FLORA, QUEEN OF SUMMER.

A MEDLEY.

BY CAROLINE A. CREEVEY AND MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Characters.

Blanche Howe, President of the Ninepin Club.

Felicia Deforest, Secretary of the Ninepin Club.

Members.

Morna Rowland, Lucille Taylor, Christabel Mason, Sophia Pratt, Annette Simpson, Helen Fairchild, Agnes Stowe.

Alice Trowbridge, a classmate, not a member of the Club; an Old Woman; a Maid; Birds.

Eight Blue Birds{ four little girls }

{ four little boys }

Six Yellow Birds{ three little girls }The Kindergarten Class.

{ three little boys }

Six Red Birds{ three little girls }

{ three little boys. }

Scene.—A drawing-room in Mrs. Ames's private boarding-school. The Ninepin Club is holding one of its regular meetings. The question for discussion is A Summer Fête. The President is in the chair.

Time.—The 30th of May.

Blanch (raps for order). The Club will come to order, and hear the minutes of the last meeting. The Secretary will please rise.

Felicia (rises and reads). The Ninepin Club met in the drawing-room for its usual weekly meeting. After the minutes of the last meeting had been read and approved, there being no business on hand, and no question to discuss, one of the members produced a box of cake and fruit just received from home, and the Club enjoyed a fine feast. The box was the more appreciated, as the members had dined that day off corned beef and cabbage, which bill of fare, it was voted, should never be allowed in the members' future homes. It was voted that thanks should be sent to the member's mother for the box. Lucille announced that she was expecting a box soon, and would treat the Club at their next meeting.

Blanche. You have heard the report. As many as approve will say aye.

All. Aye!

Blanche. The President would like to inquire if the member who was expecting the box to-day has received said box.

Lucille. I am sorry to say, Miss President, and members of the Club, that the box has been unaccountably delayed.

Blanche. It may come to-day?

Lucille. It may. And if it does, the members will be notified to attend a midnight meeting in my room.

Blanche. That is satisfactory. The Club accepts with thanks Lucille's invitation. Girls, you must put on your bedroom slippers, and come in perfect silence. If any member is absent, on account of not being able to pass the section teacher's open door, she shall be commiserated, and her share of cake and fruit shall be sent to her next day. Is there any other business?

Morna. I think we ought to consider whether Alice shall be asked to join the Club. Not that I want her, goodness knows, but yesterday Miss Foster spoke to me about her. She said we didn't seem to associate with her much.

Annette. Miss Foster spoke to me too. She thought Alice was a good girl, and only needed to be brought out.

[Several of the girls speak at once, excitedly.]

Helen. Oh no, we don't want her.

Christabel. She would just spoil the Club.

Sophia. To me she is positively disagreeable.

Felicia. She dresses so plainly.

Helen. And does up her hair horridly.

Christabel. She is scared out of her wits if we just speak to her. I asked her the other day where her home was, and she looked awfully funny, and didn't answer a word.

Morna. I don't exactly like her face. I wouldn't trust her.

Sophia. That's it. I don't believe she is sincere.

Annette. And she hasn't had a box since she came.

Blanche. Order! You know Alice wouldn't be a bit congenial to me. But we will take a vote. Somebody make a motion.

Felicia. I move that Alice Trowbridge be not admitted to this Club.

Helen. I second the motion.

Blanche. All in favor say aye.

All. Aye!

Blanche. There, that is settled. But, girls, I advise you to pay a little attention to Alice outside of the Club, just so that the teachers won't notice. Miss Foster is awfully sharp. She pries about a good deal more than there's any call for her to. I shall ask Alice to walk with me pretty soon.

Agnes. Noble, self-sacrificing president! I will follow your example.

Lucille. I too.

Sophia. Suppose we all walk with her. Then Miss Foster can't say anything.

Christabel. I wish Miss Foster would mind her own business.

Blanche. Well, do not let's talk about this disagreeable subject any more. We were to have a paper on "Summer." Is the member prepared?

Morna (rises and reads). I must beg pardon for having no paper prepared, but I have had so many headaches lately I have been warned by Dr. Louise not to work so hard. Instead of a paper, I have a proposal. The Doctor says we ought to live out-of-doors more than we do. Let us have a summer fête—something that is quaint and original.

Blanche. It occurs to me that we might have a picnic and dress in peasant costume.

