Monks. Yes, yes, she is a miracle, a miracle, indeed!

[Monks come forward and lay the toys at
her feet. Peter fairly hugs himself with joy.

Abbot. And, Peter? Where is Peter?

Peter [coming forward]. Here I am, sir.

Abbot. Peter, we feel so happy this beautiful Christmas Day, that we must find some expression for our joy—we must surely find a way to share such happiness with others. Run, my son, open the Convent gates, and bid all the village people who wait there for our usual gifts to enter and take part in our pleasure. [Exit Peter in haste.] Think, my children, what a gift we have here for the poor parents of Peter and little Rosalia—this dear little girl will be restored to them, not lame, as she was when she wandered here, but well and strong and happy like other little ones. Think of it, my children.

[Enter Peter, leading his father and mother,
who hasten to Rosalia, kneeling one on
each side of her great chair. The rest of
the villagers of Act I press in, and stand
grouped at each side of the stage.

Abbot. Welcome, welcome, my good people! A Merry Christmas to you all!

Villagers. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

[Amid the tumult enter the two Pages. They
advance to the Abbot, and bowing, present
a letter with large seals.

Abbot. How, now! What's this? [Breaking seal and reading letter, the Monks showing deep interest.] My children, we have here a message from His Majesty, the King. He tells us that his son, the Prince, reached his palace in safety, and that he has come to feel great regret for all the trouble and anxiety he caused the Christmas Monks. He hopes that the Prince's repentance, though late, will help to season our Christmas and make it a happy one. And his Majesty adds that he finds great improvement in his son. Well! Well! this does indeed add yet another happiness to our day. [To the people.] And I know you all, little and big, are just as happy as we are, for at last the gates are open to the Convent of the Christmas Monks.

[All sing a Christmas carol.

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME AND PRESENTATION

(Mrs. Freeman's story of the same name, from which this little play was taken, has delightful illustrations which would be of help in making the monks' costumes. It appeared first in Wide Awake, Volume 16, and was later published in a collection of Mrs. Freeman's short stories, entitled "The Pot of Gold.")

The Abbot (taken by an adult), and

The Brethren of the Convent (boys, sixteen to eighteen) wear long hooded robes made of white canton flannel. Greek patterns in green are stenciled at hem of skirt and around the wide sleeves. A rope of ground pine, or other Christmas wreathing, is worn for a girdle, ends hanging, and the tonsures are made by wearing close-fitting skull-caps of flesh-colored silk or sateen, with a wreath of green at the edge.

When Peter and the Prince come to the Garden their dress is the same, but their Greek borders should be smaller and they wear no tonsures. They are boys of ten. Hoods of all are worn hanging, except that of Brother Sebastian, who in the 2nd Act goes gloomily hooded. All wear sandals and white stockings.

As the story suggests neither country nor period, there may be a good deal of latitude in the matter of costumes for the rest of the cast, but the court party in the first act should be as resplendent as possible.

The Prince. Plumed hat, short trousers, slippers with bows, coat with broad lace collar and cuffs. Very long cloak, borne behind him by the

Pages. Dressed alike in a style somewhat resembling the Prince.

Courtier. The same, with the addition of a short cape, and a sword.

Court Lady. Dress made with a train and a high beaded collar. The boy and girl playing these parts are also Peter's Father and Mother in the last act.

Mistress Longlane and Mistress Spinning, and the little Village girls wear large poke bonnets, old-fashioned shawls or white kerchiefs, and mitts.

Peter. Neat, but old and faded blouse and knickerbockers. Cap.

Little Rosalia. Quaint smocked dress, of soft blue, a Persian border at hem, square neck, and short sleeves. (Or, white, with blue borders.) Small cap, trimmed in the same way. She is lame and walks with crutches.

Peter's Father and Mother. Poorly and roughly dressed.

Gilbert, the Carpenter's Apprentice. Blue denim apron. Carries T-square.

Robin, the Forester's Son. Sleeveless green coat, over a white shirt with full sleeves; full trousers; broad felt hat, turned up on one side with a quill.

Walter, the Miller's Son. White apron. Dusty felt hat.

(If preferred, instead of using the above suggestions for costumes, the Randolph Caldecott pictures, or Kate Greenaway illustrations of "Mother Goose," may be adopted as a scheme for dressing all but the Monks.)

The entrance and exit of the Monks is always heralded by their singing. Their song may be one of the well-known Christmas carols containing a few Latin words, but a Latin chant is most effective, such as can be found in the little Sunday-school hymnals of the Roman Catholic Church. Suggestions for Rosalia's song and the carol at the end of the play will be found on p. 315.

Setting

For the Garden wall, a frame must be made sufficiently strong to bear the weight of the Prince, and may need special bracing at the central point where he climbs over. He uses a small ladder, preferably a red-painted one, like those in children's ladder-wagon sets. The framework of the wall may be covered with paper, but unbleached muslin is much more substantial and lasting. On this is painted the wall, representing either brick or stone, with a stone coping, all quaintly stained and moss-grown. It is five or six feet in height.

The beds where the toys grow are outlined in green. Dolls as large as possible should be used in the back row, in order to prevent the contrast with little Rosalia from being too great. Smaller dolls may be used in the front rows. The number depends on the size of the stage and the possibilities for borrowing. They may be made to stand with wooden braces, but it will be found convenient if milliners' stands for displaying hats can be obtained, as they are light and can be easily set in place. For the other bed, two or three small bare bushes, on the branches of which can be fastened such toys as whips, tin trumpets, etc. Small wheelbarrow, watering-pot, and other garden tools scattered about.

