips—— Oh, dear, I know I can never name them all. There surely ain't enough names to go around and I'd just have to make up names for them. Kirry, Mirry, Dirry, Birry! These don't sound like anything. I wonder what they do every day in orphan asylums. They must have school and learn lessons, I guess. I'll be the teacher, now. Miss Snowdrop! [Tibbie assists the dolls to move, and answers for them in a squeaking little voice.] "Yes, ma'am." Spell knot. "N-o-t." Not at all, my dear. Sit down again, my dear. Miss Lily; stand up, miss, and see if you can do any better this morning. Miss Pansy, I see you putting your foot out to trip poor Miss Blossom. Don't you do that again, child, or I shall have to stand you in the corner. Why, Rosy, how red your cheeks are! Don't you feel well? "No, ma'am." Never mind, don't cry. I must take you to the doctor's right away. Come, my dear. [Goes to dresser and looks in glass.] Good-morning, doctor. "Good-morning, ma'am" [in a deep voice]; "you've got a sick child there, I see." Yes, doctor, this is a young lady from the orphan asylum, and she says she's got a bad pain in her face. "Yes, yes. I see, I see. Well, we'll give her something to cure those red cheeks right up. Just come here, miss." [Tibbie, as the doctor, powders the doll's cheeks very gently.] Very well. Good-by, doctor. "Good-by, ma'am. If she isn't better in fifteen minutes, let me know." Now, my dear, you needn't go back to school. The orphans might catch it. I'd like to rock you in my arms, but the superintendent is too busy.... Oh, dear, I don't like to be a superintendent. I think I'll have you for my little girl [draws forward a low rocker and carefully turns down light], and get you some nice little sisters [gathers a dozen dolls], and then rock you all to sleep. [Settles comfortably in the chair.] It's bedtime, and you must be rocked and loved a little. Now, sh! Sh! Sh! Sh! What's that, Mamie? Sing to you? Very well. [Sings.] Rosie, what are you crying for now? You want me to rock faster? All right, I will. [Rocks faster. Rosie continues to cry, and the rocking soon becomes furious. In the excitement one doll slips unnoticed to the floor.] There, that's better. Now, children, do go to sleep.... Mother is sleepy herself. [Rocking becomes slower and slower, and at last stops entirely. Tibbie falls asleep.... Enter Sally.]

Sally. Lively, Tibbie! Miss Catherine has got back. We must be packing off home. I declare I lost sight of the time. There's just no one like a fireman to be entertaining, I do declare. Mrs. Bonnet won't be long coming now. [Turns up light, sees Tibbie rubbing her eyes, and the dolls all disarranged. Blankly.] Law! do you suppose we can get them to look as they did? I hope t' Heaven she didn't know which went next to which. Do you remember, Tibbie, where they all belonged?

Tibbie. Yes, the bride went here. The rosebuds here. The purple and gray here. I can put them all back, every one.

Sally [cheerfully, again]. No one'll ever know in the world they've been disturbed. [Draws off to get general effect. Dives for the last doll, which Tibbie sleepily hands up from the floor.]

Sally [in a ghastly whisper]. Tibbie! look at its head! [Tibbie gazes in a puzzled way. The face is crushed. Sally groans.] Oh, Tibbie! now what'll we do!

Tibbie [truthfully, lifting a very pale face]. I didn't do it! I was just as careful! She was one of my daughters. I had her in my lap, rocking her to sleep with the others; she slipped off my lap—there were too many for one lap, I guess—but I didn't step on her. Sure, Sally,—sure as I live, I didn't step on her!

Sally. Oh, law! You must have rocked on her. Oh, Tibbie, what'll I do? Here, give her to me.... No, she can't never be fixed. I wonder if I can cover her up, here. [Moves the dolls about tentatively.] But what's the good? They'll count them, and there'll be the mischief of a fuss. Oh, Tibbie—— [reaching the end of her good-nature] ——why did I ever think of bringing you here? Now look at all the trouble you've brought on me, when I thought you'd be so careful! And I told you and told you till I was hoarse. And here you've ruined all! [Drops into a chair before the wreck. Tibbie, not daring to meet Sally's eyes, stands motionless and speechless.] I declare I don't know what to do! I wish I'd never seen 'em! I wish there'd never been any Christmas! Oh, it's a great job, this! Tibbie, you've done for me this time!

