Patriotic Plays and Pageants for Young People
by Constance D'Arcy Mackay
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Patriotic Plays and Pageants for Young People The one-act plays for young people contained in this volume can be produced separately, or may be used as links in the chain of episodes which go to make up outdoor or indoor pageants. There are full directions for simple costumes, dances, and music. Each play deals with the youth of some American hero. The plays are suitable for schools, summer camps, boys' clubs, historic festivals, patriotic societies, and social settlements, and play grounds. $1.35 net; by mail, $1.45.

The Silver Thread and Other Folk Plays for Young People Simplicity is the keynote of these eight plays. Each has a footnote on its origin, and full descriptions and directions for easily arranged costumes and scene-settings, especially designed to fit the limitations of the schoolroom stage. $1,20 net; by mail, $1.30.

The House of the Heart and Other Plays for Children Ten one-act plays that have stood the test of actual production. $1.20 net; by mail, $1.30. "An addition to child drama which has been sorely needed."—Boston Transcript.



Author of "The House of the Heart and Other Plays for Children" and "The Silver Thread and Other Folk Plays for Young People"


COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY—- Published March, 1912

No performance of these plays may be given without full acknowledgment of the author and publishers. Acknowledgment should be made to read as follows: "By Constance D'Arcy Mackay; from Patriotic Plays and Pageants for Young People; Copyright, 1912, by Henry Holt and Company; Produced by arrangement with the publishers." Amateurs may produce the plays in this volume without charge. Professional actors must apply for acting rights to the author, in care of the publishers.


The one-act plays for young people contained in this volume can be produced separately, or may be used as links in the chain of episodes which go to make up outdoor or indoor pageants. There are full directions for simple costumes, dances, and music. Each play deals with the youth of some American hero, so that the lad who plays George Washington or Benjamin Franklin will be in touch with the emotions of a patriot of his own years, instead of incongruously portraying an adult. Much of the dialogue contains the actual words of Lincoln, Washington, and Franklin, so that in learning their lines the youthful players may grasp something of the hardihood and sagacity of Washington, the perseverance of Franklin, and the honesty and dauntlessness of Lincoln, and of those salient virtues that went to the up-building of America—a heritage from the time "when all the land was young."

The plays are suitable for schools, summer camps, boys' clubs, historic festivals, patriotic societies, and social settlements and playgrounds. The outdoor plays are especially adapted for a "Safe and Sane Fourth." All the plays have stood the test of production.

"The Pageant of Patriots"—the first children's patriotic pageant ever given in America—was produced in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, N. Y., under the auspices of Brooklyn's ten Social Settlements, May, 1911. The Hawthorne Pageant was first produced on Arbor Day, May, 1911, by the Wadleigh High School, New York City; Pocahontas was given as a separate play at Franklin Park, Boston, by Lincoln House, and some of the other plays have been given at various schools in New York City.

Thanks are due to The Woman's Home Companion, The Delineator, The Designer, The Normal Instructor, and The Popular Educator for their kind permission to reprint these plays.





The outdoor arrangement can be produced by a whole school or group of schools, by groups of social settlements, communities, and cities, in parks, armories, woodland spaces or meadows on such occasions as the Fourth of July, Decoration Day, Bunker Hill Day, Labor Day, during Old Home Week, or for any special city or town celebration. The indoor arrangement of the same pageant is also suitable for whole schools, or groups of schools, groups of settlements, communities, villages, cities: in armories, school halls, assembly rooms, or small theaters on Columbus Day, Lincoln's Birthday, Washington's Birthday, or some day of special celebration.

PAGEANT OF PATRIOTS (Outdoor) Prologue by the Spirit of Patriotism Princess Pocahontas Pilgrim Interlude Ferry Farm Episode George Washington's Fortune Daniel Boone: Patriot Benjamin Franklin Episode Abraham Lincoln Episode Liberty Dance Pageant Directions

PAGEANT OF PATRIOTS (Indoor) Prologue by the Spirit of Patriotism Dramatic Silhouette: Lords of the Forest The Coming of the White Man: Tableau Princess Pocahontas Priscilla Mullins Spinning: Tableau Benjamin Franklin: Journeyman George Washington's Fortune The Boston Tea Party Dramatic Silhouette: The Spirit of '76 Abraham Lincoln: Rail-Splitter Directions for Indoor Arrangement


Can be produced in park or woodland in its outdoor arrangement. Is suitable for co-educational schools, girls' schools, girls' Summer camps. Is appropriate for Hawthorne's Birthday (July 4), Arbor Day, May Day, or any day during Spring and Summer. In its indoor form it can be given in school halls or in a small theater. In this form it is appropriate for co-educational schools, girls' schools, settlements. It can be given any time during the Autumn, Winter, or Spring.

HAWTHORNE PAGEANT (For Outdoor or Indoor Production) Chorus of Spirits of the Old Manse Prologue by the Muse of Hawthorne In Witchcraft Days (First Episode) Dance Interlude Merrymount (Second Episode) Pageant Directions


ABRAHAM LINCOLN: RAIL-SPLITTER (Indoor) Can be produced in school, home, or small theater. Is suitable for schools, settlements, clubs, patriotic societies, and debating societies. Can be appropriately produced any time between September and March. Is especially appropriate for Lincoln's Birthday.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN: JOURNEYMAN (Indoor) Can be produced in a school, home, or small theater. Is suitable for schools, clubs, settlements, patriotic societies and clubs. Can appropriately be produced any time between September and June. Is particularly suited to Franklin's Birthday.

THE BOSTON TEA PARTY (Indoor) Can be produced in school, home, or small theater. Is suitable for boys' schools, Boy Scouts, settlements, clubs, and patriotic societies. Can be produced on any holiday. Is particularly appropriate for Fall and Winter months—especially the month of December.

DANIEL BOONE: PATRIOT (Outdoor) Can be produced in park, woodland, or village green. Can be given by boys' schools, clubs, settlements, and patriotic societies. Also by the "Sons of Daniel Boone" and the Boy Scouts. Is appropriate for any day during Spring, Summer, or Autumn. Can be given on the Fourth of July.

GEORGE WASHINGTON'S FORTUNE (Outdoor) Can be produced in park, lawn, or woodland. Is suitable for schools, clubs, patriotic societies, and settlements. Is appropriate for any day during Spring, Summer, or Autumn, and is particularly appropriate for the Fourth of July. An indoor arrangement can easily be made for George Washington's Birthday.

IN WITCHCRAFT DAYS (Outdoor) Can be given in park, lawn, or village green or woodland. Suitable for co-educational schools, girls' schools, girls' Summer camps, patriotic societies, settlements, and clubs. Appropriate for Arbor Day, May Day, or any day during Spring, Summer, or early Autumn. An indoor arrangement can be given for Thanksgiving in school halls.

MERRYMOUNT (Outdoor) Can be produced in park or woodland. Is suitable for co-educational schools, girls' schools, girls' Summer camps, and for clubs, settlements, and patriotic societies. Is appropriate for Arbor Day, May Day, or any day in Spring and Summer. An indoor version of it can also be given.

PRINCESS POCAHONTAS (Outdoor) Can be given in park, in woodland, or on lawn. Is suitable for schools, clubs, and patriotic societies. Can be given on the Fourth of July, or any day during Spring and Summer. Indoor production is also possible.



The primary value of the patriotic play lies in its appeal to the love of country, and its power to revitalize the past. The Youth of To-Day is put in touch with the Patriots of Yesterday. Historic personages become actual, vivid figures. The costumes, speech, manners, and ideas of bygone days take on new significance. The life of trail and wigwam, of colonial homestead and pioneer camp, is made tangible and realistic. And the spirit of those days—the integrity, courage, and vigor of the Nation's heroes, their meager opportunities, their struggle against desperate odds, their slow yet triumphant upward climb—can be illumined by the acted word as in no other way. To read of the home life of America's beginnings is one thing; to portray it or see it portrayed is another. And of the two experiences the latter is the less likely to be forgotten. To the youthful participants in a scene which centers about the campfire, the tavern table, or the Puritan hearthstone will come an intimate knowledge of the folk they represent: they will find the old sayings and maxims of the Nation-Builders as pungent and applicable to the life of to-day as when they were first spoken.

The patriotic play has manifold uses. It combines both pleasure and education. It is both stimulating and instructive. In its indoor form it may be the basis of a winter afternoon's or evening's entertainment, in its outdoor form it may take whole communities and schools into the freedom of the open. It should rouse patriotic ardor, and be of benefit ethically, esthetically, and physically. It should wake in its participants a sense of rhythm, freedom, poise, and plastic grace. It should bear its part in developing clear enunciation and erectness of carriage. To those taking part it should bring the exercise of memory, patience, and inventiveness. It should kindle enthusiasm for the things of America's past. In what way can national hero-days and festivals be more fittingly commemorated than by giving a glimpse of the hero for whom the day is named? Thus the patriotic play is equally adaptable for Fourth of July, Washington's Birthday, Lincoln's Birthday, Columbus Day, and the hundreds of other days—not holidays—that lie in between.

If the patriotic play is produced in the right way it should contain the very essence of democracy—efficient team-work, a striving together for the good of the whole. It should lead to the ransacking of books and libraries; the planning of scene-setting, whether indoor or outdoor; the fashioning of simple and accurate costumes by the young people taking part; the collecting of suitable stage properties such as hearthbrooms, Indian pipes, and dishes of pewter. The greater the research, the keener the stimulus for imagination and ingenuity, two things that go to the making of every successful production. Fortunately, the patriotic play is inherently simple, its appeal is along broad general lines, so that it requires no great amount of money or energy to adequately produce it. And, as history is made up not of one event, but of a series of events, so an historical pageant is a logical sequence of one-act patriotic plays or episodes. The one-act patriotic play shows one hero or one event; the pageant shows, through one-act plays used in chronological order, the development and upbuilding of America through the lives of her heroes.