For the last scene, the walls should be plain and dark in color. The Abbot's chair is large and ecclesiastical, and Rosalia looks, in it, like the doll for which the Monks mistook her. Two great candles, in tall candlesticks, on the daïs beside her, are effective. No other furniture.

THE SPELL OF CHRISTMAS

A CHRISTMAS PLAY, IN TWO SCENES

CHARACTERS

Time: In the reign of Charles the First.
Scene: The old manor-house of the Underhills.

Allison

THE SPELL OF CHRISTMAS

SCENE I

A chamber or corridor in the Manor House. Door [L.]. Hangings on wall. Gillian seated [R.], with the three children about her, all working at wreaths and garlands, and singing an old carol. Curtain rises on second verse. While they sing, Diccon enters. Takes up sword or other piece of armor from table [L.] and begins to polish it.

Cicely [with a deep sigh]. Good Gillian, methinks that though we sang our carols o'er and o'er we could not make it seem like Christmas-tide. Brother Rufus is gone away, and we may not even say we miss him. I would I knew—— [Chin on hand.]

Gillian. You would you knew what, little mistress mine?

Cicely. I would I knew what is wrong with us. Christmas was ever such a merry season in this dear house.

Rafe [wisely]. 'Tis because my father goeth about wearing such a stern face.

Allison. And Mother looketh so sad.

Cicely [confidentially]. And I think cousin Phyllis cries in her chamber sometimes.

Diccon [mutters]. Meseemeth we should all know right well what aileth this place. [Enter Sir Gilbert. Stands in doorway.] When he that was the very life and soul is missing from the hearth——

Gillian. Hist, Diccon [warning gesture].

Diccon. ——and more than that, under a cloud——

Gillian. Be silent, I say, Diccon.

Diccon [paying no heed]. 'Tis young Master Rufus this house needs so sorely, I'm thinking.

Sir Gilbert [striding forward angrily]. Silence, I say. Have I not given command that my son's name shall not pass the lips of any of my people? I will be obeyed in mine own house. Diccon, hence! Thou canst spend thy days in the stables caring for my horses, an thou'lt not learn to bridle thy tongue. Mayhap the dumb beasts will teach thee a lesson.

Diccon [bowing humbly]. I crave pardon, Sir Gilbert. I but thought——

Sir G. Enough. [Turns to table. Exit Diccon, with an awkward bow.] Gillian, let this be a warning to you as well. I have laid my commands—I will be obeyed. [Exit.]

Rafe. 'Tis very hard to be just children, when anything's wrong, I think. We may not know what our elders do know, and yet we must be just as uncomfortable.

Gillian. Tst-tst, my lambs! Let us think of other things. Shall we measure our garlands? [Stretches out her green.]

Rafe [measuring his against it, while Cicely and Allison stretch theirs together]. Indeed, 'tis soon done, good Gillian. We've used up all our greens.

Gillian [rising]. I will see if Roger and Noll have brought more for us. [Exit.]

Rafe [considering his garland]. Would my garland measure around the great pasty Dame Joan hath made for to-morrow's feast, think you, Cicely?

Cicely [laughing]. The venison pasty, Rafe? Mayhap when Dame Joan hath turned her back, we can try and see.

Allison. I fear mine will but reach around a very little pudding! [Enter Phyllis.] Oh, cousin Phyllis, cousin Phyllis, come see our garlands!

Phyllis [coming forward]. Did my little Allison wreathe all this long piece? [Allison nods proudly.] That's brave work, indeed.

Cicely [arms around Phyllis]. Dear cousin Phyllis, won't you stay and help us—and tell us why everyone is so sad?

Phyllis [frightened]. Nay, dear, I must not, and you must not be sad—'tis Christmas Eve.

Rafe. Yes, we know. But why doth my father look so stern——

Phyllis. Nay, nay—I may not speak of it. My aunt will be sore displeased.

[Enter Lady Katherine.

Lady Katherine [in doorway]. Phyllis, why art idling here with the children? To thy tasks, girl!

[Exit.

Phyllis [turning hastily to follow]. You see, sweethearts, I must not tarry. But I wish good speed to your garlands. Farewell. [Exit.]

Cicely. Thou dost see, Rafe. Father will not let us speak of brother Rufus, and Mother is so cross to poor cousin Phyllis.

Allison [shocked]. Nay, Cicely; Mother isn't cross. It's naughty to say that.

Rafe. I think I know what it is all about. [Very confidentially. Girls draw their chairs close.] I think brother Rufus ran away to the wars to fight for the King——

Cicely. But, Rafe, that can't be what displeaseth Father, for Father is a soldier, too, and he himself will fight for our lord the King, if so be the King needeth him.

Allison [nodding her head with conviction]. Father is the most gallantest soldier in all the country.

Rafe. But I do think that is why Father is so angry with brother Rufus.

Cicely. And why is Mother so—so unkind to poor cousin Phyllis?

Rafe [very solemnly]. Because—because Rufus did say that when he was come of age and was a man he would marry cousin Phyllis!

