PART II. Dialogues, Exercises, Musical Pieces and Plays

ALL THE YEAR ’ROUND.

For One Adult or Large Boy and One Small Boy.

Santa Claus must be made to look very short and fat.

Boy enters, sits down, leans elbow on table and his head on his hand.

Boy. Whatever shall I do? Christmas is almost here and not a single thing finished. You see (addressing audience), when a fellow’s folks have a small purse and a large family there’s no such thing as spending money for us boys. (Gets up, walks back and forth talking, with hands in pockets.) All we earn goes for shoes, I guess. (Stops and looks at his own, then looks up laughing.) Anyhow, they wear out fast enough. (Resumes walk.) But I’m glad I’m big enough to work for my own shoes. If I did nothing but play while father worked for me I’d feel worse than anything. (To audience.) You know how that is. Besides, I’m the oldest of the bunch and ought to be worth something. But you know—(stopping) it does beat all how many things grown folks can find for boys to do.

I go to school—of course—and I take a job whenever I can catch it out of school hours, and I carry papers mornings, but that don’t take all the time, and I thought I’d get a lot of things done for Christmas since I can’t buy things. But do you s’pose I’ve done it? (Sits down.) No, sir-ee. Not a thing finished.

I was making a shoe box for father and I haven’t got any farther than getting a box to work on, for I’ve had to milk the cow and feed the chickens—and mend the gate—’cause father was away. Then I had a new woodbox for mother—a jolly nice one—all trimmed with bars of wood and stained; but, no, sir, mother, she needed me for ’bout a hundred and ’leven things, and work at it I couldn’t. And this boat for Bub (shows it), not half done. And a bob-sled for little Sis—and a photograph frame for Gramma—and—oh, pshaw. I’m just plum disappointed, and that’s the truth. Not a gift done for anybody. (Leans elbows on knees and chin on hands.) If I was a girl I guess I’d cry. (Santa Claus walks in, lays his hand on Boy’s shoulder. Boy jumps up as he looks around.) Jiminy! You most scared me. (Bows.) How de do?

Santa Claus. Very well, thank you: and how do you do? What’s the trouble?

Boy. Excuse me; but how’d you know it was trouble? It isn’t a serious trouble, you know; only boy trouble.

S. C. Boy troubles are hard to carry sometimes. What are yours?

Boy. Mostly, I guess, that I’ve not got my gifts done—and can’t finish them now, ’cause there’s not time. And that means that there will be less for the stockings, you know.

S. C. That is hard lines. But why couldn’t you finish them?

Boy. Sit down, won’t you? (They sit down.) Why—because—well, I had to do lots of things. Kindling, you know, and bringing in wood for mother—and taking care of the baby sometimes—and keeping little Bud out of mischief—and sometimes—well, you see, I’m the oldest, and the others are too little—sometimes I wash the dishes. Mother has so much to do, and I ought to, don’t you think so?

S. C. Indeed, you ought, and I’m proud to find a boy who does it. But do you know, son, I think you are making a great mistake.

Boy (looking alarmed). Am I? What? I’m sorry.

S. C. You say you have nothing to give at Christmas. It strikes me that you are giving a good many things, and very nice ones, too.

Boy (bewildered). I don’t understand.

S. C. No? (Smiles, winks at audience.) What is Christmas for, anyhow?

Boy. For? Why—it’s Christmas, Santa Claus’ birthday, you know. (S. C. nods.) And it’s for—for good will to men, I guess—and—

S. C. (nods). Right you are, son. And what do you give Christmas gifts for?

Boy. Oh—because it’s fun; ’cause a fellow likes to make it nice for the other folks and give ’em a good time, and—well, ’cause it’s fun.

S. C. Right you are again, son. See here, now. Didn’t you milk the cow for father and all such things while he was away?

Boy. Yes—’course.

S. C. And didn’t it make him feel comfortable to know that things were going right while he was gone?

Boy. Guess so. Sure.

S. C. More comfortable than to have a shoe box?

Boy (slowly). Per—haps—yes.

S. C. And you got kindling, and took care of the baby, and washed dishes for mother?

Boy. ’Course.

S. C. And didn’t that make it easier for her than if she had a pretty woodbox?

Boy (slowly). I guess so. Yes—sure.

S. C. And doesn’t little Sis enjoy having long rides on your sled better than to have a sled of her own to go alone on?

Boy. I’m not so sure about that.

S. C. I am. And didn’t little Bob like the snow man it took you so long to make for him better than the little boat? And didn’t dear old Grandma care more for the yarn you wound, and the needles you picked up, and the fires you built, and the errands you did, and—

Boy (squirming). Aw. Hold on. Those are such little things.

S. C. True enough, and each of them took some of your time, and kept you from making the photograph frame; and each of them made her lonely day a little easier, didn’t it?

Boy. Well, I should hope so. Say. I think it must be awful when you can’t run and holler and have fun—and—I guess some day I’ll be old like that. (Shrugs shoulders.) Gee! (Whistles softly.)

S. C. (rises, puts arm across Boy’s shoulder). Don’t you begin to see, my son, what I mean?

Boy (looks at him a minute). That little things strung along are better to make folks happy than a bigger thing for a gift at Christmas?

S. C. (slaps Boy on the back, grabs his hands and shakes them vigorously while he laughs. Boy rises.) That is it, to a tee. And do you begin to see any farther?

Boy (looks at S. C. in silence a minute). Perhaps you mean—do you mean—that to live that way—doing little things all the time—would be like Christmas? (Excitedly.) Jiminy Christmas! I see! I see! Why! I can keep Christmas going the whole year ’round that way!

S. C. That is the only Santa Claus worth while, and the only Christmas that can ever be real, for it is the Christmas spirit of love and kindness. (Boy whirls around, tosses up his cap. S. C. exit.)

Boy. Christmas and Santa Claus all in one. And every day in the year. Say—(turns suddenly and S. C. is gone). Why—where—(looks all around, then says slowly) well, I’ll be—isn’t that the queerest thing? (Puts hands in pockets.) But I see it just the same. (Musingly.) “The Christmas spirit of love and kindness.” “The only Santa Claus worth while.” Christmas every day in the year. (Shouts.) Hooray for Christmas. I’m going to tell mother. (Exit.)

A BOY’S CHRISTMAS.

For Three Boys of Ten or Twelve Years.

Two sit whittling, one working on the edge of a small wooden box, the other at the edges of a piece of wood about one inch thick by a foot square. The third has an oblong box partly together and is sawing the other piece or whittling the edges as they talk.

A CHRISTMAS BARGAIN.

For Two Characters, Mother and Child.

Stage setting: The furnishings of a modern room. Costumes modern and simple.

Mother (draws Child to her side, kisses her, Child stands with Mother’s arm around her). It is almost Christmas time, little girl. What would you like to have Santa Claus bring you?

Child. I only want one thing, mother dear, and Santa Claus can’t give me that, nor anyone else.

Mother. Are you very sure, dear? Santa Claus can do wonderful things, you know.

Child. I’m very sure, motherkin. And if I can’t have that, I don’t care about Christmas.

Mother. Why, my little Mary? Tell me about it, dear. Possibly I can arrange it, for I want to have you happy more than anything else in the world, especially at Christmas time. Tell me.