In its pageant form, the patriotic play, with dances, songs, pantomime, and spoken speech, lends itself to schools, communities, and city use, in park, in armory, and on village green: in its one-act form it lends itself to both indoor and outdoor production by schools, patriotic societies, clubs and settlements, and, last, but not least, the home circle. And in the hope of assisting teachers and producers to fit appropriate plays to appropriate occasions notes on the subject have been added to the individual plays in the table of contents.





PROLOGUE Spoken by The Spirit of Patriotism

People of ————, ye who come to see Enacted here some hours of Pageantry, Lend us your patience for each simple truth, And see portrayed for you the Nation's Youth. Spirit of Patriotism I. Behold How at my word time's curtain is uprolled, And all the past years live, unvanquished As are the laurels of the mighty dead. I am the spirit of the hearth and home! For me are flags unfurled and bugles blown. For me have countless thousands fought and died; For me the name of "Liberty" is cried! I am the leader where the battle swings, I bring the memory of all high things. And so to-day I come to bid you look At scenes deep-written in the Nation's book. The youth of all the heroes you shall see— What lads they were, what men they grew to be. How honor, thrift, and courage made them rise By steps that you can learn if you be wise. First, Pocahontas in a woodland green; Then life among the Pilgrim folk is seen— Thrifty Priscilla, Maid o' Plymouth Town, In Puritanic cap and somber gown! For the next scene comes life in Southern climes— The Ferry Farm of past Colonial times. Then Washington encamped before a blaze O' fagots, swiftly learning woodland ways. Then Boone with Rigdon in the wilderness Dauntlessly facing times of strife and stress. Crossing the Common in the morning sun Young Benjamin Franklin comes: about him hung Symbols of trade and hope—kite, candles, book. The crystal gazer enters, bids him look At all the guerdon that the years will bring. The Vision next: Trianon in the Spring, And Franklin honored by the Queen of France With courtly minuet and festal dance. Lastly, a cabin clearing in the West, Where on a holiday with mirth and zest Lincoln's companions take their simple cheer. These are the scenes to be enacted here, Shown to you straightway in a simple guise. Youthful the scenes that we shall here devise On which the beads of history are strung. Remember that our players, too, are young. All critic-knowledge, then, behind you leave, And in the spirit of the day receive What we would give, and let there come to you The Joy of Youth, with purpose high and true.


THE SPIRIT OF PATRIOTISM. The Spirit of Patriotism should wear a long white robe, with flowing Grecian lines, made either of white cheesecloth, or white cashmere. It should fall from a rounded neck. Hair worn flowing, and chapleted with a circlet of gold stars. White stockings and sandals. Carries a staff from which floats the Stars and Stripes.



PRINCESS POCAHONTAS CHIEF POWHATAN CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH Eight Young Indian Braves Eight Young Indian Maidens Two Indian Women Two old and withered Squaws Six or seven little Indian children Other followers of Powhatan

TIME: Mid-afternoon on a mild day in 1609. PLACE: Virginia. SCENE: An open glade showing a small Indian encampment.

[Transcriber's note: All stage directions appear in italics in the original]

At the opening of the scene the glade is deserted, the men of the tribe being engaged in a skirmish with the white men, while the women and children have gone foraging. There are two teepees, one at right, and one at left, their doors closed. By the side of teepee at left a pile of fagots, and a wooden block.

Further front, facing audience, a great war-drum, gaily painted. A skin-covered drum-stick. At right, towards front, the smoldering remains of a fire. The whole appearance of the camp shows that it is not permanent—a mere pausing-place.

The space between the teepees is absolutely unobstructed, but there are trees and bushes at the back and sides.

By degrees the Indians who have been foraging begin to return. One of the Indian women enters carrying fagots. One of the older squaws rekindles the fire. Next come the children, with merry shouts, carrying their little bows and arrows. The Indian maidens enter gaily, carrying reeds for weaving. They move silently, swiftly, gracefully. Two of their number begin to grind maize between stones. Two others plait baskets. An old medicine-man, with a bag of herbs, comes from the background, and seats himself near the drum, at left, taking an Indian flute from his deerskin belt, and fingering it lovingly. An Indian woman, arriving later than the others, unstraps from her back a small papoose, and hangs it to the limb of a tree. The Indian children stand towards the front of the greensward, shoot in a line their feathered arrows, run and pick up the arrows, and acclaim in pantomime the one who shot the best. Then they go towards background, doing a childish imitation of a war-dance. The mother of the papoose, having finished her duties in setting one of the teepees to rights, now takes down the papoose from the tree where it swings, and seating herself in the center of the greensward, croons an Indian lullaby. The Indian maidens group themselves about her, seated in a semicircle on the ground, swaying rhythmically. At the back of the stage one of the little Indian boys sees an Indian maiden approaching, clad in white doeskin. Cries aloud delightedly: "Pocahontas!"

The Indian maidens and the squaws rise and fall back before the entrance of Pocahontas with gestures of salutation and respect.

ALL (clearly and enthusiastically). Pocahontas!

[Pocahontas comes down center with a basket filled with branches that bear small red berries. The children and two of the maidens gather about her, and then fall back as she begins speaking, so that she has the center of the stage. Greatest interest is evinced in all she does.

POCAHONTAS (speaking slowly, as one does in an unfamiliar tongue, yet clearly and deliberately). I—Pocahontas—daughter of Powhatan, great chief,—speak—language of—paleface. Powhatan teach me. (Points to way from which she has come.) Yonder—I—went. Prayed to River God.

[Makes gesture of worship, raising basket above her head. The semicircle about her widens respectfully. A maiden then approaches and takes basket. Pocahontas smiles in sudden childlike delight, and holding out chain of beads that fall from her neck to her waist, says with pretty intonation:

Beads. Jamestown.

[Watches them for a moment as they glimmer in the sun. Then with sudden laugh seizes the Indian maiden nearest her, and by gesture summons the other Indian maidens. One of the very old squaws with a half-wry, half-kindly smile begins a swift tapping on the drum that has in it the rhythm of dance music. The Indian children withdraw to the doors of the teepees, and Pocahontas and the Indian maidens dance. The old medicine-man adds his flute-notes to the rhythm of the war-drum.

The Indians being a notably silent people, this scene must be given mostly in pantomime.

From the forest at right comes the faint sound of a crackling branch. Instant attention on the part of all. The dance stops. The Indian maidens stand poised, listening. The women shade their eyes with their hands. A small Indian boy lays his ear to the ground, and then cries: "Powhatan!" Two expectant semicircles are formed. All look to wards right. Powhatan enters, Pocahontas runs to meet him. Tableau.

Powhatan then indicates that others are coming from right. Young braves enter with John Smith in their midst. His hands are bound behind him, his face is white and drawn. Children at sight of him scamper to teepees. The rest show signs of curiosity. Pocahontas stands with clasped hands and startled eyes, regarding Smith most earnestly. A brave bears Smith's weapons. Smith is led to right foreground. Block of wood is brought him for a seat.

The Indian women, maidens, and children retreat to the extreme background, where they sit in a semicircle, watching. Then Powhatan and braves withdraw to left, where they form a circle and confer, one brave at a time addressing the rest in pantomime, with many gestures, some towards Smith, some towards the path by which they brought him. Occasionally the words "Algonquin," "Chickahominy," "Jamestown," "Opeckankano," "W'ashunsunakok" are spoken. When Powhatan speaks in pantomime the others listen with occasional grunts of satisfaction and approval. It is evident that the prisoner and the fate awaiting him are under discussion.

Pocahontas alone remains near the center of interest. She glances first at her father and the braves, sees they are deep in discussion, and then crosses to John Smith, with every sign of interest and awakening pity. She brings him water in a wooden bowl. He drinks thirstily. She then goes to one of the teepees, and brings him a cup of milk. This she holds for him to drink from, as his hands are bound.

POCAHONTAS (gravely, as she puts down the cup). How!

SMITH (with equal gravity). How!

POCAHONTAS(touching herself lightly). Pocahontas. Daughter of Powhatan.

[Touches Smith questioningly.

SMITH (answering her). Smith. John Smith.

POCAHONTAS (repeating it after him). John Smith.

SMITH. From Jamestown.

POCAHONTAS (nods, says slowly). Pocahontas likes paleface.

[Meantime the pantomimic discussion held by Powhatan and his braves is drawing near its close. There comes a shout of triumphant acclaim "Wah! Wah! Wah!" hoarse and loud. Powhatan, having in pantomime rendered his decision, now stands with arms folded, at left. Braves to right, and take Smith to center. Powhatan stands at the extreme left. The braves form a semicircle about Smith. The women and children in the background rise silently, and peer forward. Smith is forced to one knee. A brave holds aloft the hatchet.

POCAHONTAS (looking from Smith to her father, and then running towards the latter with a cry). No! No!

[Powhatan regards his daughter gravely, yet unrelentingly. Pocahontas, center, stretches out her arms in pleading. Powhatan shakes his head. Pocahontas then goes towards Smith, and again with animated pantomime, indicating first Smith and then the way by which he has come, pleads for him. Powhatan shakes his head. He is obdurate. Pocahontas bows her head dejectedly. Turns to go back to where she has been standing. Then changes her mind, runs to her father, and with every evidence of pleading and humility, falls on her knees before him, arms outstretched. For a moment they are still as statues. Then Pocahontas takes from her neck her string of beads, and, by gesture, offers it as a ransom for Smith.

POCAHONTAS (speaking slowly). Pocahontas, daughter of Great Chief, asks of Great Chief John Smith's life.

[Tense pause. Powhatan, with arms folded, considers deeply. Then makes sign of assent, but gives back necklace to Pocahontas, who rises with pantomime of joy. Powhatan makes sign to braves to release Smith. Smith is unbound. His weapons are given back to him. He chafes his wrists and presents his compass to Powhatan.