Lucille. How would you like a mountain laurel party?

Agnes. Oh, Lucille! just the thing. Girls, we could ask for a hall-holiday, and have a Queen, and cover her with lovely pink and white blossoms.

Blanche. How many would like a laurel party? Raise your hands.

[All raise their hands.]

Sophia. Let's appoint a committee to get it up.

Christabel. Do you suppose we could let Alice in on that?

Annette. Oh, bother that tiresome girl! No, we can't.

[A knock on the door. All hush, and sit up very straight. Helen unlocks and opens the door. An Old Woman enters. She stoops, leans heavily on a cane, and limps. She has on a long black cloak, and wears a large poke bonnet. Adjusting glasses on her nose, she scans the club members, then hobbles up to the President.]

Old Woman. Good-afternoon. Might I sit down and visit you a few minutes? (Helen places a chair.) Thank you, dearie. You see, it's hard for me to stand. I'm pretty lame. But I can get about very well. Oh yes; very well, considering. You don't know me, I suppose?

Blanche. I think not. Perhaps you have got into the wrong place?

Old Woman. Isn't this the Ninepin Club?

Blanche. Yes.

Old Woman (chuckling). It's the right place. Oh yes, it's the right place. The Ninepin Club is where I was bound for.

Christabel. A most extraordinary person.

Old Woman. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Oh, I see, nine of you. That's why you are the Ninepin Club. Quite a coincidence. (Shakes her head gravely.) But I thought there were ten in your class. How does it happen that you're one short?

Blanche. If you please, we would like to know what right you have to question our Club. Who are you, please?

Old Woman. Certainly, certainly. What's my name and where's my home? My name is Granny Playfair, and I am the general Club regulator. Whenever a Club is established, I look after it, d'ye see?

[The girls appear much mystified.]

Blanche. Well, Granny Playfair?

Granny. And knowing about the Ninepin Club, I have come to regulate it.

Blanche. But how did you know about our Club? The members are pledged to secrecy.

Granny. How did I know? Well, there's where I am pledged to secrecy. It's a mighty good thing for Clubs that I regulate them, though. Little birds of the air sometimes tell me things.

Blanche. But, are you sure that our Club needs regulating?

Granny. Quite sure. Your Club is wrong all through.

Blanche. I have made a special study of Cushing's Manual, and we are quite parliamentary.

Granny. Well, I'm glad of that. (Shakes her head.) Oh, but you do need regulating. And I shall do it. Never fear. Now let me see, you were talking about summer. Would you like to see how the birds keep summer? That would help you a little.

Several of the Girls. Oh yes, indeed.

Granny (knocks on the floor. Door opens, and enter two little children dressed in blue). Come in, my birds. Are all the other birds assembled to do my bidding?

Blue Birds:

We heard you call, yes, one and all, And we were sent, we two; So now, dear Lady, tell us, please, What you would have us do; For every little blue bird is Devoted quite to you.

Granny. Then fly, and find us the wood where the laurel grows thickest.

[Exeunt birds.]

Helen (aside). This is an interesting Old Woman, but I can't make her out.

Agnes. Nor I, one bit.

Granny. Shall I tell you my dream, young ladies?

Girls. Oh! do tell us your dream.

I SAW A FIGURE HUDDLED IN A CORNER.

Granny. I was passing through a long, deserted hall, when I heard sounds as of some one sobbing. In a side room, whose door was just ajar, entering, I saw a small figure huddled in a corner. The room was dark, and I drew a shutter, letting the light in upon a young girl. Yes, she was crying. I went softly to her, and touched her on the shoulder. "What ails you, dearie?" I said. "Oh, I am not in it," she wailed. I took a seat, and drew the poor child to me, and stroked her forehead, and chafed her little cold hands. "Not in what, sweetheart?" I said. "Not in the Club," she answered. "They are all in it but me." "But why are you not in it?" I said. And she answered. "Because my dresses are sober and old-fashioned. I am not bright and witty. I am plain. I believe I am dull in my studies, because the girls look at me so. I am frightened, and can't recite even when I know the lesson. Oh, I have not one friend in the class." My little dear fell to crying again, and I had to take her in my arms, and kiss her, and comfort her a long time before she could tell me all of her story. "My mamma is dead," she said. "Those girls don't know how dreadful it is to lose their mammas. My uncle takes care of me, and he won't send me boxes of sweets, because he thinks they are hurtful. And he thinks girls ought to dress plainly and inexpensively. He has money enough. I have some money of my own, which my mother told my uncle to take care of for me till I was of age. If only I could make my uncle understand that I can't bear to be different from the rest of the girls. When the other girls go home in vacations, I stay here with the housekeeper. My uncle says I ought to be thankful for so good a home. But I'm not thankful. Oh, Granny, I want my mamma!"

