NEW HAMPSHIRE EXTENSION SERVICE J. C. KENDALL, Director ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY A ONE -ACT PLAY BY HENRY BAILEY STEVENS As printed in The Granile Monthly and presented at the New Hampshire College of Agriculture and the Mechanic Arts, January 12, 1 92 1 PLAN OF STAGE Door Window Window Cupboard to side Door porch Sofa Stand with "Betty" Telephone Chair Victrola Electric Switch Reading Table Door to Chair Chair Door to Kitchen Front Hall Copies of this play may be secured at 15 cents each from the New Hampshire College Extension Office, Durham, N. H. Amateur performances of the play may be given free of all royalty charge. Copyright, 1921. by Henry Bailey Stevens ©CI.D 5854S SEP-Dl9?| P5 3557 ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY A PLAY IN ONE ACT 5v Henrx Bailex Stevens Dramatis Personae : Susan Reynolds Aunt Polly Walker Dick Van Deuten (Scene: The living room of a New Hampshire farm house. The furnishings are simple but of a mod- ern type. At the center rear is a long, comfortable and well-uphol- stered sofa. A dress-form, or **Betty," as it is popularly called (made of gummed paper at a 'home demonstration' meeting) sits on a stand at its left. At the left front are a wicker lounge-chair and table, on which is an electric lamp with art-glass panels. There are papers and magazines on the table. In a corner is a victrola. A door at the left front opens to the front hall and one at the left rear to cup- board ; on the opposite side a door at the rear opens to the side porch and at the front to the kitchen. There is a telephone between the two doors at the right. At the rear a window looks out toward the mountains. Into the room from the front hall at left comes Susan carrying a traveling bag, followed by Aunt Polly, who is veiled, glov- ed and arrayed in a traveling cos- tume.) Susan (putting down the bag) ; Oh, I say. Aunt Polly, it's just great that you've come. Mother will be delighted. It's too good to be true. Aunt Polly: So this is little Susan, is it? It's too bad for them to call you Susie. Susan: Why, but they don't. Aunt Polly! Nobody does. Aunt Polly: It must be they do behind your back. (Sitting down) Well, the old place looks awfully natural. I thought I'd never get here — -changing at the Junction and stopping, the way the trains do in this part of the country, at every pair of bars. (She struggles with her veil.) Susan: Let me help you, Aunt Polly. (She helps her with her veil.) I'll take your veil, and I'll take your gloves — and your hat. Now are you comfortable? Oh, but mother'll be so sorry she's been away. She and Dad have just gone over to the Field Day at the four- corners. Aunt Polly: Well, the poor soul, I'm glad she's got away for one day. Up in the morning at four o'clock to. get breakfast, feed the chickens, carry in water from the well, wash the milk pail, bake and stew all morning over a hot kitchen fire — Susan: Why, Aunt Polly, you ought to see our pressure cooker ! Aunt Polly: I'm sure I don't know what that is, but I know what it is living on a farm, Susan. I was brought up here, and when I left twenty-six years ago, I vowed I'd never come back. And I don't know as I would, Susan, if it hadn't been as I said to John, "There's that girl up there that's still young. There may be no hopes for Nell, but there is some hopes for her. > I'll bet they call her Susie, and that she ain't been any- wheres except to Rockingham Academy, and can't go to no movies, nor meet any likely young men, and ain't been fitted to move in cultivated society. She can't 240 THE GRANITE MONTHLY have the advantag^es, John, that we could give her. And it's my duty, as I see it, to go up there and offer her a chance to make a change now while she's still young." Of course 1 know it would be awfully hard on your mother ; but as I says to John, anybody's a fool to w^aste themselves. If there's one thing I've always been thankful for, it's that I didn't w^aste myself. Susan: Aren't you funny, Aunt Polly ! Aunt Polly: Well, as I say, everything looks natural. The same old house fifty miles from nowhere, and the same old room. I declare, it smells natural too. (She sniffs) I alw^ays did hate