SMITH. Great Chief! (Turns first to Powhatan, and then to Pocahontas.) Great Princess! John Smith grateful!

[Powhatan touches him on shoulder.

POWHATAN (grunting). Umph!

[Indicates by gesture peace-pipe which has been lit at fire. All braves sit in semicircle facing audience, and pass it (not too slowly!) from one to another, including Smith and Powhatan. Then all rise.

SMITH (standing center). John Smith goes to Jamestown. John Smith friend of great chief, Powhatan. Palefaces always remember Powhatan! Always remember Pocahontas!

BRAVES (all together). Wah! Wah! Wah!

[Exit Smith, right. Smith is watched by the Indians in silence deep and respectful.

POCAHONTAS (to Powhatan). Great Chief safely returned. Captive set free. Shall we go yonder? (Points.) Pray to River God?

[Powhatan nods gravely. He and Pocahontas exeunt left. The braves follow next. The Indian maidens, women, and children form the end of the procession. The stage is thus left empty, and the scene ends.


POCAHONTAS. Pocahontas should wear the traditional costume of "white doeskin with a scarlet mantle flecked with gold sequins." A great chain of pearls should be about her neck. Another chain which reaches to her waist should be of white and blue beads—large beads that will catch glitter from the sun. About her head a band of tan, and a white quill. The embroidery about the neck of her Indian robe is of pearls. The basket which she carries should be white, with a motif of rich blue and scarlet. She wears a tan (dressed deerskin) girdle, heavily embroidered in red beads. Her stockings and moccasins are tan-colored also, the moccasins embroidered in scarlet. The ends of her braids are bound in scarlet and gold. White canton flannel, skilfully slashed for fringing, will make the Indian dress, which should fall in straight lines from a square neck. It should reach to about three inches above the ankle, and should be heavily fringed. The robe, worn fastened at the shoulders, should be of scarlet cloth. The deerskin belt is of cotton khaki. The moccasins can be made of the same material, cut sandal fashion. Or low canvas ties without heels, bead-embroidered.

CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH. Tan-colored costume of the seventeenth century. The coat of tattered, weather-stained brown velvet, the puffed sleeves slashed with tan satin that is soiled and frayed. Great tan boots coming to the knee. A white lace collar at neck, much the worse for wear. A brown leather girdle.

POWHATAN. Indian dress of tan (dressed deerskin), the neck and breast of it gorgeously painted with blue, green, and scarlet. Great chains of shells and beads. A huge head-dress of black feathers that hangs down his back almost to his knees. It should be the largest and most magnificent of all the Indian head-dresses, as it is the insignia of chiefdom. Tan stockings and tan moccasins. The material of his costume may be cotton khaki. (The imitation khaki is best, as the real material is too heavy.)

THE MEDICINE-MAN. The medicine-man is old. He wears a wig of long, white, coarse hair. His costume is of cotton khaki, decorated with beads, bits of looking-glass, and feathers. He wears no feathers on his head. A piece of fur is fastened to his shoulders. His blanket is black, with white cabalistic signs. It can be made of canton flannel.

INDIAN BRAVES. The braves who follow Powhatan should wear costumes resembling those of the chief, save that they are less gorgeously painted, and wear fewer strings of beads and shells. Their head-dresses, too, are shorter. They should be of gray, black, and brown feathers. Their faces are, of course, stained brown, their arms and necks likewise. Red and black warpaint should also be on their faces. Unless wigs of long hair are to be worn, the boys wearing the feathered head-dresses should be careful to see that their lack of long hair is concealed from view. Often the Indian braves wore their long matted locks braided; and black cheesecloth cut into strips and then braided and fastened to a tight black cap will make a splendid wig of this sort—the braids of hair should hang in front of the ears. The Indian braves should carry bows, arrows, and tomahawks.

THE INDIAN MAIDENS. The Indian maidens should wear tan fringed dresses, of the same length and fashion as that of Pocahontas. Necklaces and bracelets of shells. The necks of the dresses embroidered in beads and shells. They wear their long black hair in two braids, the ends of the braids bound either with scarlet, corn-yellow, or vivid blue. They have moccasins and tan-colored stockings. Their bead' embroidered footgear should be in striking color on a tan background. But their chief glory is their blankets. These should be barbarically glowing, since it is partly in their wild flare of color that the beauty of the Blanket Dance lies. The following designs for them are taken from the Indian motifs and colorings studied from the collections in various museums of natural history, and however startling they may seem at first, their color-scheme should be faithfully carried out, as much of the success of the scene depends on them. The material used may be canton flannel throughout. They should be the size of the average, every-day blanket.

1. Blanket made of equal halves of deep royal purple and pale turquoise blue.

2. Blanket of deep cobalt blue. Fastened in the center a great oval of orange.

3. Blanket made of equal halves of pale lemon and black.

4. Blanket made of equal halves of very dark green and very pale green.

5. Blanket made of equal halves of deep violet and white.

6. White blanket with disks of scarlet at each of its four corners.

7. Blanket of equal halves of royal purple and pale lavender.

8. Blanket of very pale green, with large white disk in center.

Each Indian maiden should wear a band of gay-colored cheesecloth, red, green, or blue, bound about her forehead. This band should match the color that fastens her braids. In the back of the head-band should be fastened a quill of contrasting shade. It need hardly be added that the Indian maidens wear neither feather head-dresses nor war-paint. Their arms, necks, and faces should be stained light brown. The tan-colored stockings are to simulate bare skin.

SQUAWS. The squaws wear the same cotton khaki costumes as the Indian maidens, save that their blanket are of more somber colors, and their headgear is either omitted altogether, or consists of black, bronze, or dull green.

THE LITTLE INDIAN BOYS. They should drew in exact imitation of the older braves, save that they wear no war-paint.

PROPERTIES. For either an indoor or outdoor representation of this scene where it is impossible to have a real fire, have a pile of fagots and unionist them place large bunches of joss-sticks bound together with thread. These will burn easily and safely, and the blue smoke from them will simulate a waft from woodland embers.

The log can be made of two small vinegar barrels fastened together, covered with brown burlap, and then flecked with green and brown paint. The teepees should be of canvas, unbleached cotton, or burlap fastened over three slender, strong poles, stuck into the ground. They should be equal to bearing the weight of the canvas or burlap, and yet light enough to be removed and carried off the scene by the young Indian braves as they leave in the direction of the river when the scene ends.

DANCES. At the place indicated in the scene, the Indian maidens give one or more characteristic Indian dances. "The Blanket Dance," one of the most widely known and picturesque of the Indian dances, follows somewhat the lines of a Virginia Reel. The Indian maidens stand in a line facing each other, their blankets wrapped about them. The head couple, facing each other, spread wide their blankets behind them like great butterfly wings. Then they dance forward and back, forward and back, beckoning, retreating, gesturing, and finally dance off, with one blanket wrapped about two pairs of shoulders. Then the next couple, and so on. All sorts of fantastic steps, gestures, bendings, and swayings can be introduced. A wide space should be left between the dancers, so that all they do can be clearly seen. Dancing in great circles, like a mild war-dance, yet without the whoops and wild gestures of the latter, is another form that lends itself to the out-of-doors. Another dance is the Eagle Dance; with arms spread wide, holding their blankets at wing-like angles, the dancers circle about each other, the dance growing wilder and wilder. Still another dance is the symbolical one of the Four Winds—North, South, East, West—done by four Indian maidens. The South Wind gentle and swaying; the West Wind fantastic, with arms upraised; the East Wind with streaming hair and rain-drops shining on finger tips; the North Wind wilder than them all, and finally driving them all before her.

MUSIC. Piano: MacDowell's "An Indian Idyl," "From an Indian Lodge." These can be had orchestrated. For a band: "Tomahawk Dance," by Andrew Herman. "Indian War Dance," by Bellstedt. "The Sun Dance," by Leo Friedman.



(Tune: Oxford. To be sung off stage by the Puritan maidens before they enter to take part in the episode.)

Gone is now the sullen winter, Gone the famine and the snow; In the forest, like a promise, See the first white mayflowers blow.

Fresh hope thrills us with their coming, They, too, braved the winter long; Then at Springtime took new leafage, Frail yet steadfast, small but strong.

Cling we thus to our new country, Let us struggle and endure; We have found a land of Freedom, And our heritage is sure.

THE SPINNING LESSON (A Pilgrim Interlude)


PRISCILLA MULLINS Lads of Plymouth Town JOHN BILLINGTON DEGORY MARTIN Youthful Pilgrim Maidens RUTH PATIENCE MIRIAM LETTICE ANNE STAR-OF-SPRING, an Indian maiden NATIQUA, a squaw, her mother FOREST FLOWER, another Indian maiden HERON'S WING, a young Indian brave

SCENE: A grassy glade at Plymouth in the Spring of 1621, Trees right, left, and background. At the beginning of the scene the grassy stage is deserted. There presently enters from background Anne, a young Pilgrim maid of about fourteen, whose somber garb shows out darkly against the green background. She looks quickly about her, right and left, shielding her eyes with her hand. Then she calls back over her shoulder to her companions, Diantha and Lettice.

ANNE (calling). Come quickly, Diantha. Here is a fair spot for our corn-shelling, and not a prowling Indian in sight.

[Diantha, slender, dark, and somewhat older than Anne, enters with Lettice. They carry between them an Indian basket of capacious size, in which are dried ears of corn.

DIANTHA (clearly). Nay, we need have no fear; for on one side Captain Miles Standish keeps watch, and on the other John Alden; so as for Indians——

LETTICE (as they come to center). One Indian only have I seen this day, and to see him is ever a sign of good omen.

DIANTHA. That means that Squanto is in Plymouth Town, our good, true Indian friend. He it was who taught us how to shell the corn, so many months agone; he it was who taught us, this Spring, the manner of sowing it.