Well girls, you may believe me, this poor child's story touched me very much, and I thought how I could help her. I asked her uncle's address and kissed her, and told her that Granny would be her friend, and we went out of that lonely dark room, her little heart comforted. Then I wrote to that uncle, and the result was— But here come the Birds.

Blanche (to the other girls). It begins to dawn on me what Granny's dream means.

Morna. It's Alice, of course.

Granny. Hush!

[Enter Birds. Eight blue birds, six red birds, six yellow birds. Each carries a cluster or wreath or basket of pink laurel.]

Granny. Go back, little birds, and find Flora, your Queen.

[They rush off and return dragging a large chair draped with green cloth. Then they scamper out again. Granny blows a toy whistle. The door opens, and enter Alice, beautifully dressed in white, a wreath of roses on her head, a small wand tipped with a rose in her hand. On each side of her a blue bird walks. Behind, in pairs, all the others march. They go once around the room, and escort Alice to her throne. Granny rises and makes a low bow.]

"HAIL, FLORA, QUEEN OF SUMMER!"

Granny. Hail, Flora, Queen of Summer!

Hail, Flora, Queen off Summer! all Nature speaks your praises; She spells them in her violets, and twines them with her daisies. For you the lances lift of countless gallant grasses! To you all fragrant odors drift, where'er your footstep passes. Come make your subjects glad, these loyal hearts that love you! Nor let a single-thought be sad, while bright the skies above you.

Granny. And now, my birds, have you not an offering for your Queen?

[The birds march gayly around the room: as they pass Flora, each set pauses.]

Blue Birds:

This time instead of laurel we bring you violets.

Yellow Birds:

And we have gathered roses, the flower for coronets.

Red Birds:

And we the little lily bells no loving heart forgets.

Granny. You see, dear Flora, how we all love you.

Flora. Thanks.

For the violets and the roses, The laurel bright and rare, And for the valley-lilies sweet, And the flowers all so fair, As well as for your loving words, I thank you, Granny; thank you, Birds.

And now, as I am Queen, I may invite you all to a little feast. The Birds will serve it. Strawberries and cream, cake and bonbons. As mistress of the fête, I am happy to serve the lovely Ninepin Club. Birds, help the girls.

Blanche. Girls, do eat these lovely things if you can. As for me, they would choke me.

Felicia. I cannot eat them.

Granny. You must not refuse, girls. Flora would be hurt.

Blanche. Well, then. But, first, as President of the Club, let me speak. I confess our fault. We have been harsh, cold, and cruel. We have treated our classmate shamefully. But believe me, Granny, we did not suppose we were inflicting pain. We were inexcusably thoughtless. For one, I ask Alice—

Granny. Flora, your Queen.

Blanche. I ask Flora's forgiveness. And I want some one in the Club to make a motion that Alice—Flora—be asked to join the Club.

Annette. I make that motion, and I want to say that I agree with our President in thinking we have acted shamefully. Forgive me, if you can, Alice—Flora. I mean.

Agnes. I second the motion, and I want to say that I never was so ashamed of anything in my life.

Blanche. All in favor of this motion say aye.

All. Aye!

Blanche. Now let us go and ask the Queen if she will join us and forgive us.

Flora (whose voice trembles a little):

I have nothing to pardon, 'twas all a mistake. And the sweetest amends you are willing to make; Hereafter, dear girls, we'll be comrades and friends, Till, unclouded, our life at this pleasant school ends.

Granny. Kiss the Queen, dearies, and then eat your cake and cream. It is Flora's box. You see now the result of the dream. Instead of sending a box, the uncle, who is really at heart very kind, sent a liberal sum of money, and Flora directed this feast to be purchased.

[All the girls kiss Flora, who beams gratefully upon them.]

Granny (to the birds). Sit right on the floor, you sweet birdies, and you shall have a share in the good things. I must go now. My duty as grand regulator is done.