Cicely. Oh! But I think that's very, very nice! Why doesn't Mother like it, Rafe? They'd never go away to any other house at all—and then, beside,—Allison and I could be their bride-maidens!

[Enter Gillian with an armful of greens.

Gillian [sitting down among them]. Here's work for us all, my pets. We must e'en make our fingers fly an we would finish our task.

Cicely [full of importance]. Oh, good Gillian, Rafe doth say——

Rafe [trying to repress her]. It's no use to ask Gillian, Cicely. Didst not hear my Father tell her she mustn't talk of it?

Gillian. That's best, Master Rafe. Let Gillian tell you a tale whilst we work.

Allison. A fairy-tale, Gillian? [Whispers full of awe.] Are the fairies about to-night, dear Gillian?

Rafe. Not on Christmas Eve, Allison. They aren't, are they, Gillian? Midsummer Eve is the fairies' night.

Cicely. And fairies have no power on Christmas Eve, and witches can't charm you, nor cast their spells upon you——

Rafe. Because 'tis such a holy, holy night.

Gillian. Oh, but there be wonderful things that do befall on Christmas Eve, Master Rafe. My old grandam used to say that when the midnight bells ring, the cattle in the stables do kneel down to hail the holy day!

Cicely. Oh, Gillian, do they?

Rafe. Hast ever seen them, Gillian? Or hath thy grandam?

Allison. All the cows, and the sheep, and the little, little lambs?

Gillian. Nay, sweetheart, I never saw them, but I was wont to think, each Christmas Eve, that I would surely creep out to the stables and keep watch.

Rafe. And did you?

Gillian. Oh, Master Rafe, in truth 'twas a pretty plan,—but I was not a very brave little wench,—and it was so cold and dark and fearsome: when the time was come, I was always fain to put it off until the next year!

Rafe [scornfully]. Sooth! I would never do that!

Gillian. Nay, that I'll warrant, Master Rafe! But let me tell thee what else my grandam hath told me. 'Twas about the portraits in the long gallery in this very house.

[Enter Diccon, with armful of wood for fire,
which he piles upon the hearth.

Cicely. The portraits—— Oh, yes, Gillian. [Draws close to Gillian.]

Rafe. I know. Our great-great-grandfather and our great-great-grandmother.

Cicely. Bethink thee, Rafe—what are their names? I do forget.

Rafe. They are Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine Underhill. And they lived right here in this very house.

Diccon [turning from hearth]. Yes, Master Rafe, they lived in this house. He was a passing gallant gentleman, and fought for the King, and she was as beautiful as he was brave, and as brave as she was beautiful. And they say that in a great war his enemies came to search this house for him, but he and my lady hid themselves in a secret chamber that's long since forgot. But 'tis somewhere in the house,—— [looks about as if expecting to find door at once] if a body just but knew how to find the door——

Gillian [in contempt]. Nay, nay, Diccon. I'll warrant me the Master knoweth where that door is.

Diccon. Mayhap Sir Gilbert doth know. But none else may find it. Many's the time the lads ha' looked for it—many's the time. [Exit.]

[Rafe goes about for a moment, lifting hangings,
etc., as if in search for door, but returns
to Gillian's side to hear her answer to Cicely.

Cicely. But, Gillian, what was it thy grandam told about the portraits?

Gillian. Oh, verily, my sweet. Thinking about the secret door I had well-nigh forgot. My grandam said that if all the house was still and sleeping, just on the stroke of twelve every Christmas Eve, Sir Philip and my Lady Geraldine do move and breathe, step forth from their picture frames, clasp hands, and move together in an ancient dance!

Rafe. Do they?

Cicely and Allison. Oh-h-h! [Drawing near to Gillian with a little delighted shiver.]

Lady K. [without]. Gillian, Gillian! Come hither, wench; I need thee.

Gillian [rising]. Anon, my lady! [To children.] Think of it, bairns—that fine brave gentleman and that beautiful lady, stepping across the floors in the moonlight—— [Exit, hand lifted as if holding a partner's, taking stately dancing steps.]

Cicely. Oh, Rafe, think'st that Gillian speaketh true?

Rafe. Yes, I do believe her. Christmas is such a marvelous fair time, Cicely, that I do think anything wonderful might happen.

Allison. I would I could see Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine at their dancing.

Cicely. Oh, so do I! Rafe, dost think—— [Hesitates, afraid to speak her thought.]

Rafe [boldly]. I think—that if my lord and my lady do dance—we shall see them this very Christmas Eve.

Cicely. Oh, Rafe, what dost mean us to do?

Rafe. When the great doors are closed at eleven o'clock—I always hear Diccon making them fast—I'll sit up in my bed, so that I can't by mischance fall asleep. Then I will wake thee and Allison, and we will steal into the long gallery and hide ourselves.

Cicely. But if Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine see us, mayhap they'll be displeased and not come forth.

Rafe. But if we go soon enough they can't see us, because they don't come alive until twelve o'clock. Until the clock strikes, they're only pictures, Cicely.

Cicely. Verily, I did forget.

Rafe. I mean to make sure the nursery door which giveth on the back passage is left unlocked and open, or mayhap I might fail to hear. Come, sister, bring your wreaths. [Goes toward door.]

Cicely [gathering up wreaths]. Oh, Rafe, 'tis a wonderful fine plan!

Allison. Thou'lt let me come too, Rafe?