Child. You won’t laugh at me?

Mother. No, dear; I won’t even think a laugh.

Child. Well, then, I want to be grown-up and have you a little girl.

Mother. Why, Mary, Mary!

Child. Now you are laughing at me.

Mother. My dear! I’m just as sober as I can be.

Child (pouting). Your eyes laugh, anyhow.

Mother (takes Child by the shoulders and holds the Child in front of her at arm’s length). Look in my face, Mary; straight in my eyes, and tell me why you want such a strange thing.

Child (hesitatingly). I—don’t—just like to, mamma. You might not like it.

Mother. I shall like it if you tell me the true reason, dear.

Child. And you won’t cry?

Mother. Not a tear.

Child (slowly). It’s because I’m so tired of being told I can’t do things, and of having to do things I don’t like. Oh, mamma! You don’t know how tired I am of being somebody else. I want to be just me.

Mother (drawing Child to her side again). Are you some other mamma’s little girl?

Child. Not another mamma’s little girl, but I can’t be the me I want to be. The me inside of me wants to be a very different me indeed.

Mother (They sit silent a moment). Would you like to try it just for one day?

Child (standing up suddenly) Mamma, dear! What do you mean?

Mother. I mean this, Mary. Suppose that just for one day we pretend that you are mamma, and I am Mary. I shall have to say that we must both stay at home, just us two. If there were more time I wouldn’t say even that. But if you’ll agree to that we’ll try.

Child (eagerly). To do just as I want to?

Mother. Yes, dear.

Child. And you will do what I tell you?

Mother. If I possibly can.

Child (jumps up and down). Oh, goody, goody! And I can have what I want for dinner? And wear the dress I want? And I needn’t go to school? Nor practice? And I can sit up as late as I want to? Really?

Mother. All of that.

Child. All right. When will we begin?

Mother. Right now, if you like. It’s morning, and it isn’t school time yet. But I’d like to ask one question. Is this to be the Christmas present you want more than anything? And are there to be no other gifts?

Child. Why, mamma, if I could be really the mamma, and not just pretend, and if it could be all the time, and not just one day, I wouldn’t want another single thing. I truly wouldn’t. But I think—I wish—I could have a few other things, little ones.

Mother. Very well, then. You are mamma now, and I am Mary.

Child. First thing, then, I’ll have chicken for lunch and cream puffs. (Goes toward the door.) And some of that raspberry jam—and—coffee. (Turns to Mother.) Yes, I’m going to have coffee. You can’t have any, Mary. It isn’t good for little girls. But I can have it. Mammas always do. (Turns to door again.)

Mother. Are you going to cook them, mamma?

Child. No; ’course not. Bridget’ll cook ’em. (Turns suddenly to Mother.) Oh, mamma! Will you tell Bridget to mind me? ’Cause she don’t know I’m mamma, you know.

Mother. Very well. I’ll do it now. (Goes out.)

Child. And hurry back, please, ’cause I want you to be Mary.

CURTAIN.

Scene II—Mother sewing. Child comes in dressed fancifully.

Child. Mary, have you finished that hemming? ’Cause I want you to practice.

Mother. Not quite, mamma. But can I play when this is done?

Child (severely). No, Mary, you can’t. You’ve played enough; and if you don’t go to school, why, you’ve got to study at home—just lots. (Sits down, adjusts dress, folds hands.) You’ve got to do lots of sums, and most fifty words in spelling. And you’ve got to practice—two—hours. Just scales and finger exercises, nothing else. (Apologetically, aside.) I’m not doing this to be mean, mamma, I truly ain’t. But I want you to see how it feels to have to do things you don’t like. (Continues with dignity.) You see Mary, mothers know lots more than little girls. I mean they think they do—and I know you must do that way.

Mother. But I’m hungry, and it’s long past lunch time.

Child. I know it, Mary, but you finish that before you can have any lunch. (In a little girl’s tone.) Really and truly Bridget is horrid. She said it would take her too long to fix all the things I told her to, and when I in-sis-ted—I had to stamp my foot at her—she just said all right, but I’d have to wait for ’em then. Does she do that way when you are the mamma?

Mother. She is rather trying sometimes.

Child. Mercy! I should think so! (Resumes grown-up air.) Now, after lunch—when it comes—if it ever does—I’m going to play all the afternoon. Oh! I forgot. Don’t mothers ever play? Don’t you play sometimes, when you are the mamma?

Mother. Oh, yes.

Child. But how?

Mother. I read (Child makes a face) or do fancy work.

Child. I hate sewing.

Mother. Or I have a friend to lunch.

Child. Yes, but you only sit and talk.

Mother. Or I write letters.

Child. That’s worse than sewing.

Mother. Or I play the piano. Oh, I enjoy myself very much.

Child. Well, I don’t think mammas have a bit good time if that is all they do. (Jumps up, skips across the floor.) Oh, I know! (Stops, sits down in another chair, is dignified again.) I forgot. (Apologetically.) You see, I’ve been Mary so long. Well, Mary, you go and bring me my jewelry. (Mother hesitates.) Go right along, child. You must obey me at once. (Mother goes out, Child smiles.) I guess she finds that isn’t very easy. (Bounces up and down on her chair.) My! But it’s horrid to sit still so long! I’d like to go swing, only mammas never do. (Squirms about. Mother enters, hands her two jewel boxes.)

Mother. Shall I practice now?

Child. No; do your sums. All those on the four pages I showed you—all of them. (Opens boxes.) Now I’m going to put all of these on—all the rings and all the bracelets. (Tries them on.)

CURTAIN.

Scene III—Evening. Mother reading, Child sitting upright and nodding, trying to keep awake. After three or four hard nods she yawns and says:

Child. Mary, it’s time you went to bed. I’d have sent you long ago, only papa was away and I was lone—I mean—I missed him.

Mother. Shall I go to bed now?

Child. No. My head aches.

Mother. Shall I smooth it? Little girls can’t help much when folks don’t feel well, can they?

Child (snappishly). Don’t talk like that to me. I’m feeling real mizzable. (Sighs, leans back in chair.) Read to me. Quick.

Mother. What shall I read?

Child. Oh, for goodness sake! You ask foolish questions. Read what mammas like, of course.

Mother. Not Cinderella?—nor the Fairy Prince—or—

Child (wistfully). If I was Mary I would say, “Yes.” But I’m mamma. (Then suddenly runs to her mother and leans against her.) Oh, I don’t want to be Mother any more. It’s hard and tiresome. I want you to cuddle me—my head aches—and I haven’t played all—day—lo—o—ng. And Bridget has been horrid—and I never want to taste cream puffs again—nor fruit cake—nor lots of sugar in my tea. Bridget said I ate enough of ’em to sink a ship. And I feel awful here. (Hand on stomach.) Oh, mamma, mamma! (Mother holds her close and kisses her.) And, mamma, it’s almost Christmas, and I promised to take this for a present. And it’s all—just—wasted! Oh, dear me!

Mother. Little Mary, listen to me. Some day you will be as happy to be a really mother, I hope, as I am; but just now you are a little girl, and I don’t want you to be anything else.

Child. I don’t want to any more.