Christabel (laying down her plate). Girls, I have my suspicions about that funny old woman. Let's catch her, and see if she isn't somebody in disguise.

[All the girls run to Granny with shouts and laughter. They pull off the bonnet, cape, spectacles, and cloak. Their teacher, Miss Foster, stands revealed.]

Christabel. I knew it. I knew it. You dear! You dear! What a lesson you have taught us! I shall never forget it.

Morna. So much better than reading us a long lecture.

Miss Foster. But you deserved the lecture.

Lucille. Yes, we did.

Miss Foster. I hope, dear girls, you have learned the lesson once for all your lifetime. Let the main business of this Club be to add comfort and cheer to a sad heart. But you will have to change the name of your Club; you cannot be ninepins any more.

This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Camera Club Department.

PAPERS FOR BEGINNERS, NO. 2.

FOR THE DARK ROOM.

To those who have a room specially devoted to photographic work and materials the only suggestion to them will be to adopt for their rules and laws:

I. A label and place for everything, and everything in its place with its label.

II. Keep everything clean and free from dust.

These two directions for arranging and caring for a dark room will save hours of labor, and many spoiled plates.

The lighting of the dark room is the first thing which should engage our attention. If the developing is done at night, the stopping out of actinic rays will be avoided; but if in the daytime, care must be taken to shut out all direct rays of light. If the plate is kept in the direct rays of the red light, diffused light will not harm the plate. By diffused light is meant the stray gleams which come through a crack, or a door that does not shut tight enough so but what light shows around the edge.

There are many makes of lantern of all grades and prices in the market, and care should be taken in buying one that it is perfectly light-tight. An actinic ray from the lantern striking the plate will fog it. Most of the lanterns are made for using kerosene. A lantern in which the lamp screws into the bottom is not as light-safe as one which sets wholly inside the lantern, though there is less odor and grease from the kerosene. The trouble with a kerosene lamp is that the confined air soon becomes heated, causing the oil to lose its density, and it oozes out, not only making an unpleasant smell, but greasing the lantern. It will be found much more agreeable to remove the lantern and substitute in its place a candlestick and candle. The one known as the camping or soldier's candlestick is just the thing for a dark lantern. It is a little over two inches high, and made of brass, and costs only fifteen cents.

Adamantine candles are the best, as they last twice as long, and do not melt and run down the sides like the parraffine or tallow candles.

One needs two trays for developing—one 4 x 5 and another 5 x 8. The smaller tray can be used when one has only two or three plates to develop, and both trays where one has quite a number. The two trays are necessary also in transferring the plate from one solution to another, if the developing does not work satisfactorily. The tray for the hypo-sulphite of soda or fixing solution should be 5 x 8, so that two 4 x 5 plates can be fixed at one time.

The developing-trays should be of hard rubber or celluloid, and the hypo-tray of amber glass, so that there shall be no mistaking the developing for the hypo tray.

A four-ounce glass graduate is needed for measuring liquids, and if one has no scales, the dry chemicals should be weighed in the right proportions for use when they are purchased. The hypo can be put up in half-pound packages, and this quantity of fixing solution prepared at one time.

A glass funnel is needed for pouring solutions from trays into bottles, and also for holding the filtering-paper when filtering solutions. The funnel should be fluted, for the ribs make passages for the liquid to pass through the sides of the paper, letting the sediment settle at the bottom of the paper.

If one has not the advantage of running water for fixing and washing plates it is better to have a washing box in which to place the developed negatives. The regular washing box is made of zinc, which does not rust. The inside rack, which holds a dozen plates, is adjustable by thumb-screws for different-sized plates. The box has a small tube at one of the lower corners, to which a rubber hose is attached from the faucet, the water is turned on, and comes up from the bottom of the box, circulates between the plates, and runs out through an overflow spout at the top of the box.

The box containing the plates can be transferred from one pail or tub to another, or set on the floor, while the water is changed, without danger of breaking or scratching. A boy who is handy with tools can make a washing box that will answer every purpose.

The cost of the articles mentioned in this article are as follows: Candlestick for lantern, 15 cents; a 4 x 5 developing-tray, 50 cents; a 5 x 8 developing-tray, 72 cents (the price for these trays is for either rubber or celluloid); amber glass tray for hypo, 35 cents; glass graduate (4 oz.), 25 cents; fluted glass funnel (4 oz.), 15 cents; zinc washing-box, $2.25.