Rafe. We'll all go. S-sh-sh, now, not a whisper to anyone. [Exeunt children in great excitement. Short pause. Enter Rufus, secretly (L.), stopping to look about and listen. Crosses furtively to door (R.) and looks out. Enter Phyllis (L.), and as Rufus turns back into room, she sees him, and with a low cry hurries to meet him.]

Phyllis. Oh, Rufus, Rufus—not you!

Rufus. Yes, 'tis I, fair cousin. I prithee speak softly. I would not have it known as yet that I am here.

Phyllis. But whence came you, Rufus? We thought you miles away, with the King's troops——

Rufus. My company made a secret march, across this valley, and I thought to spend Christmas in mine own dear home. My Captain gave me leave to come here to-night, and join him to-morrow eve. But after I set out on my solitary march, a company of Roundhead rebels sprang up from a copse by the way and gave chase to our men.

Phyllis. How knew you this?

Rufus. I had come but a half-hour's walk, up the long hill, and saw it all quite plainly.

Phyllis [much troubled]. But, Rufus, then you are cut off from the King's men, for there be very many rebels and few loyal hearts about us, in these parts.

Rufus. I know, Phyllis. And, furthermore, though I would not alarm thee, I must tell thee that I was seen by that treacherous Farmer Gosling on the road hither, and I fear he may set others like himself upon my track.

Phyllis. Oh, Rufus, you frighten me so—they will surely come and take you.

Rufus. Aye, they will try, dear cousin. But I've safe harbor in my father's house, and when darkness comes I can put forth once more and rejoin our men in the North.

Phyllis. A safe harbor, saidst thou! Thou little knowest—— Hark! someone comes. Hide thee speedily, Rufus. Here, behind this curtain. There—do not show thyself until I see thee again. [Hides Rufus behind hanging, and exit (R.). Enter Sir Gilbert and Lady Katherine (L.). Sir Gilbert sits moodily in chair by fire. Lady Katherine stands before him.]

Sir G. [as they enter]. I tell thee, I will hear no more of it.

Lady K. But, my lord, this day have I heard a rumor that a band of King's men were near us—here in this nest of rebel enemies! If there were fighting—if my boy Rufus were in danger, and I might not succor him, 'twould go nigh to kill me. And so, my lord, I'm come once more to crave pardon for him.

Sir G. I tell thee, it will not be granted thee. When the boy disobeyed me and ran away I disowned him. I vowed he should never enter these doors again.

Lady K. My lord, the lad was so eager to serve his King.

Sir G. [springs up and paces the floor]. Did I forbid him to serve his King? Nay, when the time was come, he should have gone with me, with horse and arms, in state befitting a gentleman's son. And so I told him. I told him he was full young yet—the lad is scarce turned seventeen. Eagerness to serve his King, forsooth! 'Twas mere idleness. He chose to run away from his tasks and his studies. Beshrew me! Whether he find the camp life of a common soldier a bed of roses or no, I care not. He must e'en lie in it. I'll neither grant him pardon, nor receive him in my house. To consort with common soldiers and camp ruffians—he hath disgraced my name.

Lady K. Oh, my poor lad.

Sir G. Thou and Phyllis need not grieve so foolishly——

Lady K. [stiffens angrily]. Phyllis! She is the one reason why I am reconciled to his being away.

Sir G. [more gently]. Come, good wife, be not so hard upon poor Phyllis. She's a good maid and a fair. What if the lad have turned her head a bit? I would fain have thee remember the lass is an orphan and we her only kinsfolk.

Lady K. [moving away]. I care not to talk of Phyllis. [Turns back.] Will nothing move you, my lord?

Sir G. [hardening]. I've told you my mind—let's hear no more of this. [Exeunt (L.). Rufus comes from hiding-place and stands sadly by fire. Enter Phyllis.]

Rufus [turning toward her]. Why, Phyllis, I little guessed my father could be so hard and stern. I knew I had displeased him, but this passeth belief.

Phyllis. He is very unforgiving. When you called this house a safe harbor, you little knew.

Rufus [turning as if to go]. So be it, then. If my father cannot forgive me,—I'll e'en forth to the tender mercies of mine enemies.

Phyllis [alarmed]. Oh, no, no, Rufus! At least do not venture forth until the dark hath come! No one must see you here. Come into the blue guest chamber. 'Tis not a secure hiding-place should the house be searched, but 'twill serve for the time, and by midnight you may steal away safely. Do come, Rufus! [He lets her half lead, half push him out as she talks. Exeunt (R.). Pause—— Children's laughter heard. Enter (L.) Cicely with a bunch of raisins. Rafe in pursuit. They run all about the stage. Cicely jumps upon a chair and holds the raisins over Rafe's head. He tries to jump for them.]

Cicely [breaking off raisins and dropping them one at a time into Rafe's mouth]. Oh, Rafe, such rare sport! You'll have no need to waken me. I'll never sleep this night, I know.

Allison [without, calling]. Rafe, Rafe! Where art thou? Oh, Cicely!

Rafe [pulling Cicely down and securing raisins]. Quick, sister, let's hide us! [Rafe runs behind hangings (R.), Cicely behind table (L.). Enter Allison (L.). Stands still and looks about.]