[Enter Catherine.

Catherine. Hurry, and get off, now, Sally.

Sally [blurts out]. She's broken one of them!

Catherine. You don't mean it!

Sally. Yes, she has!

Catherine. Let me see it. Oh, you wicked child! [Shakes Tibbie vigorously by one arm. Sally, attempting a rescue, seizes her by the other, and the poor child is jerked about unmercifully.] She's smashed its face right in! Now, whoever heard of such naughtiness?

[Tibbie escapes and twists about to get her
back to the two.

Sally. She didn't do it out of naughtiness, at all, Miss Catherine. She's as good a child as ever lived! [Tibbie's shoulders give a convulsive heave.] It was an accident entirely. But that's just as bad for me—I suppose I shall have to say it was me did it.

Catherine. And then they'll say what was I doing while the kitchen-help was poking about in the lady's chamber. No; you don't get me into no trouble, Sally Bean! You'd much better say how it was—how that you asked me if you just might bring a little girl to look, and I said you might, out of pure good-nature, being Christmas is rightly for children, and I've a softness for them. And while we was both in the kitchen, she slipped away from us, and come here and done it before we knew. And the child will say herself that it was so. You'll be packed off, dead sure, out of this place, if you let on you meddled with them yourself. She won't have her things meddled with—— There! I hear the door now. There comes that old cat Bonnet.

[Enter Mrs. Bonnet, her cheek bones and
the end of her nose brilliant with the cold.
She carries a paper bag, and speaks with
an impediment and a breath of peppermint.

Bonnet. What's the matter? What child is that?

Catherine. It happened this way, Mrs. Bonnet. I allowed Sally to fetch this child up to see Mrs. Darling's dolls.—Just for a treat, of course—never thinking Sally'd be so careless as to let one of them get broken. But that's what she done. I'd just stepped out for a moment, never for a minute supposing anything like this could happen, but you just see for yourself. That doll can't be mended no way at all. And now, Mrs. Bonnet, what's to be done?

Bonnet. Oh, you wicked little brat! I just want to get hold of you and shake you! [Makes a snatch at Tibbie, who gets beyond her clutch, and turns scared eyes on Sally.]

Tibbie [just audibly]. I want to go home; I want to go home.

Bonnet [bitterly]. It don't seem possible that I can run out a minute just to do an errand for Mrs. Darling herself—to get a spool of feather-stitching silk—but things like this has to happen. Catherine, I thought you at least was a responsible person, and here you has to go and——

Catherine [promptly]. Mrs. Bonnet, you just let that alone! Don't you try none of that with me! I went out of an errand every bit as much as you did. I went out to make sure the ice cream would be sent in good season for Christmas dinner, I did. Now I don't get dragged into this mess one bit more than you do!

Bonnet [looking at her with a poison-green eye]. Well, Mrs. Darling will be here in a minute, and then we shall see what we shall see. Land, ain't that woman been cross to-day, and fussy! 'Tain't as if she was like other people—a little bit sensible, and could take some little few things into consideration, and remember we're all human flesh and blood. Not much! She don't consider nothing, nor nobody, nor feelings, nor circumstances! She just makes things fly! Things has to go her way, every time!

Tibbie [pathetically, turning a trembling face to Sally]. I want to go home!

Bonnet [uglily]. No, you shan't go home! You shall stay right here and take the blame you deserve, after spoiling the face of that handsome doll. What do you mean by it, you little brat, you little gutter-imp!

Sally [with a boldness new in her relations with Mrs. Bonnet]. You let her alone, Mrs. Bonnet! Don't you talk to her like that! Anyone can see she's as sorry as sorry can be for what she's done, and all the trouble she's got us into—— [Cook appears in door.]