Mother. And I think the nicest present you can have will be to forget all about yourself, and have a lovely, happy time with some other children. Shall we ask Santa Claus for that?

Child. Yes, oh yes! But, mamma, I know there isn’t any really Santa Claus, but I like to think there is.

Mother. So do I, dear. There really is a Santa Claus spirit, though, which every one can have.

Child. Sing to me, mamma. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

Mother (taking Child in her lap). You are rather a big little girl to be rocked, but I’ll try it. (Sings Christmas carol.)

CURTAIN.

In the foregoing it is well to have the one personating “Mother” a large woman in order to make as much contrast as possible between her and “Mary.” As Mary has a good many lines to learn, her part must be taken by one not too young; but with proper dressing the effect of a little girl can be attained. If Mary is too large to be held in the lap in the last scene, let her sit on a footstool and lay her head on Mother’s lap.

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.

For One Adult or Large Girl and One Child as Small as Can Learn the Part.

This may be presented wholly without accessories, except a chair and a small table and work basket, or made to picture a Puritan home.

The effect of this simple thing lies in the spirit put into it by the actors. Well done it is exceedingly effective.

Costumes and directions at the close.

CURTAIN.

COSTUMES.

Both dress alike. Dress gray, plain waist and close sleeves, skirt to ankles. White apron, white kerchief crossed over the shoulders, plain muslin caps, not tied under the chin, white stockings, low shoes.

The mother is very gentle and loving, the child eager and impetuous. This can be made very “taking” by having both the characters children; the smaller the better.

THE KING OF THE YEAR.

For Seventeen or More Characters.

This can be carried out with children entirely or with part adults.

CHARACTERS.

New Year. Saint Valentine. Saint Patrick. Easter. May and June.

Boys. April Fool. Fourth of July. Vacation Twin. Girls. Hallowe’en. Thanksgiving. Vacation Twin.

Santa Claus, the King.

No stage setting required except throne for the King.

GREETING SONG.

Tune: “A-Roving.”

CURTAIN.

DIRECTIONS.

As they sing each holiday comes forward in turn and offers Santa Claus an emblem, which he hands to the children, and which they fasten—with pins or otherwise—to the high back of the throne, or to the curtain behind him, except the basket of flowers which May brings, and the roses from June. The basket is placed at his feet, and the wreath on the arm of the chair which forms his throne. The horn of plenty is also placed at his feet.

Each makes a low bow as he presents his offering.

New Year offers a large card.

St. Valentine a huge valentine.

St. Patrick a big green shamrock, cut from green cardboard.

Easter a stalk of lilies.

April his cap and bells which he takes off for the purpose.

May-day her basket.

June her wreath of roses.

July a flag.

Vacation Twins a tennis racket and a butterfly net.

Hallowe’en a witch riding on a broom, cut from black cardboard.

Thanksgiving a horn of plenty, full of grain and fruit.

Each bows, gives offering and retires to place.

DIRECTIONS.

No stage setting is absolutely needful for this little play except the throne for the king, but if there can be a small platform on either side of the throne large enough to accommodate the children, or those personating them, having the holidays on the level, it will give a better effect. The throne can be merely a large upholstered chair, or it may be draped and surrounded with curtains and a canopy overhead.

COSTUMES.

New Year should be quite a small boy (if children take the parts) in full dress suit. This is not difficult to make and may be of cambric. If an adult takes the part, the costume may be the same, or the traditional figure of Father Time may be followed.

Saint Valentine—Shakesperian costume, tights, trunks, cloak, etc. Carries a mandolin.

Saint Patrick—Knee breeches and long frock coat of gray, battered “plug” hat, green vest and stockings, low shoes with buckles.

Easter—Long white dress with gold cord and tassel around the waist, gold band around the head, hair hanging loosely. Carries a stalk of lilies.

Fig. 1.

April Fool—Jester’s suit (can be of cambric), black tights and trunks, jacket reaching half way to knees and belted in, bottom of jacket, and the wide collar cut in long points and trimmed with orange, with tiny bells on points. Hood close fitting to head (see Fig. 1), with three curved horns turning forward. These horns are stuffed with hair. The collar is fastened to the hood, not to the jacket.

May and June—Two little girls. White or light dresses trimmed with flowers, wreaths on head. May’s flowers are delicate spring flowers, those of June are roses, and she carries a wreath of them.

Fourth of July—Boy with drum hung before him, firecrackers around his neck, carries a flag over his shoulder, drumstick in right hand.

Vacation Twins—Sailor or khaki suits; one carries a butterfly net, the other a tennis racket.

Hallowe’en—Long black gown, white cloth over the head, hanging evenly all around the shoulders, places cut for eyes. Carries witch riding on broom cut from black cardboard.

Thanksgiving—Puritan costume; or it may be brown, flowing robe trimmed with autumn leaves. Carries a horn of plenty, full of grain (in the grass form) and fruit. This with either costume.

Santa Claus—The traditional dress.

MRS. RANDY’S CHRISTMAS.

A Christmas Play in One Scene.

Eight Characters; Three Adults, Two Little Boys and Three Little Girls.

Mrs. Randy The Mother

Mrs. Van Dusen ⎫ Visitors

Mrs. Graham ⎭

Mary ⎫ Mrs. R.’s Children

Susie ⎪

Annie ⎬

Teddy ⎪

Johnnie ⎭

Stage setting: A bare room with one pine table and two chairs. Mrs. R. is seated by the table darning stockings. Her work basket is on the table.

Mrs. Randy. Dear me! How late it’s a-gettin’. I just have got to finish this mendin’ before the children get home, ’cause they’ll distract me so I don’t know what I’m doin’.

This is the first day I’ve had at home in goodness knows when, ’ceptin’ Sundays, of course, and there’s enough needs doin’ here to keep a dozen busy.

Now let’s see. Tomorrow’s Christmas, and I ain’t got nothin’ to speak of ready for the children. I thought I’d ’a been able to save just a little by now; but that winder Teddy broke took all I’d laid by to pay for it; and the spankin’ he got didn’t pay it back neither.

So here I be, stockin’s most mended, but just about nothin’ to put in ’em. There’s those red apples Mrs. Jones gave me yesterday, and there’s that pair of white kid gloves I’ve been savin’ for most two years. I was goin’ to wait till Mary got a little bigger ’fore I gave ’em to her, but I guess she’ll have to be big enough now. She’ll be real proud to have a pair of white kid gloves, like what real ladies wear. I know these are genooine, for the lady what wore ’em gave ’em to me. Then I was plannin’ to buy a fine silk tie for Teddy, but now I can’t, so I’ll just see what I can do with that old one that used to be his father’s.

But there isn’t anything for the little ones, and now I can’t buy ’em anything. I must do something, but I surely don’t know what.

Teddy (rushing in excitedly). Ma! Just look! There’s a fine motor car stopped out in the street.

Mary (following). And Ma! See! A fine lady is gettin’ out.

Mrs. R. Well, if she ain’t a-comin’ right in here. Run out, quick, all of you. You ain’t one of you dressed fit to be seen by a lady like that. (A knock—she shoos them out.) And I ain’t fit neither. Oh, my! (She turns her apron wrong side out, hastily picks up some stockings from the floor. Another knock. She opens door.) How d’ye do? Won’t you come in? It’s a fine day, ain’t it?