Allison [softly]. Of a truth, I did hear their voices.... I know.... 'Tis sport. 'Tis a game of hide and hunt. I must set me to find 'em. [Goes peering about. As she peeps over chair (R.), Cicely runs out and covers Allison's eyes from behind with her hands. Rafe comes from other side and feeds Allison with raisins. Rafe and Cicely begin to sing Christmas carol, and Allison throws off Cicely's hands and joins in song.]

CURTAIN

SCENE II

A gallery in the Manor House. R. front, fireplace[27] with glowing red fire. Beside it, at right angles, settle. R. back, door. Back Center, the portraits of Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine, in tall old frames reaching down nearly to floor, so that only a short step is necessary when the figures come out. L. back, window, with snow-covered trees in distance, and moonlight. L. front, door. Hangings, a few quaint chairs, etc. Center of stage clear. Curtain shows empty stage. Diccon and Gillian cross from L. to R., talking—Gillian enters first, as if in haste, Diccon trying to stop her. Stage lights very dim. Gillian carries a candle, which she shades with her hand.

Diccon [calling softly]. Gillian, Gillian! Hang the wench! Wilt not wait, good Gillian? I've somewhat of great import to tell thee.

Gillian [impatiently]. Were I to believe thee, Master Diccon, all thine affairs are of great matter. Mayhap thou thinkest my business is ever of small consequence?

Diccon. Nay, then, Gillian—but this news is thine and mine and my lord's and my lady's too!

[Gillian turns, a little curious, and waits for him.

Gillian [scornfully]. A strange matter, methinks, that can be thine and mine and theirs, too!

Diccon. But list a moment, and you shall hear. Giles, the horse-boy, hath been in the village this day, and heard that which bodes ill to us. Giles heard them talking in the tavern——

Gillian. Heard whom talking, Diccon? I can make naught of thy twisting tales!

Diccon. Why, the Roundhead knaves, be sure. And the pith and kernel of Giles' tale—an thou'lt not hear the how and the when—is this! that they mean to come hither this night and search our house.

Gillian [gives a little scream and claps her hand over her mouth]. Oh, Diccon, Diccon,—what can they want here? We be peaceful folk. In sooth 'tis known we are all good King's men, but no harm have we done to any! Oh, Diccon!

Diccon. Sst! silly wench! They'll not harm thee. But hark to what else Giles heard. They be coming to search for Master Rufus!

Gillian. Master Rufus! But he hath not been here these many weeks.

Diccon. Sst! Speak more cautiously, Gillian. The knaves did say they have certain knowledge that Master Rufus is here in hiding.

Gillian [looking fearfully and suspiciously about]. Oh, Diccon, dost believe it?

Diccon. In good sooth, how can I tell? But I am in great fear.

Gillian. Thou afeard, Diccon? Oh, what dost think the Roundhead villains will do to us?

Diccon [angrily]. A pest upon thee, wench! They'll do naught to us! 'Tis for my young master I am troubled. If they take him, 'tis doubtless to a rebel prison he'll go, and then—it's rough fare for such a young lad,—and gentle born and bred to boot.

Gillian [curiously]. But can he be here, think you, Diccon?

Diccon [anxiously]. He may be. And I do fear to ask my lord or my lady of the matter. [Going towards door.] I would I knew my duty, Gillian.

[Exeunt (R.). After a moment enter (L.)
the three children in nightgowns, the little
girls in caps, also. They do not speak, but
motion to each other excitedly, and run
about, choosing a fit hiding-place. Allison
takes a small stool and plants it
directly in front of portraits, sits down,
and folds her hands to wait. The others,
consulting by signs, do not at first see her,
then rush upon her in alarm and drag her
away, taking stool with them, and making
reproving gestures. All go to settle, place
stool by fire, and allow Allison to sit on
it. Cicely kneels at end of settle, partly
concealed by its arm. Rafe lies full
length upon it, alternately ducking below
arm and peeping over it. They shake fingers
at each other, touch lips to insure silence,
and when Allison turns as if to
speak. Cicely claps a quiet hand over her
mouth. Business of settling into place.
When there has been a moment's pause, a
bell is heard in the distance striking midnight.
The portraits slowly turn their
heads, take a long and deep breath, and
begin to move; soft music is heard (minuet,
from Mozart's "Don Giovanni");
they bend forward, step with one foot from
the frames and clasp hands across the space
between; then step forth entirely, and bow
and courtesy low and slowly to each other.
Then they take hands, and to the music
go through such part of the old French
minuet as is practicable for two alone.
When this has continued as long as is desirable,
there is a sudden noise without.
Instantly the music ceases and the figures
go back with all swiftness and resume
pose in frames. Children also much startled.

Cicely [in alarmed whisper]. Oh, Rafe, what was that?

Rafe. I don't know. Sh-sh-sh!

[Enter Rufus (R.), silently and furtively.
Goes to window and peers out. Comes
back hurriedly and without seeing children.
Exit (R.). Rafe springs up and follows
to door, gazing out after Rufus.

Cicely [aloud, but still cautious, though in great fright]. Oh, Rafe—I saw a man! Who was that?

Allison. So did I, sister! Let's run!

Cicely. Mother! Mother! I'm frightened!

Allison. Oh, Gillian, come get us!

[Both rush screaming out of door (L.). Rafe
comes quickly and silently back. Goes to
window and stands peering out.