LETTICE (holding up Indian basket). And here is one of the Indian corn-baskets that Captain Standish found buried in a strange wilderness spot when he first explored these forests.

ANNE (drawing near to Lettice). These forests—! Oh, my heart! As night draws on how dark and fearsome they appear! And now that Spring is in the land it sets me longing for English hedgerows.

[Sits on ground, left, and begins to shell corn.

LETTICE (joining Anne in her work). Do you remember the Spring in Leyden, Diantha?

DIANTHA (looking upward as she stands). Why, even here the Spring is very fair! Do not the sunlight, the blue sky, and the budding trees make your heart sing with joy?

ANNE. Sit, then, Diantha, and let us have a quiet hour.

DIANTHA (standing behind them, half-gay, half-mocking). A quiet hour—! Hither come Patience and Miriam and Ruth, the greatest clatter-tongues in Plymouth. See! They have been gathering wild plum blossoms!

[Enter Miriam, Patience, and Ruth from background. They hasten towards Diantha. The exquisite white of the blossoms they carry makes them look like heralds of the Spring.

MIRIAM (excitedly). Diantha, what dost think! Priscilla Mullins hath declared herself weary of spinning in her own door-yard, and since Squanto hath told us that we need not fear the Indians she hath besought Degory Martin and John Billington to bring hither her spinning-wheel.

PATIENCE (wide-eyed). Was ever the like known in Plymouth!

RUTH (as all look eagerly towards background). Hither she comes!

PRISCILLA (clearly in distance). Have a care, Degory.

DEGORY. Aye, Mistress Priscilla.

PRISCILLA (as they emerge from background). Stumble not, John Billington.

JOHN BILLINGTON (sturdily). Not while I bear such a burden.

[They set down the spinning-wheel, center.

PRISCILLA. I thank you. Will you come for me when the shadows o' the pines grow long across my doorway?

[The Pilgrim lads nod, and exeunt, left background.

PRISCILLA (to Pilgrim maidens). Well, and have you no word of greeting? Why, they are dumb with astonishment! And is it so strange a thing to bring one's wheel outdoors? 'Twas out of doors that this wood first grew! (Touches wheel.) All day I have longed to be out in these wide spaces—and yet there was work to do. But see—now I weld heart's desire and work together!

[She begins to spin. Meantime Pilgrim maidens group about her. Tableau.

MIRIAM. You are ever one to see the bright side of things, Priscilla, and———Look, Priscilla—an Indian!

[At sound of that dread word all the maidens draw near to Priscilla. From the woods in right background appears Star-of-Spring, the little Indian maiden. She carries a basket of shell-fish on her head, steadying it with her hand. She is so intent on walking carefully that she does not see the group of Pilgrims until she is nearly upon them. There ensues a period of unflagging pantomime. Star-of-Spring, upon seeing the group of dark-clad maidens, starts back, half terrified. Priscilla rises, and as an overture of peace and good-will, takes a few steps towards her. Star-of-Spring retreats still further towards right. Priscilla returns to her wheel.

Star-of-Spring, emboldened, takes a step towards the Pilgrim maidens. Pilgrim maidens, quite as wary of Star-of-Spring as she is of them, retreat a little way to left. At this Star-of-Spring's last fears vanish. She wishes to be friends. With pretty pleading she holds out to them her basket of shell-fish. Places it on the ground and then steps back, bowing, with arms wide and outstretched palms.

PRISCILLA. She means we should accept it. Is that not truly generous!

DIANTHA (reassured). It must be Star-of-Spring, the little Indian maid of whom Squanto has so often told us.

[Diantha takes up basket. Pantomime of delight on part of Star-of-Spring. She draws near to Anne, and with a quaint grace touches Anne's cap and kerchief. Tries on Anne's cap, and looks at herself in a barbaric bit of looking-glass that dangles from one of her many chains of beads. Then laughs, gives back the cap, and is in turn fascinated at the sight of Priscilla when she begins spinning. Star-of-Spring approaches the wheel with pantomime indicating awe and delighted curiosity. She first inspects it, and then begins to talk in dumbshow with quick, animated gestures. The Pilgrim maidens are somewhat bewildered.

DIANTHA (as the meaning of the scene dawns on her). Priscilla! She wishes to spin!

ANNE. Thou hast done many strange things in this new land, Priscilla; but I doubt not that the strangest of all is to give an Indian maiden her first lesson in spinning!

[Priscilla rises. Star-of-Spring seats herself. Business of Priscilla's teaching her to spin. Haltingly and somewhat fumblingly she does at length manage to compass the first rudiments of her lesson. The Pilgrim maidens stand grouped about her. Tableau. DEGORY (from background). The shadows of the pines lengthen across your door-sill, Priscilla!

[At sound of the new voice Star-of-Spring rises, and hastily retreats, right. Degory Martin and John Billington enter from background.

DIANTHA. Only think, Degory, Star-of-Spring, an Indian maid, hath had a spinning lesson!

DEGORY. The shadows are lengthening. Twilight comes apace here in the forest. 'Tis time you all came home.

[The maidens of Plymouth follow him as he and John Billington take the spinning-wheel and spinning-stool with them. They make their exit at center background. Star-of-Spring, who has lingered at edge of trees, right, steals out to look after her departing playmates. Stands at place where spinning-wheel was. Again shakes her head, as if in perplexity over the strange arts of the palefaces. Finds on grass part of a skein of flax. Tosses it lightly in the air. Catches it again as it falls. Begins a characteristic dance, swaying, tossing skein, catching it. Each step of the dance takes her further into background. Then she comes down center again, like a tossing bough or a blown flame. She does not perceive the group entering from left. Her mother (Natiqua), Forest Flower, and Heron's Wing. They also are so occupied with portage that they do not perceive Star-of-Spring until they are almost up to her. Heron's Wing and Forest Flower carry between them a birch-bark canoe. Behind them trudges Natiqua, bent beneath a double pile of fagots. They pass, in picturesque silhouette, back of the spot where Priscilla had been seated with her spinning-wheel. Then they and Star-of-Spring become aware of each other. They stop. Natiqua frowns. Star-of-Spring points to place where Priscilla sat with her spinning-wheel, and by animated gestures portrays what has taken place. But neither Natiqua, Forest Flower, nor Heron's Wing is in the least interested. Natiqua shakes her head and frowns. It is evident that the wonders of the palefaces are not to her mind. She lets slip from her back her double pile of fagots, then replaces one, and Star-of-Spring takes up the other. Then, in Indian file, they cross the scene to right, and slowly disappear from view.


PILGRIM MAIDENS. The Pilgrim maidens should wear plain black dresses ankle length, with white cuffs and Puritan caps, and white kerchiefs. These dresses may be made of black cambric, worn with the glazed side turned in.

THE PILGRIM LADS. The Pilgrim lads wear black suits, with full knee-breeches, black stockings, and low black shoes with silver buckles. Their hair comes to their ears, and they have white collars turned down on their coats, and deep white cuffs on their sleeves.

THE INDIANS. The Indians wear costumes of cotton khaki, the necks gaily painted with Indian designs. Strings of beads and shells. Natiqua has a green and scarlet blanket. She and the Indian maidens wear their hair in braids. They also have a gay strip of cheesecloth—red, green, or yellow—bound about their brows, and a quill stuck upright in the back. Heron's Wing has a head-dress of blue-gray heron's feathers. All wear moccasins. (See description of Indian costumes in "Princess Pocahontas.")




SCENE: The lawn of Ferry Farm, 1748. A wide expanse of green. Trees right, left, and background. The trees in background supposedly screen the Colonial house from view. At the left the estate supposedly stretches to the highway. At the right, behind the trees, it is given over to flower and vegetable gardens.

At the beginning of the scene the grassy space is deserted, but from the distance, right, comes the sound of singing. The sound swells louder and louder in the rhythm of one of the oldest of African songs, "Mary and Martha just gone 'long to ring those charming bells." The first verse is sung before the singers appear. With the second verse those who have been at work in the fields come into view, their gay and colorful costumes bright against the green background.

Two of the children run into sight first; then comes a group of nine or ten young people. Some carry between them baskets heaped quite high with fruit and vegetables. One boy holds a hoe. A girl carries a rake. Another an armful of dried corn on the ear. Two more a low basket heaped with cotton. In the center of this group hobbles old Aunt Rachel, turbaned, and leaning on a cane. By her side walks Lucy, carrying a great bunch of pink "Winter Roses."

The third verse is sung as this group emerges into full view of the audience. The children stand looking at Aunt Rachel as they sing, as if they were catching some of the words from her. She beats time with her finger to see that they learn correctly. Other voices take up the song in right background, swelling it higher and higher. Uncle Ned, with his fiddle under his arm, comes slowly from right to join the group in foreground. The baskets are set down. The boy leans on his hoe, the girl on her wooden rake, rapt and happy. All are given over to the rhythmic joy of the music.

UNCLE NED (with a sigh of happiness). I certainly do love music. Nothing cheers the heart like singing— unless it's the voice of the fiddle.

SUSY (hopping up and down). Play to us, Uncle Ned, play to us!

[Uncle Ned tucks his fiddle under his chin and begins to play. At first the air is chant-like, and has a strain of melancholy, then it grows gayer and gayer, until it turns into a dance tune. The children first stand about Uncle Ned in a circle, listening. Then they begin to dance, with swaying bodies and cries of delight. Here and there a girl and boy dance opposite each other, hands on hips. There should be five or six dancing groups in all. Uncle Ned finishes with a flourish, and turns towards left.

THE CHILDREN. Play us another tune, Uncle Ned! Play us another tune!

UNCLE NED (to a little girl who is especially imploring). No, no, honey. There's work for me to do up yonder at the house.

[Goes off, left background.

AUNT RACHEL (still swaying a little and nodding her head). It certainly does take the fiddle to make old bones feel young again. Where are you going, Susy?

SUSY (taking up her basket and indicating left). Off to the stables.