Mrs. Van (steps one step inside the door). I believe you are the person who takes care of the rooms occupied by the “Ladies’ Literary Club,” are you not?

Mrs. R. Yes, ma’am. There ain’t nothin’ wrong, is there?

Mrs. V. (ignoring her question as before). I am Mrs. Van Dusen, of the charitable committee of the club. I presume you have some children?

Mrs. R. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Van Dusen. I am Mrs. Randy. Yes, I have five children.

Mrs. V. Oh, yes. (Aside.) What large families these people have. I see my surmise was correct. I presume you have nothing ready for their Christmas?

Mrs. R. Yes, I have for two of ’em, though it ain’t what I’d like. See. (Showing the gloves.) Mary’ll be real pleased to have these. They’re real ladies’ gloves, ain’t they?

Mrs. V. Don’t say “ain’t.” It’s bad grammar and it gets on my nerves. (Looks at gloves through lorgnette.) Goodness! Those dirty things? You ought at least to send them to the cleaners first, though even then they are in dreadfully bad taste. But I must go, for I have other charitable calls to make. Here is money to buy something for the children. (Hands a coin from her purse.)

Mrs. R. Thank you; but I’d rather not. We’d a-done somehow if you hadn’t called.

Mrs. V. Now, Mrs. Randy, don’t be foolish. You know it is wrong to be proud, and it is especially unbecoming to the poor. (Puts money on the table.) Now you can get presents for them and say they came from Mrs. Van Dusen. Goodby. (Exit.)

Mrs. R. Well, I s’pose she means to be kind, but I must say I don’t think she knows how very well. I didn’t want to take her money, but now I’ll have to. I wish Providence didn’t provide in such queer ways, sometimes. Well—as she says—it’s wrong to be proud, so I’ll get something with it. (Picks up the coin.) Fifty cents. Now ain’t that fine? Why, I can buy some presents and most a Christmas dinner, too. But I must get the children to bed early so I can fix things up. (Calls at the door.) Mary! Teddy! Oh, children! All of you come in now. (Children enter.)

Mary. Who was that lady, Ma?

Teddy. What did she come for, anyway?

Johnny. Gee! But wasn’t that a swell automobile, though!

Annie and Susie. Ma, who was it?

Mrs. R. Just you wait till tomorrow an’ see. It’s a secret now, and if you ask another word I won’t tell at all. Were you playin’ with the Smith youngsters?

Mary. Yes. An’ oh, Ma. They’re a-goin’ to hang up their stockin’s. Can’t we hang up ours, too?

Mrs. R. Now, I just wondered if you’d remember about tonight’s being Christmas Eve, and you did, didn’t you?

Mary. Yes, of course.

Teddy. You bet.

Mrs. R. We ain’t got no chimney, and Santa Claus can’t come that way, but you just hang ’em on the back of the chair and I’ll leave the door open so he can get in that way, and I hope he’ll not forget and pass us by. Now, Mary, here’s a stockin’ for you. The foot is too full of holes for you to wear ’em, or me to darn ’em; so I just sewed it across the heel, and it’ll have to do. Teddy, I must have lost your other stockin’; anyway I can’t find ’em now, so you can just use this old sock that used to be your father’s before he went to the Philippines. And here are your stockin’s, Johnnie, and Susie and Annie. (Helps pin them up.) Now you all get to bed quick’s you can. Mary, you look after the little ones, won’t you? You see, I’ve got so much to do to make things tidy for Santa Claus, that I can’t bother ’bout ’em. Now just scoot! All of you. And don’t you dare peek, or Santa Claus won’t leave you nothin’. (All hurry off. Mrs. R. opens the table drawer and takes out gloves and tie and places them on the chair, gets apples and puts in the stockings, also.) Now that ain’t enough for ’em all, so I’ll go buy somethin’ with that money. (Musingly.) Let me see. Oh, yes; I know. (Door opens and Teddy puts head in, saying, “Ma.” Mrs. R. slams drawer shut and hurriedly covers chair with apron, then answers, “What?”).

Teddy. Ma, where’s my nightgown?

Mrs. R. Land sakes, Teddy. I forgot. I lent it to Mrs. McRoy to cut a pattern for Joe, an’ I s’pose she forgot to bring it back.

Teddy. But Ma, what’ll I do?

Mrs. R. Wear Johnnie’s other one.

Teddy. Can’t. It’s too little.

Mrs. R. Well, then wear Mary’s other one, but for goodness sakes go to bed or Santa Claus won’t never come. (Children go out.) Now I’ll go over to the store and get some things. I’ve a fine idea. (Puts on shawl and hat, takes basket.) I’ll be back in a minute, and they won’t know I’ve been away. (Exit. After a moment the door opens and Mary puts her head in. Dodges back and then enters in nightdress. Closes door and starts to go toward the table, when the door opens again and Teddy starts in. She motions him back, tries to push him out, then pulls him in and both go to the table. The door again opens and the others come in in their nightgowns. All go toward the table on tip-toe, stop and listen and rush out. After a pause the children come cautiously in and get nearly to the table when they hear their mother coming, and rush out again. Mrs. R. enters with a loaded basket on her arm, sets it on the table.)

Mrs. R. There we are. Things for a good dinner, anyhow. I know what I’ll do for the playthings. (Takes off shawl and hat, sits down and works. Directions for this at the end.) Susie always did want a doll baby, and here’s one she can’t smash. (She works with frequent pauses, holding up her work from time to time.) I think that is real scrumptious. I’ve seen ’em in stores lots of times that didn’t look a mite better. Won’t she be tickled? And I’ve thought how to make a elephant just like the one in the store that Joe’s been begging for. Here’s just the thing. Queer how things grow sometimes. You can work hard and you can’t do no better than nature. See that now! You never know what you can do till you try. ’Tain’t quite what I wanted, but it’ll have to do. Leastwise it’s all he’ll get, so he’d better like it. There’s Annie, now. She’s allus beggin’ for something pretty, so I got her some beautiful tissue paper to cut out fancy. (Takes paper from basket.) It only cost three cents, and she’ll be just happy. (She begins to put things in stockings. Knock at door. She opens door to a lady.) How do you do, Miss? Have you lost your way? I can show you real easy.

Mrs. Graham. Thank you, but I think this is where I wanted to come. Aren’t you Mrs. Randy, the mother of little Mary and Teddy, and Susie, Annie and Johnny?

Mrs. R. Yes, ma’am, they are my little folks. I hope they haven’t broken anything, or made any trouble. Are you one of the school teachers or anything like that? How did you know them?

Mrs. G. Oh, no. I’m not a school teacher; only a friend of one of the teachers; and as I have no little children of my own I wanted to find some little folks to help have a good time this Christmas. Just think how lonely it would be not to have any children to share your Christmas with. So I am going to ask you to let me have the pleasure of giving something to yours. Won’t you? Please let me, Mrs. Randy.

Mrs. R. Well, I must say that it’s very kind and friendly of you to want to do that; and when you ask it that way, of course I’ll let you if it will give you pleasure, though I must say I would hate to take presents from some. But you don’t know how thankful I am, for the children’s sake. I just didn’t know what I was going to do for some of them.