Rafe. That was brother Rufus. I wonder how he came hither.... And there is someone ... away out there in the snow ... men ... coming this way. [Leaves window and stands directly in front of portraits, with his back to them, and a little way off. Stares anxiously straight before him, and speaks low and quietly.] Perhaps they are soldiers ... or wicked people come to seek for him and take him away.... Rufus went up the little stairs to the Tower.... There's no place to hide in the Tower! [His voice gradually rising.] They'll find him as soon as they get here.... Oh, what shall I do—what shall I do? [Stands with hands clenched, listening and thinking, wide-eyed. The portraits move and bend toward him.]

Lady Geraldine [leaning forward and smiling tenderly]. Little Rafe, little Rafe, thou must play the man this night!

Sir Philip [leaning forward and speaking earnestly]. Little lad, little lad, thou art little and young! Go and fetch thy father!

Rafe [does not turn at all]. My father will know what to do.... Mayhap he will even open the secret door Gillian telleth of.... Surely, surely he cannot be angry now. [Turns and rushes wildly out (R.)].

[Enter Phyllis (R.), all shaking and trembling.

Phyllis [calls softly]. Rufus! Rufus! Where art thou? [To herself.] Oh, where can the rash boy have gone? He was safe for the time in the Blue Chamber. And now—— Oh, what can I do! I must warn him! [Wrings her hands and goes to window.] Gillian hath told me they are coming to seek him. He must be warned! Oh, where can he have gone? [Goes to door (L.), then to window once more. Enter Rafe, dragging Sir Gilbert by the hand.]

Rafe [breathless]. You needs must listen, Father! Brother Rufus came in at this door and went to the window, softly, to peep out. Then he ran out again and I got me up speedily and ran to the casement. [Tries to draw Sir Gilbert to window, but he resists and stands frowning (R. Center).] And I looked out, Father, and there was someone coming—men—away over toward the village. I saw them. And Rufus is gone up the Tower stairs—— [Phyllis starts forward to door, but turns back.]

Phyllis. The Tower, saidst thou, Rafe?

Rafe. Yes! The Tower! And thou knowest, Father, there is no way of escape from the Tower! Father, tell us what to do!

Phyllis [coming to his side with clasped hands]. Oh, good Uncle, save him while there is yet time!

Rafe. I know thou canst find a way, Father!

[Enter Lady Katherine, the two little girls
clinging to her skirts.

Lady K. [in amazement]. What can be the meaning of all this coil? The children crying to me in fright some old wives' tale about the family portraits—someone in the gallery—the soldiers—— My poor wits cannot fathom it!

Rafe [still clinging to his father's hand]. Oh, lady Mother, Rufus is hiding in the Tower, and the soldiers are coming, and Father must save him!

Lady K. [cries out]. Rufus, saidst thou? [Shakes off the children and hurries toward Rafe.] Where is he, boy?

Rafe [seizes her hand and draws her to door (L.)]. Here, Mother, here, up in the Tower. [Exeunt. Cicely and Allison cling together.]

Cicely. Oh, Allison, sweet sister, it was brother Rufus we did see in the gallery. And the Roundhead soldiers are coming.

Allison. Will they drag him away from here?

Phyllis. Oh, Uncle, dear Uncle, surely thou knowest some secret place in this old house where he can lie safe until danger be past?

[Enter Rafe and Lady Katherine with
Rufus (R.). Lady Katherine hastens
to window, glances out, then goes to quiet
children, who are sobbing. Rafe rushes
to his father, and Rufus at first starts to him.

Rafe. Father, here he is. Now what's to do?

Rufus. Father, I would——

Sir G. [interrupting]. Not a word from you, sirrah! How dare you enter this house whence you went but to disgrace my name? You are no son of mine!

[Rufus draws back and stands proudly a little
aloof. The rest cry out in protest.

Lady K. Oh, my lord, you cannot mean the words you speak!

Phyllis. Uncle!

Rafe. Oh, Father, poor Rufus!

Diccon [without]. Sir Gilbert! Sir Gilbert! Where art thou, master!

Gillian [without]. Oh, mistress! Oh, my lady!

[Enter Diccon and Gillian in greatest excitement.
Diccon carries a pair of candles,
which he places hastily on the chimney-piece.
Raise lights.

Diccon. My lord, the soldiers are coming! [Rushes to window.] They be at our very gates!

Gillian. Oh, mistress, the murthering knaves will burn the house above our heads!

Lady K. Hold thy peace, silly wench!

[General hubbub. Children cling crying to
their mother. Diccon and Gillian at
window. Rafe now running to window,
now tugging at his father's hand. Phyllis
at his other side.

Diccon. They come down the long hill!

Gillian. I see them, the knaves!

Phyllis. Oh, Uncle, prythee forgive Rufus—save him quickly!

Sir G. [angrily]. He doth not desire forgiveness.

Phyllis. Oh, Uncle, he would have asked it but now. Thy bitter words did check him, and thou knowest he is proud. He could not ask it then.

Gillian. Here they be!

Diccon. At our very gates!

Lady K. [above noise]. My lord, thou dost know some secret place. Do but disclose it to me. Remember he is thine own flesh and blood.

Diccon. Hark, ye can hear them! [Silence falls. In the distance the carol of the Waits is heard.]

Phyllis [relieved]. 'Tis the waits at their carols.

Lady K. [thankfully]. 'Tis not the soldiers, after all!