AUNT RACHEL (center). And where are you going, Lucy?

LUCY. Up to the house with this bunch of roses for Mistress Washington.

SUSY. Look! Here comes Nelly from the house now.

NELLY (running down from background). Have you-all heard the news? This is the day that Master George is leaving for his surveying trip with Lord Fairfax. See! Mistress Washington is coming to speak to us now!

[All look in the direction of house. Madam Washington is seen approaching from the background, center, a stately figure in Colonial dress, her hair slightly touched with gray. Cries of "Good-morning, Mistress Washington! Good-morning!" Children skip up and down. Baskets, hoe, and rake are alike forgotten. Madam Washington stands in center, and the plantation children are grouped in a wide semicircle about her, so that all she does is in full view of audience. Lucy presents Madam Washington with a bunch of roses. Madam Washington takes them, bows, and smiles. Lucy drops a courtesy.

MADAM WASHINGTON. How is your fever, Aunt Rachel?

AUNT RACHEL. Better, better, I thank you.

LUCY. Is this the day that Master George is starting for—

PETER (as he comes running down from background). Mistress Washington! Mistress Washington! Lord Fairfax has come, and Master George's horse is all saddled and waiting.

[Madam Washington turns and, follows Peter back to the house.

AUNT RACHEL (indicating left). Come, children! You can see the road from here. There he is on his horse!

[Young George Washington, in tan-colored frontiersman's garb, is seen dimly through the trees. With him a stately figure that is Lord Fairfax. They wave and bow in direction of house. Then George waves in direction of plantation group in foreground.

SAMBO (shielding his eyes with his hand). I can see him! I can see him!

ALL (looking off towards left, waving, gesticulating). Good-by, good-by, Master George!

OTHERS. Come back soon, Master George. Good-by! Good-by!

AUNT RACHEL (sadly shaking her head). He is gone! How we will miss him!

[An instant's dejection falls on the group. They stand saggingly, joy gone from them.

AUNT RACHEL (brightening). It's only for a short time. Only for a short time. He'll be back. He'll surely be back.

[The group brightens. A tambourine drops jinglingly. It is picked up. Baskets and hoe are resumed. The group starts towards background, leisurely, tunefully singing:

(Air: Chorus of "Down Where the Cotton Blossoms Grow.")

Bright shines the sun, the clover-fields are white, Through the woods the happy children go: As gay are our hearts as flowers swinging light, When balmy airs of Springtime blow.

Gaily we work with spade and rake and hoe, Golden shines the burnished sun of noon; Then in the fields the shadows longer grow, Time to be looking for the moon!

Then twilight comes, and then the velvet night, Stars shine like a beacon through the gloam, The old cabin road is gray beneath their light, The long road that leads us to our home.

[As they sing the darkies move towards background. The voices grow fainter and fainter. The scene ends.


LORD FAIRFAX. Plum-colored velvet. Three-cornered black hat. White wig with cue.

GEORGE WASHINGTON. Frontiersman's suit of cotton khaki, made on Indian lines, with Indian tunic, and knee-breeches. Tan stockings, with strappings of khaki wound round them, and moccasins.

MADAM WASHINGTON. Dark green quilted petticoat. Overdress and bodice of dark green, flowered in old rose. Elbow sleeves. White ruffles of lace. White lawn fichu. Powdered hair.

The plantation negroes wear tropically bright colors. All the colors are solid. Aunt Rachel has a bright blue dress with a white apron and kerchief, and a black cloak across her shoulders. She wears a scarlet and yellow turban, and huge gold hoops in her ears. The negro girls wear red and blue and green cotton dresses with white kerchiefs, and colored aprons—a yellow apron with a red dress, and so on. Some of them wear gay little turbans. Their feet are bare. The boys wear black knee-breeches, and bright-colored shirts, open at the neck. Uncle Ned wears black knee-breeches, low black shoes, and a faded scarlet vest with gilt buttons opening over a soft white shirt.

GEORGE WASHINGTON'S FORTUNE (Founded on a legend of him youth.)


GEORGE WASHINGTON, a Youthful Surveyor Young Lads who serve respectfully as "chainmen" and "pilots" RICHARD GLENN JAMES TALBOT KEITH CARY A FRONTIERSMAN RED ROWAN, his daughter

SCENE: An open woodland glade that is part of the wilderness portion of Lord Fairfax's estate beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, 1748. Trees at right, left, and background. Trailing vines. Low bushes. Underfoot a carpet of rotting leaves. At the left, near foreground, a fire smolders. Near it are spread a bearskin used as a sleeping-blanket, some pine boughs, surveyors' tools, and a tin box. At the right a fallen tree-trunk, mossed, vine-covered. The time is mid-afternoon. The lads who enter wear the garb of frontiersmen; but when the play begins the forest glade is deserted until Richard Genn's voice is heard from the woods in background.

RICHARD GENN. Come on, then, Washington. Hurry there, Talbot! (Genn enters, carrying chains and a surveyor's pole, and comes quickly to the fire.) Why, the ashes have kept their heat since morning. We will not have to start another fire.

JAMES TALBOT (entering with Washington from background). That's good hearing, for I'm famished. How say you, Washington?

WASHINGTON (laughing and coming to fire). I could eat a wild turkey, feathers and all. This life in the wilderness makes one keenly hungry. What's in the box, Richard?

TALBOT (delving into tin box). Bacon. Some dry bread.

WASHINGTON. Toast the bacon between the bread, and we'll have such a feast as is due to young surveyors who've tramped a good ten miles since morning. Now then, Richard. Here are some sticks. Let each lad toast his own.

TALBOT (helping to prepare). The very smell of it makes me ravenous. (To Genn.) I wonder where your Uncle is, and Colonel Fairfax?

GENN. Miles from here, doubtless. (Stretches.) But I am stiff!

WASHINGTON. And where can Carey be?

TALBOT. Oh, Carey's lagged behind to get a shot at some grouse that he means to have for supper. Hark!

CAREY (In background). Lads! Lads! Where be ye?

WASHINGTON (calling in answer). Here, Carey, here. (To the others.) That's he, now. Well, Carey, what luck?

CAREY (entering from background). Any luck but pot luck. Missed both times. No grouse for us. I almost wish I'd raided some frontiersman's cabin.

[Sits at fire.

WASHINGTON. "Get what you can get honestly." (Passes him the bacon.) "Use what you get frugally." That was an old saying I learned from my copybook, and even in the wilderness it seems to hold true.

RICHARD GENN (as they sit about fire, eating). What's to be done when this meal is finished?

GEORGE WASHINGTON. Naught that I know of. I can do no more till I receive further orders from Colonel Fairfax.

TALBOT. Well, then, we've a half-holiday. 'Tis the first idle time we've had in three weeks. Up before dawn, and to bed before star-rise! I tell you it makes the hours spin fast. How shall we pass our leisure?

CAREY. I'm going back for those grouse.


TALBOT. I've seen the bronze of a wild turkey's wing.


GENN (smacking his lips). I'd like to have that same turkey wing here before the fire! (Rises.) I'm with you, Talbot, for whatever a sportsman's luck may bring. And you, Washington?

WASHINGTON. I'd best wait here to see if a message comes from Colonel Fairfax. If in one hour the message does not come, I'll join you.

GENN (ready to start). Well, then, Talbot.

[The three lads start.

WASHINGTON (to Carey). I wish you luck! May you flush a grouse at every ten yards!

[Lads laugh, and exeunt, background. Washington looks after them a moment, and then takes surveying paper from his pocket.

WASHINGTON. Now for my wilderness chart!

[Pores over it. From the distance comes the sound of a frontiersman's ax, which he is too absorbed to notice. Red Rowan enters from the right, a wild, picturesque young figure in a scarlet cloak.

WASHINGTON (to himself, as he bends over his chart). 'Tis not so easy as Little Hunting Creek!

RED ROWAN (approaching him). Nothing is easy in the wilderness!

WASHINGTON (starting up, gazing at her, and then brushing his hand across his eyes). I thought I was studying before the fire; but instead I've been dreaming . . . dreaming!

RED ROWAN (shaking her head). No dream! Only a woodsman's daughter. You can hear my father yonder, felling oaks. I saw the glimmer of your fire and came.

WASHINGTON (with a boyish courtesy and shyness). Will you—will you not be seated?

RED ROWAN (seated on bearskin, looking at fire). Folks call me Red Rowan.

WASHINGTON. My name is Washington. George Washington.

RED ROWAN (still looking at the fire). You have a shrewd fire, and the air is chill in these mountains.

WASHINGTON. Will you not have some bacon and bread? I wish there were more to offer you.

RED ROWAN. I'll have a taste of the bacon and a morsel of bread. (Washington begins to prepare them). I thank you.

WASHINGTON (toasting bread and bacon). The wilderness must be rough-seeming to you.

RED ROWAN. I'm well-used to deep forests and long, hard journeys, for the love of a trail is in my blood. My grandfather was a gentleman rover, and my father a frontiersman, and my mother was—a gipsy.

WASHINGTON (surprised). A gipsy?

RED ROWAN (nodding). Aye, but she died when I was little, and lies buried oversea. 'Tis ten years now since my father came from England, and brought me with him.

WASHINGTON. You have known little of a roof, then.

RED ROWAN. Aye, or of schooling. But forests are kind teachers, and have given me much. There is a lore deeper than the lore of books. You too must know it. For with lonely campfires and winding roads and sharp, white, frosty stars one comes to gather wisdom. Schoolbooks may give you the past, but it is in my blood to know——

WASHINGTON (as she pauses). The future—!

RED ROWAN (slowly, gazing at fire). Or so I tell myself. I must ofttimes make up fancies to help the long days pass. (Rises.) Come, for a jest, let me read your palm, Master Washington. And in after years you may say: "Why, so Red Rowan told me!"

WASHINGTON. Would you have me put faith in witchcraft?