Mrs. G. Don’t say any more about it, please, but put these little things with the others in their stockings tonight, and say they came from Santa Claus. Wouldn’t you like to wear these yourself? (Hands her the red holly berries from her own dress.) They will be becoming to you. Good-night, and a merry Christmas.

Mrs. R. Thanks, ma’am. The same to you and many of ’em. (Exit Mrs. G.) There now, just look at that. (Surveying the parcels.) I ought to be pretty kind if I am to deserve such a friend. How different she is from that Mrs. Van Dusen. Why, I declare. She didn’t even tell me her name. I guess she wasn’t thinkin’ much about herself. Well, this surely does make me happy. I wonder what’s in this bundle. (Opens it, admires things, fills stockings.) And now, so much has happened that I should be perfectly happy if I could only get word from my John in the Philippines. It’s been so long since I heard from him that I can’t help bein’ worried ’bout him. Seems as if he surely wouldn’t let Christmas go by without sendin’ me word—if he’s alive—but it’s been so long—(knock at the door. A voice asks, “Is this Flower Street?”) No, this ain’t Flower Street. You’ve got a long way off. You go down that way (pointing) nearly half a mile and you’ll cross it. Good-night. (Comes in and sits down again.) Dear me. That gave me quite a turn. I must be gettin’ silly tonight, but it does seem as if my John was a-comin’—or was near—or somethin’. (Knock at the door, which she opens to receive a telegram, which she reads, then waves it over her head, calling to the children, who run in in their nightgowns.) Oh, hurry! Merry Christmas! Oh, just think! Your father is comin’ tomorrow!

Children (dancing around the chair). Santa Claus has been here already! Hurrah! Hurrah! Merry Christmas!

CURTAIN.

DIRECTIONS.

When Mrs. Randy returns from her purchase of Christmas things, she lays aside her hat and shawl, sits down and takes a clothes-pin or a potato from the basket. If a potato is used, one of the odd-shaped ones with a small, round knob at one end, which can be made to look like the head of the doll, is best. Then out of the table drawer she takes some pieces of bright cloth and dresses the potato, or clothes-pin, for a doll, tying on a skirt with a string, folding a square of cloth for a shawl and pinning it on the shoulders, and folding another piece for a bonnet, and tying it on with a bit of string. No sewing is needed.

The elephant for Joe is made of potatoes or carrots. A large oblong one is the body; a small long one is the trunk, fastened to the body by long wire nails or brads. In the same way four small ones form the legs of the beast; two large, black-headed pins are the eyes, and two flaps of brown paper, pinned on, the ears. A square of red cloth is a blanket for the back, and is pinned to place. The tail is a bit of string with ravelled end.

These things made, as she talks, with fitting pauses, and held up to view, cause much merriment among the children in the audience.

READY FOR SANTA CLAUS.

Illustrated Song for Twenty-seven or More Children.

This is an attractive form of entertainment for the younger grades of school. Just the number indicated may be used, or more of each kind can be added as desired.

Directions at the close.

SONG.

DIRECTIONS.

The Candy Bags are four little girls, two dressed in red and two in white. Their dresses are of tarletan or cheesecloth over slips of the same color. They are just wide enough to go over the ordinary dresses and long enough to reach from the neck to an inch or so below the bottom of their skirts. Let all be the same length. The top of the bags (or dresses) are gathered with a ruffle around the children’s necks. Their arms are kept inside of the dresses.

The Packages are ten boys or girls, or both. Their costumes are shaped of cardboard, inside of which the children stand, their legs showing below and their arms coming through at the sides. Holes are cut through the cardboard for them to see and breathe through, and these holes must be located so as to be the inner corners of the eyes, or in the nose of the large faces which must be marked upon the wrappings of the packages. Close fitting sleeves of the same color as the paper wrapping the packages are upon the arms, and the stockings should also match the paper.

The package of skates is covered with brown paper over a cylinder of cardboard, with a twist at the top and tied with a large cord.

The Dress, also of brown paper, but larger, and in an oblong parcel.

Grandma’s shawl, a lighter brown paper, tied with ribbon.

Jewelry and Gloves, smaller, one flat, one round, covered with white paper and tied with red ribbon.

The Tin Soldiers are six little boys. Trousers long, of shiny blue cambric with yellow stripes at the sides; shiny red jackets, with buttons and bands across the front and on sleeves of yellow. Toy guns. Their cheeks and lips should be very red to imitate the toy soldiers, and they should walk straight and very stiffly, and not turn their head.

The Dolls are seven little girls.

Two are dressed to imitate French dolls.

One for a rag doll.

One for a cheap doll, imitating it as closely as possible.

One for a knit doll for the baby.

Two for broken dolls. Of these latter have one without an arm (held hidden under the dress) and limping on a crutch, and the other dressed so as to seem to have no head. This can be done by making the dress with its neck above the head of the wearer, thus leaving the doll without a head. Have but one arm, and the dress waist and real arms hidden under a “Mother Hubbard” dress. The clothes must be faded and ragged.

SANTA CLAUS’ GARDEN.

For Eight Characters.

Santa Claus ⎫ Adults or Large Boys

Deeno, the Gardener ⎭

Jacks in the Box Three Small Boys

French Dolls Three Small Girls

DIRECTIONS AT CLOSE.

Santa. It is a fine day, a very fine day. I’ve been looking all over my toy garden and things are growing very well indeed. The bicycles are all in bloom and the velocipedes are full of buds. (Inspects the trumpet vines.) These trumpets are about ripe. (Calls.) Deeno! Hey there, Deeno!

Deeno (enters, touches hat, says). Here I am, sir. What is it, sir?

Santa. I think these trumpets are ripe, Deeno. Have them picked at once. If they get too ripe, you know, they’ve a bad sound to them and then they’re not popular. (Pulls one, blows it.) There! That has a fine tone to it. Nobody could object to that now, could they, Deeno?

Deeno. No, sir, indeed. I’m sure not, sir.

Santa. Ah, Deeno, you know a good thing when you hear it. You’re a sly rogue. (Shakes finger at Deeno.) But, Deeno, I don’t see those skate vines. You surely didn’t forget to plant them.

Deeno. Oh, no, sir. Indeed, sir! I planted ’em twice, sir; but the seed must have been bad, for not one of ’em grew, sir.

Santa (much excited). What! No skates for my boys this Christmas? Whatever shall I do? Why, Deeno! You should have told me before.

Deeno. Oh, sir; it’s all right, sir. I sent to the South Pole by a flying machine man, and spoke for their whole crop of skates, sir, and they got here this morning.

Santa. Good for you, Deeno! You have taken a load off my mind. You’ve never failed me yet. Let me see some of them.

Deeno. All right, sir. (Exits. Santa examines the drum tree.)

Santa. Doing well. Doing well. They’ll ripen in time for Christmas. Some are most ready now. (Taps various drum—examines buds—calls.) Hey, Deeno! (Deeno enters.) Oh! Here you are. (Deeno has wheelbarrow full of boxes wrapped, and two or three open, showing skates. Hands them to Santa, who examines them. Then he turns to the drum tree.) Where are all the sticks for these drums?