Diccon [turning from window]. Would it were not, my lady! Ye do hear the waits singing beneath the hall windows, 'tis true, but these at our gates be no peaceful carollers. [Turns back to window. All are silent for a moment, listening, until the refrain of "Peace on earth" is reached.]

Sir G. [startled]. "Peace on earth, good will to men!" Now Heaven forgive my angry spirit! Here, Rufus—quick, lad! [Touches spring at R. of portrait. Panel opens, and Sir Gilbert thrusts Rufus through, and it closes behind him. Sir Gilbert turns and takes command.] Clear the room—this throng will never do—guilt and suspicion sit upon our very faces. Wife, Phyllis! take these children to bed. Gillian! to the kitchen, wench, and do all in thy power to quiet the maidens there. Hasten to the gate, Diccon, and say that your master throws open his doors to their search. Bear yourselves, all, as if nothing had befallen! Now, haste!

[Rapid clearing of the room. Lady Katherine
and Phyllis hurry the children
out (L.), trying to quiet them. Exeunt
Diccon and Gillian by the door (R.).
Unnoticed, Rafe springs into box of settle,
and closes lid over him. When all are
gone, Sir Gilbert goes quietly about room
to put all in order. Looks out at window.
Sounds from without, of beating on doors,
etc. Cries, "Down with the false King!"
"Death to traitors!" etc. Sir Gilbert
goes to panel for a moment.

Sir G. [tapping]. Rufus! Rufus!

Rufus [within]. Yes, Father!

Sir G. Cheerly, good lad! Lie thou quiet, no harm shall come to thee. [Sir Gilbert goes to chimney, takes an old book from shelf, and sits on settle. Noises of search gradually come nearer. Enter Diccon, followed by soldiers.]

Diccon [torn between his fear and hatred of the soldiers and his wish to propitiate them]. Here is my lord, your masterships! He bade me give you free welcome [bows politely, but as they pass him he snarls aside], and a pest upon all of ye!

Sir G. What would you of me, my men? Why, Diccon, these be all old neighbors—not soldiers.

[The men are disconcerted, and advance awkwardly,
pulling at their forelocks.

Stephen. Yes—Sir Gilbert—no, Sir Gilbert—we be verily soldiers—soldiers of the Parliament.

Sir G. You have taken up arms against your King? I had thought to see old neighbors and friends and loyal men. [Rises, laying down book.]

Stephen. We do be loyal men——

Andrew. Loyal to the Parliament.

Wat. And soldiers of Cromwell.

Sir G. What, then, would you of me? Ye do know I am a subject of King Charles.

Stephen. My lord, we have orders to search this house.

Sir G. So be it, then. Obey your orders. What do ye look to find here?

Andrew. 'Tis a false traitor Cavalier.

Wat. He lurketh here and we mean to have him, too.

Stephen. We would do our work peaceably, my lord. But our general must have the country cleared of all Malignants.

Sir G. You have my free consent. My house is open to you from turret's peak to the bins in the cellar.

Diccon. There be more of 'em, my lord—a round dozen. And they waited not thy permission. They be already both on tower and in bins.

Sir G. Disturb them not, good Diccon. [Turns back to settle, takes up book and pretends to read, but keeps a careful eye on soldiers.]

Stephen. Do your work with thoroughness, men.

Andrew. That will we, captain!

Wat. There be many lurking—places in these old rats' nests.

Andrew. We'll ferret him out!

Wat. Aye, aye—the false villain.

[They go carefully about room, lifting hangings,
tapping walls and floor, trying to see
behind picture-frames, coming very near
secret door.

Stephen. Have ye tested the walls?

Wat. Aye, and the floors.

Andrew. There be no secrets here.

Stephen. Then we'll look further. Give ye good even, Sir Gilbert.

Andrew. Mayhap we'll meet again——

Wat. Aye,—on the field of battle!

[Exeunt soldiers, with angry gestures. Sir
Gilbert rises and bows slightly, signing to
Diccon to follow. Sir Gilbert waits an
instant, follows to door, then goes to window
and watches. Rafe jumps out of box,
and stands beside settle. Enter Lady
Katherine, followed by Phyllis and
Gillian, stealing in to peep out at window.
Enter Cicely and Allison, catching
at Gillian's skirts.

Allison [piteously]. Gillian! Gillian!

Cicely. Oh, Gillian, don't leave us alone!

Gillian [turns back]. Never! my lambs. Have never a fear of that. [Sits in chair (L.), gathers Allison into her lap, drawing Cicely beside her. Gillian still looks anxiously towards window.]

Phyllis. There they go, those wicked men!

Lady K. Now Heaven be praised! [Rafe runs to stand at panel. Enter Diccon.]

Diccon. My lord and my lady—— [All turn. Sir Gilbert crosses stage to meet Diccon.] The knaves be all gone, sir. I shut the gate upon them with my own two hands. [Everyone takes a breath of relief. Rafe touches spring and Rufus steps out and strides to his father.]

Rufus. Father, let your son's first word be to crave pardon for all his willfulness!

Sir G. [clasping his hand warmly and putting an arm across his shoulder]. Nay, lad, 'tis freely given. Methinks I should first ask thine for all my hardness of heart.

[Phyllis goes to Lady Katherine, who
turns and kisses her affectionately. They
stand side by side.

Phyllis. Our little Rafe has played the man and saved Rufus for us all.