RED ROWAN (offended).Do I look like a witch? Nay, but you know right well I do not. Come, let me read your hand. 'Tis a mere jest, and will do no harm, and you need not believe a word I say.

WASHINGTON. I will not, if it is flattering; for I have learned aforetime that humility is the forerunner of advancement. [Footnote: Washington's own words]

RED ROWAN (seated on mossy log, as she reads his hand). What would you wish to be?

WASHINGTON (simply). When I grow older, a man of deeds, not words. [Footnote: Washington's own words]

RED ROWAN. Well, then, give hither. (Reading his hand.) Your name is Washington, and you come from beyond Blue Ridge. All this I know. For the rest, let me read. You are well versed in woodcraft, but not so well in books.

WASHINGTON. There I must mend me.

RED ROWAN. Aye. You are a notable horseman: your wrist is quick at the foils; you can swim, climb, and fight, if need be. You are strong, and your valor equals your strength, your courtesy, your bearing. The line of truth is here. You smile?

WASHINGTON. I was thinking of the matter of a hatchet and a cherry tree!

RED ROWAN (still reading). Through all your life, success will smile upon you. Here are the marks of battles. Here are the lines of hardships and of victories. And all these little lines—see, marches, marches, marches! You'll be a colonel, and perhaps a general. You laugh? Some day you'll see! 'Twill all come true! You'll fight in a great cause.

WASHINGTON (puzzled). What cause is there to fight for?

RED ROWAN. That I do not know. But here 'tis clearly written. And you will win. Your name will be on all men's tongues. 'Tis a long road, and all up hill. But at the summit—triumph! Remember that. Upon the summit is triumph.

WASHINGTON (half-soberly). And for the rest?

RED ROWAN. You'll be upon a farmstead with great, rolling acres.

WASHINGTON. Forest or farmstead, I care not which. That part is true enough, Mistress Rowan. There was a time when I wished to go to sea; but now I hope to spend my life at Ferry Farm.

RED ROWAN (rising). Part of it will be spent far otherwise. Remember that I told you.

WASHINGTON (courteously). Aye, I'll remember, tho' 'tis but a jest.

RED ROWAN (pausing). Aye, a jest wrought of gipsy magic. I wish you well, Master Washington, and I thank you for your hospitality.

FRONTIERSMAN'S VOICE (calling from right). Rowan!

RED ROWAN (answering). I'm coming, father. (To Washington.) Remember, Master Washington, that I told you.

[Exit Rowan, quickly and lightly.

WASHINGTON (smiling to himself). Remember! Why, 'tis the merest jest.

CAREY (from background). Time's up, George! There's wondrous sport. Are you not coming?

WASHINGTON (to Carey). Aye, I am coming. (To himself.) But the merest jest! "To fight in a great cause—!" "A long hill, and a hard, and at the summit—triumph!" (Shaking off the spell the words have cast on him). The lads would laugh, did I but tell them! (Calls, in answer to impatient steps, and crackling of leaves in background.) I come!

[He makes his exit into background, running blithely, and the play ends.


GEORGE WASHINGTON. Frontiersman's suit, modeled on Indian lines. The suit is tan-colored, supposedly made of dressed deerskin. The breeches and tunic are fringed, Indian fashion. There is neither paint nor beading upon the suits. Moccasins. The other lads wear suits of the same kind. The material can be cotton khaki. The moccasins can be made of the same, and beaded.

RED ROWAN. Dress of leaf-brown homespun made rather short, and quite plain, open at the neck, the sleeves coming to the elbow. A cloak of vivid scarlet, gathered in simple folds at neck, and falling to the ankles. Both dress and cloak may be made of cambric, using the unglazed side. Tan stockings. Moccasins. The latter may be made of cotton khaki, and beaded.



DANIEL BOONE, a pioneer. ROGER KENTON, a lad ALLAN RIGDON, another BLAIZE PRITCHARD, a trapper EDWARD BRYAN JAMES COLBY BLACK FISH, an Indian Chief HAWK EYE, a young Indian Brave EAGLE'S FEATHER, another Other Pioneers, Trappers, Indians

(Note: The events comprised in this play cover a longer period of time than is suggested here.)

SCENE: An open woodland. Place, the Blue Lick Springs, Kentucky, 1778. Trees right, left, and background. A slightly worn path leads to background where the salt springs are supposed to be. Tall poles with skins on them. A large kettle swings over the fire in right foreground. Near it are other kettles, iron saucepans, and sacks for salt. In center background a hollow tree with swinging moss covering its opening. A fallen log near the kettles serves as a seat.

The play begins by young Allan Rigdon coming out of woods, left, with a few fagots which he feeds to the fire, bending over it, and looking in the kettle. James Colby comes by the half-worn path from background, carrying a bucket of water.

COLBY (calling). How comes the salt, Rigdon? If 'twere not that these licks give it in such abundance, 'twould try a lad's patience sorely. 'Tis like a girl's work—tending kettles! And hardly a man's work—carrying water from a spring. (Puts down pail of water.) 'Faith, my arms are stiff, and my fingers also! If an Indian sprang at me from a thicket I could not so much as cock my gun! What shall I do next? Carry more water? The rest are still drawing it—more girl's work, if you'll leave me call it so! (As a slight sound is heard at left.) Heaven's mercy! What's that? (Seizes gun.) Is it Indians?

BOONE (quietly approaching from left). And if it were, would your work be only girl's work, Colby? It shows you but a foolish lad to speak of it thus lightly. With all Boonesborough in need of salt, with our cattle and horses half-perishing for the want of it, with the way that lies to the licks a very wilderness road for danger, 'twould hardly be called girl's work to tend these kettles—brave as our frontier women are. 'Tis men's work, Colby, although you be but lads who do it.

RIGDON. The wilderness makes men of lads right quickly; does it not, Master Boone?

BOONE (seated on log). Aye, that it does. If it were not for the stress of the times, and the scarcity of men to keep watch, you should be back in Boonesborough, and not here, my lads. But 'twas for your courage and skill that I chose you. How comes the salt, Rigdon?

RIGDON. Finely, sir, finely. And the hunting?

BOONE (shaking his head). Scarce enough to keep a fox alive. I must start forth again. There should be plenty of bison fat and deer meat for the days that are coming. (Enter Kenton with bucket of water. He puts it down, and salutes Boone.) Well, Kenton, what news from the springs?

KENTON. The same as ever, sir. Blaize Pritchard and Edward Bryan stand guard while the rest of us carry water. The camp is as you see it. There's not been a sign of an Indian since you left us yesternight.

BOONE. You do not ask what I've brought back with me, Kenton.

KENTON. I know, sir, that if there were game to be had you would have bagged it. But since we've come to the Blue Lick Springs the buffalo and deer seem to have gotten wind of us. There's not so much as a rabbit scampering across the grass. It seems as if nature herself were in league against us.

BOONE. Nonsense, lad. There'll be game enough soon, when I've foraged further. Such times as these were sent to us to see whether we be of iron or putty.

KENTON. All the same, sir, I'll be glad when the boiling is done and we can pack our salt, and start through the forest for home. Long as the trail is, I would sooner have it than——

BOONE (clutching rifle). Hark! The crack of a branch—in the forest. On the defense, lads. I'll investigate.

[Goes into woods at right.

KENTON (in a low voice, as the lads seize their rifles). If it should be those venomous Shawnees! Before we left Boonesborough 'twas said that they'd already passed the war-pipe through their villages. They have been still so long, 'tis time for an uprising. (Approaching footsteps are heard.) Who comes?

COLBY (on the alert). Just Boone himself.

RIGDON. What signs, sir?

BOONE. No signs at all, unless for the first time in their lives the Indians are shrewder than the Long Knives. There's not so much as a broken branch, or a newly fallen leaf. Now, lads, off to the spring with you. I'll tend this last kettle, and when 'tis boiled, I'll start on the trail again. There must be bison and deer for the followers of Daniel Boone. Lads, stay! If because we are unmolested you should sometimes think that tending the kettle is work for girls—remember that we and our guns are all that stand between the Indians and the fort at Boonesborough, where all the women and children are. Will you remember?

ALL (speaking vehemently). Aye, sir.

BOONE. And as I take the trail I will remember the lads who've lived on dry bread and the paring of bacon rinds, and who've tasted naught but parched buffalo meat in three weeks.

RIGDON. You've gone hungry yourself, sir.

BOONE. Well, lads, 'tis all in the day's luck. We'll not suffer for meat if I can shoot an elk or a bear. (Lads exeunt through trees in background, Boone watching them.) Brave lads they are, and true!

[He tends the kettle, facing audience. After a moment Indians stealthily appear in background.

EAGLE'S FEATHER (as two of the braves seize Boone). Long Knife, surrender!

[There is a brief struggle between Boone and the braves; but the former finds, that it is useless to resist.

HAWK EYE. Shawnees on warpath. Long have watched Boone and tried to trap him. Now have got him. Boone show trail to Boonesborough.

BOONE (to himself, in a tense whisper). Boonesborough?

BLACK FISH (majestically). What answer does Long Knife Boone make? If Long Knife joins tribe, Long Knife will be treated with honor. All at Boonesborough will be killed; but Boone's life will be spared if he joins tribe. What answer does Long Knife Boone make?

[Boone considers deeply for a moment. His gun has been taken from him; but he is so closely surrounded that his arms are left free. He considers deeply for another moment, arms crossed on breast, head bowed. Looks up for an instant. Gives a searching glance at the Indians. Considers again for a moment. Then raises his head.

BOONE. Long Knife says—yes!

[Holds out his hands, smiling.

ALL INDIANS (delighted at pantomime of acquiescence). Wah!

BLACK FISH (waving tomahawk in air). Long Knife's brothers—over by spring!

ALL INDIANS (in chorus). Kill! Kill!