Bonnet. And what does that help, I'd like to know? The doll is broke, ain't it? And some one of us is going to catch it, however things go. You're a lucky girl, I say, if you don't lose your place. Some one of us is a-going to, I can easy foretell.

Catherine [firmly, with lifted chin]. I ain't going to lose my place! Here comes Cook now! I suppose she wants to get into trouble, too.

[Enter Cook, her high-colored shawl pinned
on her breast with a big brooch, her
bonnet-strings nearly lost in her fat chin.

Cook. What's the matter? What's it all about? Whose nice little girl is this?

Sally. I brought her here, Mrs. McGrath. She's Tibbie, a neighbor's child, and I brought her——

Cook. To see them beautiful dolls. Of course. And one of 'em happened to get broke? [Goes to Tibbie, and lifts her miserable little face.] Don't you feel bad one bit, darlin'! It was all an accident, and it's no good crying over spilt milk. And if Mrs. Darling gets mad at you, she ain't the real lady I take her for. Why, I gave my Clary a new doll this very evenin' and it's ready for a new head this minute. And did I go for to rare and tear about it? Not a bit of it! Why, bless you, she didn't go for to do it! Why, what child smashes a doll a-purpose? You're a pretty set, the whole gang of you, to pitch into a child! [Tries, with Sally, to comfort and silence Tibbie, who by this time is freely weeping. Exit Bonnet, and re-enter at once without hat and coat.]

Cook [looking hard at Mrs. Bonnet]. I've a great mind to stay here myself and stand up for her, yer pack of old maids, the lot of yer!

Bonnet. You will oblige me, Mrs. McGrath, by doing nothing of the sort. We've no need to have a whole scene from the drama. You've no business on this floor, anyhow, and I must insist on your keeping yourself in your own quarters.

Cook [mutters]. And I'll take my own time, yer born Britisher! [Putting her arm around Tibbie.] Well, Tibbie dear, you can be sure of this: however bad this seems, it'll soon be over. And if Mrs. Darling scolds, that'll soon be over, too. It'll all be looking different to you in the morning. However things goes, you'll soon be forgetting all about it. And to-morrow is Christmas Day, that our own dear Lord was born on, and I'll bake you a little cake and send it to you by Sally.

Tibbie [sobbing]. But Sally's going to be sent away.

Cook. So she might be, but I feel it in my little toe that she ain't going to be.

Sally [bravely]. Well, if I am, I am, and there an end. But I don't see why she can't take the price of the doll out of my wages and let me stay.

Bonnet. I think you'll find that it ain't most particularly the cost of the doll gets you into trouble—— There she comes this minute!

[All listen in profound silence.

Mrs. D. [below]. Good-night, cousin Dorel.

Mr. Goodhue [below]. Good-night, cousin Cynthia. Sleep well.

Mrs. D. You, too. Pleasant dreams. Good-night. [Sound of door closing.]

[Enter Mrs. Darling. Stands a moment at
door, regarding the assemblage with a sort
of absent-minded astonishment.

Mrs. D. What is it? Has anything happened? What is everybody doing up here? Whose little girl is this sitting up so late? They used to tell me I should never grow, my dear, if I sat up late——

Bonnet. This is what it is, ma'am. I took the liberty of stepping out for a few moments, it being Christmas Eve and my work all done, knowing you wouldn't be needing me till late. And Sally here took it upon herself to bring a child—how she could presume so, I'm sure I don't understand, ma'am. She might have known aforehand something would be broken. And sure enough—when I come in——

Mrs. D. Oh, cut it short! What you have to tell is that the child there has broken one of the dolls, isn't it?

Bonnet [mutters]. That's it, ma'am.