Deeno. Bless you, sir! They’re growing right along, rows and rows of ’em, sir. And when the wind blows ’em, sir, they act as if they were trying to drum. Yes, sir, they do.

Santa (smiling). They’ll have a chance to drum before long. I’ve selected boys for every pair of them. (Turns to skates again.) So these are the skates, hey? Pretty fair skates, but not quite up to your work. Hey, Deeno? (Deeno grins and touches hat.) But I think the boys who get them won’t grumble. (Takes up a pair of roller skates.) And these are the rollers. Are they all like these?

Deeno. Yes, sir. All alike, sir.

Santa. That’ll do. Take ’em in to Mrs. Santa Claus, and ask her to see to it that they are properly labeled. She’ll find the list of the boys and girls they’re going to in my desk.

Deeno. Yes, sir. All right, sir. (Goes off.)

Santa (bending down to examine them). These tea set plants are very slow growing this year. I’ll have them planted earlier next year. Just see how small these dishes are. Those on the east side of the garden are much larger than these. (Examines plants in pots, opens the buds, one after another, and shows the dolls within.) Oh, here you are, Miss Dolly! You are to go to a dear little girl, so you must hurry up and grow. And you (to another doll bud) will go into Annie’s stocking. And you (to another) will go to lame Mary. Oh, yes, I think dolls are one of the most satisfactory crops. (Turns to the French Dolls, who are covered by a frame of mosquito netting.) Now these big French dolls are very hard to grow. I see Deeno has them covered. (Calls.) Deeno! Oh, Deeno!

Deeno (hurries in). Yes, sir; I’m coming, sir.

Santa. Why are you sheltering these dolls again this year? Is it the wind?

Deeno. No, indeed, sir. The wind wouldn’t hurt ’em, sir. It’s the birds, sir.

Santa. Birds! I never heard of such a thing. Birds injure them when they have grown to that size?

Deeno. Oh, yes, indeed, sir. Why, they spoiled two long-rows of ’em last week, just after I transplanted ’em, sir.

Santa. How spoil them?

Deeno. Pick their eyes out, sir. That’s how they spoil ’em. Oh, yes, sir.

Santa. Let’s see them. (They lift off the netting.) Well, these are beauties, Deeno. They certainly are beauties. Any of ’em talk?

Deeno. This one, sir. (They wind her up. She says “Papa” and “Mamma.”)

Santa. I think these had better be picked.

Deeno. Perhaps so, sir. (They appear to loosen the doll, lift her from her leaves and set her out in the path. In the same way they set the other two out.)

Santa. We’ll take those in with us when we go. Better try those balls over there. (Pointing. Deeno goes to the ball tree and tries several of the balls.)

Deeno. We’ll pick these about next week, sir. They’re green yet.

Santa. How are these Jacks-in-the-box? Have any of them popped yet?

Deeno. Yes, sir. One or two of ’em, sir. They must be quite ready by now, sir.

Santa (opens a box, Jack springs up). Just see that! (Deeno opens a second box and Santa a third. The Jacks pop up.) And here’s another! I always did like a good Jack-in-the-box, and they nearly always make me jump a little. (To Jack.) Go in there again. (Shuts cover, opens it again.) Oh, there you are! (Tries each one two or three times. Leaves them standing.) Well, Deeno, set those dolls out of the way and bring up your wheelbarrow. (Deeno does so. They put one Jack into the barrow. Deeno wheels him away. Santa lifts and carries off one of the dolls, the curtain falls.)

DIRECTIONS.

Let the stage be set like the diagram. No. 1 is a trumpet vine, made of branches fastened to the rear wall or curtain, like a vine, with a few tin trumpets, and many to simulate them of cardboard, sticking out on the vines like blossoms.

No. 2 is a tree as large as is feasible, with large buds of green tissue paper, some closed, others parted and showing small drums in the center.

Directions

The leaves forming these buds should be a pointed oval in shape, and vary in size as they represent buds or open flowers. The drums hang down from the branches and the petals, when open, hang over and partly cover them. See Fig. 1.

Fig. 1.

No. 3 is another tree hung with bright-colored balls of tissue paper, representing candies.

Nos. 4 and 5 are clusters of branches arranged to look as if growing, and about three feet high, hung with balls of various kinds and colors.

Nos. 6, 7 and 8 are three little girls who are dressed to represent French dolls. They stand in a row facing the audience. At either end of the row is a frame to support the cheesecloth or mosquito netting which covers them all over, until Santa is ready for them. Their part, of course, is to stand stiffly, like dolls, not turning their heads, and with their arms held out in front like the small china dolls. One is to say “Papa” and “Mamma” when the signal is given her.

No. 12 is a row of flower pots or boxes, in which appear to be growing the doll plants. These are branches which stand about eighteen inches high, with buds made of tissue paper, like those on the drum trees. These buds conceal as many dolls as can be hung on the plants, some large, some smaller.

No. 13 is a similar row of plants similarly arranged, on which are fastened the various dishes of tea sets.

Nos. 9, 10 and 11 are boxes about two feet high and eighteen inches square (or of the size to accommodate small boys stooping). These boxes have paper leaves around them. The boys should be dressed like Jacks-in-the-box, with frizzly hair, grotesquely painted faces, etc. Their part is to remain hidden in the boxes till Santa opens them (they should be provided with stools to sit on or they cannot keep still.); then to spring up suddenly and remain standing until shut in again.

COSTUMES.

Santa Claus wears the traditional costume, and Deeno may be short and fat, or tall and very thin. He wears blue overalls and a broad-brimmed hat, and a fringe of white whiskers around his face.

SANTA CLAUS IN MANY LANDS.

For Twenty Characters—Six Girls, Nine Boys, Four Little Children and One Adult.

America ⎫ Boys

Hindustan ⎪

China ⎪

Scotland ⎪

Ireland ⎬

Russia ⎪

Indian ⎪

Philippine ⎪

Esquimau ⎭

France ⎫ Girls

Germany ⎪

Japan ⎪

England ⎬

Spain ⎪

Italy ⎭

Santa Claus, An Adult.

Four Little Children.

This is good to introduce a school Christmas tree. At the close of the play let Santa Claus distribute the gifts with the help of the various characters.

If desired, the number participating can be doubled by having a boy and a girl for each country. Or, the number can be reduced by omitting some of the characters and the lines referring to them. As the stanzas are not of set length they can easily be reduced or combined. Costumes at end of the play.

CURTAIN.

DIRECTIONS.

As each character enters and speaks, let him use gestures or actions according to his words. This must be left to the judgment of the one in charge.

COSTUMES.

Santa Claus—Traditional red suit and cap, long whiskers, etc.

Four Little Children—Any pretty dress.

America—Modern dress.

Hindustan—White robe with loose sleeves. This reaches to the feet. Wide white belt, white turban.

Ireland—Green stockings, low, buckled shoes, gray knee trousers, white blouse waist, green tie, gray jacket.

Eskimo—Trousers, jacket and pointed hood of fur. Cotton flannel with the fuzzy side out answers very well.

Indian—Moccasins, brown overalls with a pleat laid on the outside of the leg, thus fitting it as close as is convenient. Over this pleat is a fringe of brown leather or tan cotton. Bright blanket over the shoulders. Red band around the head, with feathers standing up in it. Long black hair, painted face.