BOONE. Wait! Black Fish try to kill Long Knife's brothers. Long Knife's brothers fight back. Kill maybe one brave. Maybe two braves. Maybe three braves. But—Boone speak to his white brothers. They surrender to Black Fish. No fighting. No braves killed. What does Black Fish answer?

BLACK FISH. Black Fish answers: Long Knife show great wisdom. Black Fish do as Long Knife says.

[Some of the Indians start in the direction of the spring.

HAWK EYE (grunting). Umph!

[Kenton is suddenly brought in by two braves who have captured him. As his eye falls on Boone his voice shrills with terror.

KENTON. Oh, they have caught you! They have—

[The rest of the pioneers begin to appear from background, closely guarded by the Indians.

COLBY (as all of Boone's little band are brought in as captives). What's this? Not Boone a traitor?

BOONE. Hush! (To the other white men.) No use to fight. We are surrounded. (To Black Fish.) Does Black Fish give me leave to speak to my comrades apart?

[Black Fish nods assent. Boone and his band withdraw to left. The Indians withdraw to right. Each side holds a conference. That of the Indians is in pantomime.

BOONE (to his band). No use to fight, lads. Put up your guns. (Indicates Indians.) Half a score more are in the woods behind us. If we surrender, we may gain some time. If we refuse, we're lost. They'll march at once on Boonesborough.

KENTON. Wilson's gone free, sir. He'll take Boonesborough the news of our capture.

BOONE (rapidly). Aye; but he cannot take them the news of what Black Fish means to do. No one in Boonesborough knows that the Indians are on the warpath. A massacre is planned. The fires are lit. The tomahawks are ready. We must gain time. 'Tis all that we can do. We must surrender. I'll break through when I can. (Loudly.) Think well, my brothers. Here is freedom offered you, if you surrender. What do you say?

PRITCHARD (loudly). I say that we surrender.

[Boone, turning, makes a gesture to the spot where their guns lie piled, then towards the Indians as one would say: "We give in."

BLACK FISH. My brothers, we, too, have had a council. Far in the North the British pay much gold for paleface prisoners.

PRITCHARD (involuntarily). Oh, Boone, we're sold!

BOONE (quickly). No! Saved! The British will take a ransom, and Boonesborough will pay it to the uttermost farthing. (In a low voice.) Come, strategy! Strategy! I will break through to-night.

PRITCHARD. Great Chief Black Fish, to you we have surrendered. With your braves we will take the trail to the British encampment.

BLACK FISH (grunting with pleasure). Umph! Much money for paleface prisoners. (To Hawk Eye). Give prisoners bison meat. Water. See they not die on road. No want to lose money they bring. Braves march now. Boone not go. Boone stay with us.

[While Black Fish has been speaking the braves and their prisoners line up for departure. Meantime, from the woods in background other Indians have joined the group. Those who have captured Boone describe the feat in dumbshow. The newly arrived Indians bear food, a blanket or so, a war-drum, pipes, etc.

BOONE (striving to speak gaily). A good journey, my lads. I shall be thinking of you.

EDWARD BRYAN (low: aside, full of commiseration). You will be here alone!

BOONE (hurriedly, seeing that Bryan's remark has been overheard by the Indians). With my kind brothers! (Quickly, seeing that Black Fish's back is turned.) March bravely, lads. Remember Boonesborough!

PRITCHARD (moved). Your hand, Boone.

BOONE (clasping Pritchard's hand). My comrade!

[They look at each other a long moment. Then the line, Indian-guarded, and led by Hawk Eye, marches out, left.

BLACK FISH Now we make a great feast. Celebrate.

[They all sit on ground. War-pipe is passed. Gourds with grape wine. Dried fish. Dried fruits. General hum of excitement and pleasure. Animated and colorful groups. Boone smokes the war-pipe when it is passed to him. Drinks and eats freely with the others. Through it all, now soft, now loud, sounds the drone of the war-drum. Now and again a young buck yells jubilantly, or ejaculates a shrill "E-yah!" of pleasure. They rise from feasting to dance in a war-circle about the drum, right. Boone does a few steps with them, and then retreats to left of stage. More dances. Speeches with short guttural words and grunts. Waving of tomahawks. Shrill cries. Another circle is formed about the war-drum. Attention drifts away from Boone. Finally, after a second dance about the war-drum Eagle's Feather gives a sudden cry of "Boone! Boone gone!" Intense excitement. Cries of rage. General search as Indians exeunt right and left. One or two lag behind and look in bushes. Eagle's Feather pulls back swinging moss from hollow tree and looks within. Then the baffled Indians dart off stage, right. A moment later Boone enters from left. Looks warily about him, right, left, and background. Then darts into hollow tree. A moment later the Indians, headed by Eagle's Feather, enter right, left, and background. They gesticulate with cries of "Boonesborough!" Some urge taking the way at left, others the way at right. Eagle's Feather is among the latter. The way at right is ultimately decided upon. With a final yell of "Boonesborough!" and great swinging of tomahawks, all the Indians exeunt right. The drone of the war-drum begins, and grows fainter and fainter as they go into the forest. The gourds and blankets and pipes they have collected and taken with them as supplies for the march.

BOONE (coming triumphantly out of his hollow tree). They have taken the wrong trail! I am free to warn my people! I can gain the fort ere the Indians reach it! Boonesborough is saved.

[Exit Boone, running left. The grassy space is left vacant, and the scene ends.


DANIEL BOONE. Daniel Boone and his followers wear suits of buckskin made on Indian lines. (Cotton khaki imitates the tan color of the buckskin.) Long breeches, the buckskin tunic coming about to the knee. It is fringed. There is no adornment on the tunics such as Indians wear. The lads of the party wear buckskin breeches of knee-length, and tan strapping over tan-colored stockings. They should all wear moccasins, or imitation moccasins made of khaki, and embroidered in beads.

THE INDIANS. The Indians wear suits resembling those of Boone and his followers, save that they have painted insignia and bead and shell embroidery. Black Fish has a great black fish painted on his khaki costume. All wear moccasins. All have feathered head-dresses and war-paint. The war-paint of Black Fish is scarlet and black, and he wears an immense black head-dress of feathers that is longer and handsomer than those of any of the others. Eagle's Feather wears a scarlet head-band and one huge gray eagle's feather in it, stuck upright. For further description of Indian finery see description of braves in "Princess Pocahontas." The blankets and baskets can be the same in this play as in that one.

PROPERTIES. The hollow tree can be made of two halves of barrels fastened together, and stood upright by means of props put behind it. It should be painted dark brown inside and out, or covered with dark-brown burlap flecked with black and white for lichen. Green vines can be hung about it, and it should stand well in the background, resembling a rotting and blasted tree as much as possible.





Boston Common on a Summer afternoon, 1720.

The Common is an open grassy space, wide to the sun and sky. There are trees right, left, and background. Their shadows fall like a wavering tracery across the grass.

At the beginning of the scene this grassy space is deserted. It is the far end of the Common, a place not much frequented by loiterers. The first person to cross it is young Benjamin Franklin, who comes slowly in from right. He wears knee-breeches, a loose white shirt, silver buckles on his square-toed shoes, and a three-cornered hat on his head. He is reading from a book which he holds in his right hand, while on his left arm hangs a basket of tallow candles. Slung across his left shoulder is a kite, its string trailing.

He walks slowly, pausing every now and then to turn a page. The old woman enters from right, and comes quickly towards Franklin. She is wonderfully keen-eyed and light of foot, and is clad in a green quilted petticoat, with a green bodice, a touch of white at neck, and a green double cape. A white cap is perched on her snow-white head. She also carries a small market-basket, and a gold-headed cane. Her stockings are scarlet, her low black shoes have gold buckles. She is, withal, arrestingly picturesque, and there hangs about her a slight air of mystery, that is well in accordance with her profession, which is that of soothsayer.

Franklin is so deep in his book that she soon catches up with him, passes him, looks back, and sees that he does not perceive her. Then she stands still and lets him pass her, still staring at him. Then she comes briskly up behind him, and taps him on the arm with her cane.

THE OLD WOMAN. Fare not so fast, young sir. If your book makes you so blind to customers, 'tis not many candles you'll be selling.

FRANKLIN (at first somewhat startled, then looking up quite calmly). And if I do not mind my books, 'tis naught but candles I'll be selling all my life.

THE OLD WOMAN. Well spoken, tallow-chandler's son. Whatever your calling, I see that your wits are not made of wax. Give me a shilling's worth o' candles, and tell me what good your toil is like to bring you.

FRANKLIN (putting down book, kite, and basket, and selecting candles). I have ambition to become a printer.

THE OLD WOMAN (paying him and putting candles in her basket). So!

FRANKLIN. And if I do not apply myself, how am I like to learn? There are no gains without pains, and heaven gives all things to Industry. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."]

THE OLD WOMAN (holding up her hands). To hear him! (Chuckling to herself.) Keep on! Keep on! You'll ne'er be sorry for it! Aha, Master Franklin, 'twill take no gazing in the crystal to see that the future of a wise and industrious lad is made of gold. What's that you're carrying as carefully as if 'twas your book?

FRANKLIN (dropping book and basket, and showing kite). My kite. To-day was a half-holiday, and I've been flying it on Beacon Hill till the wind hath made me sleepy.

THE OLD WOMAN (keenly). You've fastened a little key to it.

FRANKLIN (with a burst of candor). Sometimes I think I'll fly it in a thunderstorm and gather up the lightning.

THE OLD WOMAN (tapping the ground vigorously with her cane). Those are bold words, Master Benjamin Franklin. Are you not feared to speak them? (Looks half-fearfully over her left shoulder.) Folk might think you were in league with—with strange powers! (There is a touch of the eighteenth-century beldame in her as she speaks these words).

FRANKLIN. How is it that you know my name, and yet I do not remember you?