Mrs. D. And you've kept her here when she ought to have been in bed these hours, to bear the first burst of my displeasure—— [Mrs. Darling says so much in a hard voice, with an appearance of cold anger; here her voice suddenly dies, and she bursts out crying like a vexed, injured child.] I declare it's too bad! [She sobs, reckless of making a spectacle of herself, while all look on in consternation.] I declare it's too bad! It's no use! It doesn't matter what I do—it's always the same! It's always taken for granted that I will conduct myself like a beast. Who can wonder, after that, if I do? Here I find them, pale as sheets, the five of them shaking in their boots, because a forlorn little child has broken a miserable doll. And what is it supposed I shall do about it? Didn't I dress the hundred of them for children, and little poor children, too? And I must have known they would get broken, of course. Why did I dress them? What did I spend months dressing them for? Solely for show, they think,—not for any charity, any kindness, any love of children, or anything in the world but to make an effect on an occasion—to make myself a merit with the parson, perhaps! [Her crying seems to become less of anger and nervousness, and more of sorrow.] Oh, it is too bad! One would imagine I never said a decent thing or did a kind act to anyone. And, Heaven knows it's not for lack of trying to change. But no one sees the difference! I am treated like a vixen and a terror. And the people about me hate and fear and deceive me! A proof of it to-night. Oh, the lesson! Oh, I wasn't meant for this! I wasn't meant for it! When I think of last Sunday's sermon and how straight to my heart it went. Oh, I am a fool to cry! [Dries her eyes, and holds out her hand to Tibbie.] Come here to me, dear child. What is your name? What? A little louder! What did you say? Tibbie! Oh, what a nice, funny name! You didn't think I was going to scold you, did you, dear? Of course not! It was an accident; I understand all about it. I used to break my dolls' heads frequently, I remember very well. [Puts her arm about Tibbie and tries to make her head easy on her shoulder. Tibbie, however, cannot relax, and rests uncomfortably against her.] Let us see, dear, now, what we can do to make us both feel happier. I dressed all those dolls for little children I am not acquainted with at all. Which of them would you like the very best? Which should you like for your very own?

[Tibbie cannot move nor speak, but her eyes
travel towards the dolls.

Sally [comes beamingly to Tibbie's aid]. The bride, Tibbie, the bride!

Mrs. D. The bride? Which one is that? That one? Of course! [Reaches for it, and Sally hands it to her.] There, my dear. [Tibbie takes the doll loosely, without breath of thanks. Mrs. D. reviews the dolls, and Tibbie's hand is stretched involuntarily towards the broken one.] Of course, of course, you would want that poor dolly to nurse back to health. Now, dear, isn't there one more you would like? [Tibbie's confusion overwhelms her.] I'll choose one for you, and you shall call her Cynthia, after me. How would you like that? Suppose we say this one with the forget-me-nots? She looks a little like me, doesn't she, with her hair parted in the middle? Her dress is made of a piece of one of my own, and that blue is my favorite color. [Rising.] There, Tibbie, now you have two whole dollies, and part of another. You must run right home to bed. A Merry Christmas to you, dear child. I am very happy to have made your acquaintance.

Tibbie [shyly, but heartily]. I think you are good—good. And, please,—I'd like—if you wouldn't mind—I'd like to kiss you!

[Mrs. Darling bends suddenly, and catches
the child in her arms.

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME AND PRESENTATION

Mrs. Darling. Evening dress.

Bonnet and Catherine wear black, with white maid's apron, collar, and cuffs. Outdoor costume as indicated.

Mrs. McGrath. Shawl and bonnet with no attempt at prevailing styles. Stout, rosy, motherly, and comfortable.

Sally. Pretty and wholesome-looking. Appears at first in a limp blue kitchen-apron, later in her outdoor coat and hat, neat, but cheap-looking.

Tibbie. Old dress, very neat and clean, but faded, and with an outgrown, hand-me-down appearance. She is a thin and half-fed little tenement-house child, to whom the luxury of Mrs. Darling's house is an undreamed-of fairy-land.

This part was played by a little girl of nine, who delighted in learning and acting it. A bright and appreciative child can do it without undue effort, although it is, of course, the important rôle of the play.