Scotland—Highland dress; plaid kilt and stockings, low shoes, dark jacket and red or plaid sash over the shoulder; fur pouch in front; Scotch cap.

China—Wide, loose trousers and blouse of dark blue, round cap of blue or black, with red button on top; “pigtail” and slanting eyes.

France—Fancy pink and blue frilled dress, arms and neck bare, slippers.

Philippine—Close fitting waist and tights of brown, hands and face brown, woolly wig. Skirt of raffia or grass reaching to the knees. Beads around the neck; carries a spear.

Germany—Blue skirt to ankles, white waist, black bodice, Dutch cap with flaps turned back from the face, long flaxen braids.

Japan—Gay kimono and sash, hair dressed high with tiny fans stuck in it.

Spain—Yellow dress with black bands around it, black bodice, large gay fan, hair dressed with high back comb and large red roses below each ear.

Italy—Green skirt with bands of bright trimming, white waist and apron, black bodice. Hair in braids with white headdress, which is a band of muslin six or seven inches wide and sixteen to eighteen inches long, one end pinned on top of the head, the other falling behind.

Russia—High, fur-trimmed boots, dark skirt and jacket and cap, all trimmed with fur.

England—A fair child with delicate features. Modern dress.

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS.

A Sketch.

For Eight Characters—Four Males, Four Females.

CHARACTERS.

Mr. Radcliffe Bachelor of 35, or Thereabouts

Bob The Janitor’s Boy

Bill Who Brings Home His Suit

Jimmy Mr. Radcliffe as a Boy

Miss Dayton Lady in the Late Twenties

Gretchen German Maid

Annette Washwoman’s Child

Kitty Miss Dayton as a Girl

Scene: Interior of Miss Dayton’s room. Table with books and sewing upon it, two chairs and a lounge, etc. Miss D. sits reading.

Miss Dayton (puts down book, yawns). Heigh-ho! What a dreary day! Cold as Greenland, and raining as well. If I had my way in the making of the world we never would have had such days as this. (Knock at door.) Come in.

Enter Gretchen with letters.

Gretchen. Some letters, Miss Dayton.

Miss D. Very well, Gretchen. Put them on the table.

Gret. (picking up scraps, dusting, etc., as she talks). It vas a nice day, Miss Dayton.

Miss D. I think it is a horrid day, Gretchen.

Gret. Nein, Miss Dayton. It vas by Christmas day. (Smiles broadly.)

Miss D. What is that to me, Gretchen, or to any sensible person, for that matter?

Gret. (astonished). Und you don’d like Christmas, Miss Dayton?

Miss D. Christmas is nothing, Gretchen. Nothing at all. Just a day for silly people to spend money on foolish things, and other people to be bored with their foolishness. You don’t catch me joining in any of it.

Gret. (aghast). But it vas Merry Christmas, Miss Dayton.

Miss D. (snappishly). “Merry Christmas!” And what have I to be merry about, I’d like to know?

Gret. Don’d you haf a fader, Miss Dayton?

Miss D. Dead, long ago.

Gret. Und a mudder? Und some brudders? (Puts apron to her eye.) Ach himmel! It makes me cry. I don’d haf ’em so long alretty yet.

Miss D. Oh, for goodness sake, Gretchen! Stop! I haven’t a living soul who cares whether I live or die. And I don’t want to have, if the price of them must be this nonsense about Christmas. If ever there was a heathen custom carried out without cause or reason, this one of Christmas is the one. Don’t talk to me.

Gret. Und you don’d half der Christmas kuchen? Und der ribbons? Und der dinner? Und der Christmas heim-lied? Ach, Miss Dayton! It vas all so dear.

Miss D. (angrily). No! I tell you. No! (After a pause, wearily.) How much you talk.

Gret. (pitifully). Some of mein Christmas kuchen comes to you, Miss Dayton, and then you vill not so lonely be.

Miss D. I don’t want it, Gretchen. I don’t want it. Why do you bother me so? (Takes up book.) Can’t you see I’m reading? Go and have your old Christmas cakes, if you want them; but let me alone. (Reads.)

Gret. (backing toward the door and speaking timidly). Und you don’d gif nottings on Christmas? (No answer. She goes slowly out, turns at the door, and says.) Tomorrow vas Christmas. (No answer. Goes out slowly, putting one eye to the crack of the door and looking long at Miss D. before she softly closes it. Miss D. continues reading. Knock at the door.)

Miss D. Come in. (Annette enters, poorly dressed. Carries a large basket of laundry.) Oh, it’s you, Annette.

Annette. Please, Miss Dayton, here’s yer washin,’ an’ Maw says cud ye be afther payin’ her, ’cos termorrer’s Christmas.

Miss D. Certainly. Here’s your money. (Pays her.) But surely your mother won’t be so foolish as to spend her money on Christmas nonsense.

Annette (smiling). Aw yis, miss. We do be goin’ ter have Christmis to our house—an’ stockin’s hangin’ by the chimbly—an’ candy in ’em, an’ sich. An’ mebby sumpin’ nice—m—m! (Nods her head and smiles knowingly.)

Miss D. (sternly). Now, Annette, that is actually wrong. When a woman has to work as hard as your mother does to support seven children, it’s worse than folly. It’s wicked to buy Christmas presents. As to Santa Claus, there isn’t any such person, as of course you know. I really think I shall make it my business to see your mother myself, and see if I can’t stop such wasteful, useless doings.

Annette (with a wail). Aw Miss Dayton! Now, don’t yer be doin’ that! Not have Christmis? Aw! Yer don’ know what fun it be! Not have Christmas! Aw Miss Dayton! Let us be, can’t yer? (Hides her face in her apron and sobs.)

Miss D. Now, Annette, stop this at once. You are a very silly child, indeed. I’m quite surprised at you. Here’s your money, and when you get home you tell your mother she is not to spend it for Christmas nonsense. Do you hear? (Resumes her reading.)

Annette (goes dejectedly to the door, but opens it again after she has gone out, and puts her head in, calls.) Christmis gif! (No answer—a pause.) Christmis gif, Miss Dayton.

Miss D. Run along, child. No. No Christmas gifts from me. I don’t approve of them at all. (Resumes the reading of her letter. Annette goes.) Of all things! Here’s a letter from the ladies of the church asking me to help with their Christmas tree for poor children. I think I see myself! It is no better than a bid for pauperism. All nonsense! No indeed! Not I. (Reads other letter.) And if here isn’t more of the same! Mr. Fletcher wants me to help a poor woman with four children so she can have Christmas. The idea! As if there was nothing to use one’s money for but buying toys and candy and such nonsense. (Lets letter drop in her lap. Seems to be thinking. Silence.)

CURTAIN.

Scene II: Interior of Mr. Radcliffe’s room. Table, chairs, couch, clothes scattered over the room. Mr. R. is sitting reading the paper, his feet on a chair. He puts paper down, yawns, resumes paper.

Mr. Radcliffe. Jupiter! What a wretched day! Cold and rainy outside and stupid and tiresome inside. (Knock.) Come in. Oh, it’s you, is it, Bob?