THE OLD WOMAN (mysteriously). Perhaps there are too many soothsayers passing, or perhaps you have not looked well about you. Aha, aha! (Nodding and blinking.) There are many things folk do not see.

FRANKLIN (shrewdly and bluntly). That's true. My father says that all the witches were not hanged on Salem Hill.

THE OLD WOMAN(finger upraised). S-ssh! Never that word! Never that word, Master Franklin! Come, I am for crossing the Common, and for your good-will, and because you are a wise lad, I'll lend you my crystal.

[Gives it to him.

FRANKLIN (putting book in basket with candles, and turning crystal to the light). How it shines in the sun!

THE OLD WOMAN (with cane upraised and wand-like for a moment). Look in it. Look deep in it. 'Twill give you dreams, Master Franklin, all good, good dreams. Dreams o' the future, Master Franklin!

[Franklin stands still in background, looking at the crystal as the Old Woman goes on her way. The branches of the trees under which he stands cast wavering shadows about him. It is cool after the glare of the sun. He yawns, stretches, and throws himself at foot of tree.

FRANKLIN (musing aloud). Of all the strange old women! (Looks at crystal again.) A pretty toy, truly! All—shining—in—the—sun——— (Falls asleep.)

THE OLD WOMAN (stealing back for a moment out of background, and raising cane as before). Dream! Dream deep!

[Tosses over him half of her double cloak, then makes her exit into background, with finger on lip, and disappears from view. There is a pause of some length, during which dream music is played, a soft, swaying rhythm. Then comes the Dream.


DR. FRANKLIN, the statesman JOHN ADAMS MARIE ANTOINETTE, Queen of France THE DUCHESS OF BOURBON MADEMOISELLE DE PERNAN MADEMOISELLE DE TRESSAU Ladies in Waiting. Pages. Courtiers. Rose Minuet Dancers. Shepherdesses and Milkmaids from the Petit Trianon. Little Flower Girls. Rose Bearers.

The setting is the lawn of Versailles on a Summer afternoon, 1781.

There are trees at right, left, and background. The entrances of all taking part in the scene are made from middle background.

The dream music of the previous scene having ceased, a stately march is played off scene. Queen Marie Antoinette enters, her train held by four little pages in white satin. She is followed by Mlles. de Pernan and de Tressau, who wear white brocade with pale yellow roses. Following them comes a less formal group, ladies in waiting, who wear dark green and silver-flowered bodices and overskirts over still darker green quilted petticoats: amber costumes of the same, threaded with gold, and dark purple over white satin. The Queen, who is in white, with a long train of scarlet velvet, has the only touch of scarlet that is worn in the scene. The French courtiers are in flowered coats with buff, blue of a deep shade, and white and amber-brown predominating.

The Queen, having crossed the sward, stands at right, and the Mlles. de Pernan and de Tressau stand immediately behind her, and by them the pages. A little further back, in a stately, yet not too formal a semicircle, stands the court. Just as they are taking their places there comes from the background a sedan chair borne by four chairmen in black velvet, with powdered wigs. This chair is set down in center of sward. The Duchess of Bourbon alights: approaches the Queen, courtesies deeply and kisses her Majesty's hand. Then joins the group behind the Queen. The chair is carried to the back of the group during this ceremony.

Music off-scene plays "Hail Columbia" and Franklin and Adams appear from background, Adams following Franklin. Benjamin Franklin is in black, with unpowdered hair. His famous spectacles are on his nose. The Queen extends her hand, over which he bows. Adams, with three-cornered hat on breast, bows just behind him.

QUEEN. You honor France in honoring us by your presence, Dr. Franklin. Mr. Adams, we greet you, not only because you come from America, but because you are the friend of wisdom and sagacity.

FRANKLIN (bowing low: ditto Adams). Your Majesty does us too much honor!

QUEEN. The honor we do you to-day is to be gay, festive, joyous. We have delighted to plan a fete for your pleasure wherein you shall behold Versailles and Trianon, court ladies, milkmaids, shepherdesses! But, first, the verses!

[According to the custom of eighteenth-century France in honoring a philosopher, the Mlles. de Pernan and de Tressau face Franklin and the Queen, courtesy deeply, recite a verse, courtesy again, and return to their places.

MLLE. DE PERNAN. "We come to honor, one by one, Benjamin Franklin, Freedom's son, Who comes to us from oversea, Champion of light and liberty."

MLLE. DE TRESSAU. "Learned and just, benignant, wise, You draw the lightning from the skies: Printer and Statesman—here we see What man through his own wit may be!"

[Throughout the revels that follow the Queen and Benjamin Franklin stand at right, while the dancers enter from left background. As soon as one group has finished dancing, center, they move to the left, and stand in a line facing Franklin and the Queen. Thus color is added to color, till the whole has a rainbow effect.

The first group to enter is the pale-violet group, ladies-in-waiting, who wear pale-violet bodices and overdresses over white. They dance a gavotte, and retire to a line at left. The stage on which the dancing is done must afford ample space, so that there is no crowding.

The second group enters. Court ladies in pale-yellow bodices and looped overdresses over white. They dance a gavotte, and then stand at left of stage.

The third group enters. Young maids of the court, dressed as shepherdesses. Pale sea-foam-green bodices and overdresses over white. White crooks, with pale-green satin streamers fastened to them. They dance a minuet, and retire to left.

The fourth group enters. Young maids of the court dressed as milkmaids. Pale-blue bodices and looped-up overdresses over white. Each milkmaid carries a small white, wooden milking-pail. They dance a minuet, and retire to left.

The fifth group enters for the Rose Minuet. First come ten little girls walking two and two. They wear bodices and overdresses of the very palest pink, flowered with deep-pink roses. Their fichus and petticoats are white. Each couple carries between them a half-hoop of pink roses. When they come to a halt the rose hoops, held high, form a rose bower through which the rose-dancers approach. They are maids of the court, who wear rose-pink bodices and overdresses over white. Wreaths of tiny pink rosebuds on their powdered hair. With the little girls with rose hoops forming figures and groups in the center of the sward, the minuet dancers go through a minuet which should differ from the other minuets, its figures being somewhat more elaborate and complicated.

The final figure of this fete should be a huge minuet, with the rose-dancers in the center of the sward, the other dancers joining in. After a figure or two, the tempo of the music should change, and the dancers, headed by those who have done the rose minuet, should march off the field into the background. First the pink group, then the blue group, then the green, yellow, and violet groups. With the same march music still sounding, the Queen and Franklin, followed in stately fashion by the court, should leave the field, and thus end the scene.


The costumes of the first scene have already been indicated in the text. That of the crystal-gazer can be made of cambric, with the glazed side turned inward. Her cap and kerchief should be of white lawn.


MARIE ANTOINETTE. White satin petticoat. Overdress and bodice of white silk brocaded with scarlet roses. White lace ruffles and fichu. Long train of scarlet velvet, lined in white satin. Hair dressed high and powdered. Gold crown. Shimmering necklace. If a costume as ornate as this is not procurable, let the young player wear a long white muslin dress that just touches below the ankle. A bodice and overdress of white cretonne flowered with red roses. White lawn fichu with ruffles. A long train of scarlet cambric with the glazed side turned outward to represent satin. This is lined in white cambric which should also be satiny-looking. The train is fastened at the shoulders, and borne by two pages. Crown and jewels of gold and silver paper. White slippers and stockings. Brilliant buckles.

FRANKLIN. Suit of plain black velvet. Vest of black satin. Stockings and low shoes of black. Three-cornered black hat which he holds under his arm. His hair falls to his collar, and is unpowdered. A pair of square spectacles on his nose.

ADAMS. Suit of plum-colored velvet, trimmed with gold lace. White satin waistcoat. White stock, and lace jabot, and sleeve-ruffles. Black shoes with gold buckles. Black stockings. White powdered wig worn in a cue.

With the other costumes, cretonne and cheesecloth can be substituted for silk and satin; but the color scheme that has been already described should be strictly adhered to. The Mlles. de Pernan and de Tressau should wear white dresses, with looped-up paniers of white cretonne flowered in yellow. The Duchess of Bourbon, a white dress with looped paniers of pale blue, flowered in pink. White fichu and ruffles. Very inexpensive yet effective costumes can be made for the dancers by having each girl wear a white dress that comes below the knee. Over this dress may be worn a deep girdle of cheesecloth of a solid color. Then looped-up paniers of cheesecloth of the same color at each side. A white fichu of cheesecloth or lawn may be worn with this costume, and all the girls taking part in the dances should have their hair powdered, and worn in a pompadour fashion. White shoes and stockings for all the dancers. Older girls taking part should wear their dresses ankle-length. If a more satiny look than cheesecloth gives is wished, let the overdresses be of light-colored cambric with the glazed side turned outward. Cheesecloth is the softest, most pliable material, and the most easily managed.

The dancers who carry the rose hoops should wear pale-pink cretonne flowered in deeper pink. The rose hoops may be made of ordinary hoops of a good size cut in half, covered with green cheesecloth, and then decorated with pink paper roses, put on so thickly that the green is almost hidden.

The pages and sedan chair-bearers wear black velvet, with black waistcoats and white neck-pieces and ruffles. Black stockings and low black shoes. Hair powdered and worn in a cue. Black suits, basted back to give the effect of an eighteenth-century coat, white neckcloth and ruffles of lawn will make good substitutes for the more ornate costume. For the white wigs, a tight-fitting skull-cap of white muslin. Basted to this white cotton batting, shaped to fit the head, and having a cue in the back tied with black velvet ribbon. For the sedan chair, if a real sedan chair cannot be had, have a chair fastened to a stout platform of wood. Handles for the bearers to hold should be fastened to the chair. A boxed-in canopy of heavy white cardboard covers this, the cardboard fastened to a light framework. Over the cardboard should be pasted pale-yellow wallpaper, or white-flowered wallpaper. The inside of the chair should be covered in flowered cretonne. The handles should be gilded.

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