The Dolls. The number of dolls need not be over fifteen or twenty, if so arranged as to suggest more tiers hidden from view at the back of the couch. They should be as nearly of one size as is practicable, though uniformity goes no further. The broken one should be broken first, and Tibbie must slip it to the floor unnoticed before she sits down to rock the others.

GENERAL NOTES

Fireplace. If scenery is not available, the fireplace used in this play, and in several others, can easily be built up from packing-boxes covered with cambric (dull side out), the bricks or tiles marked in black paint, or even with ink. A valuable and effective stage-property, used when "Tom's Plan" was first given, and in many subsequent plays, was an old-fashioned wooden mantel, obtained through a carpenter who was tearing down an old house. This may be a suggestion for other amateurs. A small screen can be covered with cambric, and painted to represent the back of the fireplace, an opening being left at one side, through which Santa Claus, in "Tom's Plan," "The Christmas Brownie," and "Their Christmas Party," makes his entrance. Andirons, with logs and a red electric bulb, will make a very pretty and effective fire. In "Their Christmas Party," the poor children hide in the fireplace, and the "Christmas Brownie" goes in and out several times.

Santa Claus. Red or brown coat, trimmed with ermine (cotton, or, if practicable, some real fur); high boots; cap to match coat, with fur brim. He wears a string of sleigh bells over his shoulder, and carries a pack full of small toys for distribution. White hair, mustache, and long white beard.

In these plays, in which Santa Claus has often an important part, do not on any account allow him to wear a mask. The hair, mustache, and beard, with a good rosy make-up, are sufficient disguise for him, and in those cases where there are little children in the cast whose literal belief in Santa Claus must not be disturbed, he is not indispensable at rehearsals. Partly because he should not be recognized, an adult player is always indicated for this part, rather than an older boy, who is apt to be in more intimate touch with the children.

Christmas Tree. If the play is to serve as introduction to a Christmas Tree, the tree should be placed as near the stage as possible. When the play is over, the lighted tree is unveiled, and the children who have taken part distribute the presents under the leadership of Santa Claus. Or, if found more practicable, the tree may be placed in another room, and Santa Claus may invite the children of the play and the audience to go with him in search of it. An appropriate tree song may be sung by the whole audience. Reference to such songs may be found on the following page.

SUGGESTIONS FOR CAROLS

Songs and Games for Little Ones. Gertrude Walker and Harriet S. Jenks. Oliver Ditson Company, Boston.

Contains a number of useful songs and carols, among which the following may be specially mentioned:

"Oh, Ring, Glad Bells!" (P. 58.)

"The First Christmas." (P. 60.)
Good for little children.

"Noël, Noël, the Christ is Born!" (P. 62.)
Excellent processional.

"A Wonderful Tree." (P. 67.)
Tree song.

Songs for Little Children. Part I. Eleanor Smith. Milton Bradley Co., Springfield, Mass.

"In Another Land and Time." (P. 31.)

"Waken, Little Children." (P. 33.)
Very simple. Good for small children.

Part II of the same contains Santa Claus and Jack Frost songs.

The New Hosanna. New-Church Board of Publication, 3 West 29th Street, N.Y.

Has a good tree song:
"The Christmas Bells in Many a Clime." (P. 4.)

For little children:
"Can There Be a Sweeter Story?" (P. 21.)

There are also a number of old English carols, among them:

"The First Nowell." (P. 2.)
"Come, Ye Lofty, Come, Ye Lowly." (P. 23.)
"From Far Away We Come to You." (P. 30.)

Also several of the more familiar Christmas hymns to be found in most church hymnals.

For old music, see the following:

Christmas Carols, New and Old. Novello & Company.
Twelve Old Carols, English and Foreign. Novello & Company.
Folk Songs, and Other Songs for Children. Oliver Ditson Company, Boston.

The first and last of these both contain "Good King Wenceslas," which is included in other collections as well.

Martin Luther's Christmas hymn for his own children, which is very good for small children, beginning "Away in a manger," is in

Dainty Songs for Little Lads and Lasses. John Church Company, Cincinnati.

FOOTNOTES