Bob (briskly). Yessir. It’s me, sir. Here’s yer mail, sir.

Mr. R. Toss ’em over, then. (Drops paper, takes letters.) Beastly day.

Bob (picking up Mr. R.’s paper from the floor, setting chairs straight, etc.) Oh, no, sir. Fine day, sir. Most Christmas, sir.

Mr. R. (sharply). What of it, then? What if it is most Christmas?

Bob (surprised). W’y, sir! Ev’rybody’s glad w’en Christmas comes.

Mr. R. I’m not. Why should I be glad? Tell me that.

Bob. W’y—Mr. Radcliffe! W’y—jes’—’cos—it’s Christmas.

Mr. R. (sitting up suddenly). And what’s Christmas? Just a chance for some fools to spend other fools’ money. (Pounds table.) All foolery, I tell you! All foolery!

Bob (protesting). Oh, Mr. Radcliffe! No, sir! Leastways not as I ever see. We’re glad at Christmas, sir—and give things, sir, an’ gets ’em—an’ we feels kind to everybody, sir—that’s Christmas, sir.

Mr. R. (pounds table so suddenly Bob jumps). Don’t contradict me, sir! Do you hear? Don’t contradict me. I said it is all foolery, and it is. (Bob promptly departs.) And this fellow proves it when he talks as he does. “Get ’em!” Of course. That’s all they want—to “get” things. “Feel kind?” Slush! (Puts feet on table, takes paper. Knock at door.) Come in. What is it?

(Small boy, Bill, with very large bundle.)

Bill. Here’s yer suit, sir. From the cleaners.

Mr. R. Set it down. (Resumes reading. Bill puts down the suit and waits. After a moment Mr. R. looks over his paper.) Well, what are you waiting for?

Bill. Please, my paw—he says he’d like the pay, ’cos termorrer’s Christmas. An’ here’s the bill. (Offers it.)

Mr. R. (sarcastically). I’ll warrant he’d like the pay. And he can have it. But what in thunder does Christmas have to do with it?

Bill (backing hastily away and putting the bill behind him.) Please—we’re to have a tree; a little, nice tree. An’ paw—he’d like the pay ’cos (eagerly) I’m to have a dandy knife, an’ maw’ll have a new dress, an’ a pot o’ posies—and little Sis’ll have a new dress, an’ have candy, too; an’—an’ it’s Christmas; a Christmas tree, sir.

Mr. R. Here. Take it and get out. (Bill goes hastily.) They are all fools together, and a fool and his money belong to the Christmas crowd. (Boy puts head in and says timidly.)

Bill. Christmas gif’, please. (Dodges out as Mr. R. throws the paper at him.)

Mr. R. Thunderation! Are we to be pestered by gifts, too? Not if I know it. (Lies back in his chair again.) It’s a beastly day. (Sees letters, opens one.) I forgot these. (Glances over it.) Here’s another fool. That Phil Warner wants me to come to Christmas dinner. I look like going to a Christmas dinner now, don’t I? (Sarcastically.) Oh, yes! I’m the kind that’ll go and admire the babies, and let them climb all over me—and see them spoiled with this fol-de-rol about Christmas! No, thanks, old boy. I have an appointment elsewhere. (Takes up other letter, reads, slams it down.) Is everybody Christmas crazy? Here’s the minister of the church yonder asks me to contribute to their Christmas tree for poor children. Now, that’s a little too much! I may be easy, but I’m not ready for the asylum. (Puts feet on the table, lies back in his chair, puts handkerchief over his face. Silence.)

CURTAIN.

Scene III: When the curtain is drawn again it shows Mr. R. seated at front and extreme right of the stage, facing the center, with his feet up and his handkerchief over his face as at close of last scene. At the front and extreme left of the stage, and facing center, is Miss Dayton, asleep in her chair, as at close of Scene I. Between them, and set back a little from the front, is a space eight feet wide by four or five feet deep, curtained around with gray. For the best effect a gray gauze should be stretched before this space, though it is not a necessity. Another smaller curtain hangs before this space, and is drawn aside for each of the dreams. Here are presented the tableaux representing the dreams of the sleepers. Allow less than a minute to each dream.

Dream I—A boy and a girl are walking together. They are in outdoor garments, and he is offering her an apple, which she is about to take shyly.

Dream II—The same children. The boy is pulling a sled on which the girl sits. He is looking back at her, and she is laughing.

Dream III—The same children. Indoor scene and dress. The boy is bringing in an armful of Christmas greens. The girl holds up to him the wreath of holly and berries she has been making.

Dream IV—The boy holds a piece of mistletoe over the girl’s head, and is just ready to kiss her, while she laughingly holds the Christmas wreath between them.

OUTER CURTAIN.

Scene IV: When the curtain is again drawn, it shows a high screen, or a curtain through the middle of the stage from rear to front. On the right side of this screen from the audience sits Mr. Radcliffe, asleep as he was during the dream pictures, and on the left side it shows Miss Dayton, asleep as she was then. Reproduce as much of the original rooms as possible in the space. She rouses, sits up, looks about her with a bewildered air. Mr. R. remains asleep.

Miss D. How strange! It must have been a dream, yet it was so real. (Leans head on hand. Speaks musingly.) I wonder where Jimmy is now. We used to be close chums for a long time. And what romps we used to have at Christmas time. (Silent a moment.) Why! This is Christmas Eve! Oh! I remember that Gretchen talked about it. Poor Gretchen! I’m afraid I was cross. No, I was rude—just plainly rude—to her because she was glad Christmas was here. Jimmy always used to be so jolly at Christmas, and so kind. I wish Gretchen—(thinks a moment.) And there’s Annette! I was worse than cross to her. I was unkind. I wish—(rises)—well—I’m old and lonely—and I’ve been rude and unkind—but Christmas isn’t over yet, and perhaps I can make it brighter for some of them. I’m going out to get some things for Gretchen and Annette. (Looks out of the window.) It’s raining still, but what do I care! (Puts on waterproof cloak and her hat; takes umbrella.) It’s fun to be out in the rain. Jimmy and I used to love to go out in the rain. Oh! I forgot my rubbers. (Begins to put them on.) How nicely Jimmy used to put mine on for me. My feet were smaller then. (Looks at her feet and smiles.) What fun we used to have at Christmas! (Hurries out.)

Mr. R. (rouses, pulls handkerchief from his face, takes feet down, sits up and stares about him, exclaiming) Why, Kitty! Oh! (Disappointedly.) It must have been a dream, but it seemed so real. (Leans elbow on chair arm and head on hand.) Say! But she was a pretty girl! And jolly, too! And didn’t she love Christmas? What larks we used to have! We two—with the Christmas trimmings and the mistletoe. (Sits up suddenly.) And it’s Christmas time now! What fun! (Drooping dejectedly.) But that was long, long ago. And I’m growing old, and—I think—I’m crusty and mean as well. Yes, a crusty, mean old bachelor. That’s what I am. How I did act to those boys this morning! Poor little chaps! (Starts to his feet.) But there’s time to get straight again. It’s Christmas Eve! (Excitedly.) Hurrah! (Hurries on his hat and coat, catches up an umbrella.) I’ll make it all right. They shall have their Christmas from me yet! (Rushes out.)