Lady K. He is a brave little lad! But tell me, children, what doth it mean that you were out of your beds at such a strange hour?

Rafe. We got up to see our ancestors dance.

All. Ancestors dance!

Sir G. What meaneth the child?

Rafe. Why, sir, Gillian's grandam hath said to her, that when the midnight tolled on Christmas Eve, my lord and my lady here did step forth, clasp hands, and dance.

Allison. And so we came to see.

Cicely. And soothly, it was so. They came forth and danced, here in the shine of the fire. A brave sight, Father!

Sir G. Now, saints defend us! What is a man to make of this?

Lady K. Never heed them—'twas just a sleep-heavy fancy. A beautiful Christmas-tide dream.

Rafe. Nay, lady Mother, it was no dream. It was the spell of Christmas brought it all to pass.

Sir G. Now doth the lad speak truth, good friends! Verily it is the spell of Christmas which hath saved us all from sin and much sorrow this night. The spell of "Peace upon earth, good will to men." Hark, the waits are singing still—as angels sing, and ever shall sing the world around, on Christmas Eve.

[All stand listening for a moment to distant
singing, then join in carol.

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME, MUSIC, AND SETTING

Adult parts in this play taken by boys and girls of fifteen or sixteen. In contrast to these, the smaller the children playing Rafe, Cicely, and Allison, the better—Rafe not over eight, Cicely and Allison six and five years.

Costumes follow the Van Dyke pictures of Charles I and those of his children. Very helpful illustrations may also be found in "Merrylips," by Beulah Marie Dix. (The Macmillan Company.)

Sir Gilbert and Rufus wear sleeveless jerkins made of tan-colored canton flannel to represent leather. Rufus wears boots and a broad-brimmed hat with plumes, and long cloak of the same color as his suit. These suits should be of rich colors in contrast to the sober colors of the Puritan soldiers, who also wear leather-colored jerkins and boots.

Cavaliers wear broad lace collars and cuffs, while the Puritan Soldiers wear square linen collars and cuffs, and under-sleeves with stripes running around them of black and orange, the colors of the Parliament. Orange baldric over right shoulder. If possible, metal helmets, or firemen's helmets silvered to represent the steel caps of the time; otherwise, broad-brimmed felt hats with band or scarf of orange and black. They carry swords, cross-bows, or other arms.

Lady Katherine and Phyllis. Full, quilted petticoats, broad, deep-pointed lace collars and cuffs. Dressed in rich colors. Lady Katherine wears a small lace cap upon her hair.

Rafe. Suit like the picture of Prince Charles. May wear a broad fringed sash, and fringed bows at his knees. Lace collar and cuffs. Sleeves may be slashed.

Cicely and Allison. Little short-waisted, quilted dresses, with flowered panels set in. Lace at the square necks and the elbow sleeves.

Gillian. Plainly made dress of flowered material. Skirt full, but not quilted. Short caps to the sleeves. White kerchief, apron, and plain white cap.

Diccon. Plain suit, like the Puritans, but less sober in color, and without the leather jerkin. Square linen collar and cuffs.

The Portraits. Costumes of an earlier century.

Sir Philip. Slashed doublet and trunks of rich color, and long stockings to match. Ruff, and plumed cap or hat of same material as doublet. Wears a dagger.

Lady Geraldine. Dress of rich color to harmonize with Sir Philip's. Puffed and slashed sleeves, figured panel in front of skirt and waist, and panniers on hips. Ruff, and small beaded cap.

To stand in absolute stillness for so long a time is a difficult matter. Therefore the portraits must be careful to take poses which they can hold without too great a strain throughout the act.

Music

Choose songs which, through their quaintness, may be in keeping with the atmosphere of the whole.

For the children:

"Waken, Christian children,"[28]

"The first Nowell the angel did say,"

or some other simple old carol.

For the Waits:

"From far away we come to you."

These three carols are all to be found in "Christmas Carols New and Old," Novello & Company. The last has been modernized and set to new music more suitable for children's voices by Mr. W.W. Gilchrist, and is to be found in a book containing many good carols for children ("The First Nowell" among them), "The New Hosanna."[29] Mr. Gilchrist's version omits the quaint refrains of the original—"The snow in the street, and the wind on the door," and "Minstrels and maids stand forth on the floor," and substitutes "Sing 'Glory to God' again and again," and "Peace upon earth, good will to men." These last words are necessary to the sense in two places, in the text of the play. When the play was first given, the Waits used the old refrains, and Mr. Gilchrist's, for alternate verses, thus gaining in quaintness of effect and at the same time avoiding monotony. For the midnight dance, use the Minuet from Mozart's "Don Giovanni."[30]

Setting

If the first scene, which requires little furniture,—the table, a chair for Gillian, and low stools for the children,—can be set in front of the second, much time will be saved in the changing. One scene will serve for both acts, if the frames of the portraits can be covered with hangings during the first act. Mission furniture may be used, but if it is possible to obtain a carved chair and table, and appropriate objects to hang upon the wall,—one or two pieces of armor, a pair of antlers, etc.,—the effect can be much enhanced.

The secret door in the second act must be planned in accordance with the possibilities of one's stage. If scenery is used, one section may be opened wide enough for Rufus to pass through. Otherwise, arrange hangings so that he may appear to go through a door behind them.