the smell of a kerosene lamp. Susan: But Aunt Polly — Aunt Polly: Oh, I guess you can't tell me. It's very serious, Susan, very serious. Of course you don't realize, as I do, all the hardships of living like this, and t^he disadvantages. Just for one thin, for instance, take anybody's pernunciation. Susaii: Their what? Aunt Polly: Their pernuncia- tion, their language. Of course it ain't your fault, Susan, but I could tell, the minute I heard you speak that you didn't talk the way other people do. Susan: (blushing) Oh, you noticed that, did you? /]//;// Polly: Yes, you knov^ people in the country always say "caf'' when they ought to say "carf"— Susan: Why, I don't do that, Aunt Polly. You see, I've been practising pronunciation and all that sort of thing. I thought that was what you meant. Aunt Polly: You have, have you? (somewhat taken aback) Who's been teaching you? Susa)i: There's a young man staying up at the Jefferson's who's quite an artist. He's lived abroad, you know, and — Aunt Polly: You be careful about these artists and young men like that, Susan. Susan: Why, do you know any of them ? Aunt Polly: No, but I've read about 'em in the papers. A girl lots of times in the country don't understand about some things and don't realize what a terrible lot of immorality there is in the city, Susan. Susan: Why, Aunt Polly, I thought you wanted me to go to the city. Aunt Polly: (gasping for a min- ute) I want you to be brought up right, Susan, and to be a comfort to your parents. Susan: Oh, you're just an dear, Aunt Polly. (She goes up and kisses her, and then stands off and looks at her) but you are funny ! (She laughs roguishly.) Now please excuse me for a minute while I look at the dinner. (She goes out at front right.) (Aunt Polly picks up a news- paper and sighs. Suddenly the telephone bell rings.) Aunt Polly: (calling) Susan! Susan, there's somebody at the front door. (The bell rings again) Susan: (coming in laughing, her hands covered with flour) It's the telephone, Aunt Polly. Would you mind answering it? My hands are full of dough, (goes out) Aunt Polly: Mercy, I didn't real- ize you had a telephone. (At tele- phone) Hello! Yes, well no, this isn't Mrs. Reynolds. This is Mrs. Walker speaking. I'm visiting Mrs. Reynolds. \^es, you say a man has escaped — has escaped — you don't mean it! Last night? You don't say? And you say he's been traced in this direction? Wait a minute. Let me get it all straight now. You say he wears a striped ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY 241 shirt and trousers — without a hat — yes, I got that. And what did you say Shoes with nails in 'em. Most shoes do, don't they? Nails, yes, I got it. Well, what can we do Central? (blankly.) Yes, yes, we'll call you. (hangs up) Susan ! Susan ! (Susan appears in doorway.) Aunt Polly: Susan, have you got any gun in the house besides that old flintlock? Susan: Why, we haven't even got that. Aunt Polly. Aunt Polly: (triumphantly) I knew it ! Imagine living in the country fifty miles from nowhere without a gun. But I knew it. (She opens up her traveling bag.) I was just going to leave when I says to John, 'Tm goin' into a lonesome country, and there's no tellin' what'll happen. And I'll bet they haven't got a gun in the house." So I come forearmed. I guess I know the country. You can't tell me. (After diving about in the bag she produces a small revolver.) Susan: Look out. Aunt Polly! Please don't point it this way. Aunt Polly: Oh, you needn't be afraid. I know how to handle a gun. I was just lookin' to see if it was loaded right. Susan: But what are you going to do with it? Aunt Polly: I'm just going to put it right here on this window- sill in case of any emergency. Susan (dramatically) we have just been informed by the operator that at half past ten o'clock last night a man escaped from the state in- sane asylum. Susan: They always are escap- ing. I wouldn't have thought there'd be any left by now to es- cape. Aunt Polly: And w^hen last seen he was headed in this direction ! Susan: Did the operator say he was on this road? Aunt Polly: He was headed, she said, in the general direction of Salisbury. Susan: Oh, that's quite differ- ent. Aunt Polly: We can't take any chances, Susan. She said he was wearing a .striped costume without a hat, and his shoes had nails that show in the bottom. Hog-nails, the operator called them ; but there's so many kinds of nails-^ten penny and shingle and clapboard and wire and everything — I never did pay much attention to 'em. I guess It would be clear what they were all right. Susan: (mischievously) I do hope you'll earn a reward, Aunt Polly. Aunt Polly: It's no joking mat- ter, I can tell you. The man is criminally insane, and they say a desperate character. They .say he killed a man once. Susan: Supposing he should come in now, Aunt Polly, through that door there (pointing to the hall door opposite) do you know what I would do? I would take this biscuit — (she moulds up a lump of dough that is in her hands and holds it up) — and throw it at him just like this! (To the horror of Aunt Polly she throws the lump with considerable dexterity plump against the hall door. Then hasti- ly picking up the bulk of it she runs laughing back into the kitchen.) Aunt Polly: (aghast). And to think I've just invited her to my house ! Susan: (reappearing) Never fear. Aunt Polly! (She brings in a damp cloth and wipes the re- mains of the dough from the door and floor. I didn't put it in the oven ! There ! It's all clean again. I'm sorry. Aunt Polly (she runs up 242 THE GRANITE MONTHLY and kisses her impulsively), but you know we all have to waste more or less on practice shots. I'll wag- er you've wasted several boxes of cartridges on ^^our revolver. AiDit Polly: I'm afraid the lone- someness of the country isn't good for your nerves, my dear. Susan (soberly, beginning to play a part) : That's quite true, I sup- pose. Do you know, Aunt Polly, I often sit here in the twilight, looking out at the mountains, as they grow shaggy with the darken- ing purple of the descending night upon their forests, and cry out my bitter heart at the loneliness of it all. And then, as if in answer to me. I hear the call of a whip-poor- will or the hoot of an owl. And I sit there inconsolable, until sud- denly a little star pops out above the mountain. Oh, life is often cruel in the country. Aunt Polly. I am sure it isn't in the city. A tint Polly: (very much affected) : Poor child ! Susan : And then there are the long winter evenings with (stutter- ing for time) - with - as you say - with the smelly kerosene lamps. And the cold raw mornings when one shivers at the pump in the yard. Ugh ! (Shivering) but it's cold ! I'll wager you haven't w^ash- ed at the pump since you left here, Aunt Polly! Auut Polly: Why, I never did such a thing in my life, Susan. We always lugged the water into the house. Snsau: (Gasping for time) : Well, of course, you can do that if you want to ; but as for me, I - I - I always preferred the pump ! Au}it Polly: Susan Reynolds, you don't mean to tell me that you wash at the pump in that yard ? In that yard, in the plain sight of everybody ! Susan : Well, as you say, Aunt Polly, there's hardly ever anybody going l)y ! Aunt Polly: Well, if that isn't the countryfiedest thing ever heard of! I'm going right out there now and look. Susan (Hurriedly and confused- ly) : Oh, no-no - o ! Er- you see, the pump has - er - the pump is out of order just now. We had to take it up. W^e - we - Pll get you some water. Aunt Polly. I'll take you right up to the ba - the - the - spare room with it. You can wash and wash there to your heart's content. I should have given you the water before. You must be quite dusty. Sit right down, Aunt Polly. I'll be right back. Please sit still. (She fair- ly forces her into her chair, runs out to the kitchen, and in a minute comes back with a pitcher of w^ater.) It was quite unforgive- able of me. (With the pitcher in one hand and the traveling bag in the other she goes into the front hail, following Aunt Polly). There now, let's go right up-stair.s. The trains are very dirty, I know. They must be. This is the way up, you remember. I do hope everything seems quite natural. (The quick- ened tones of her voice die away, and in an instant are heard again.) There now, I hope you wnll be com- fortable. (She appears in door- way, calling back) Aunt Polly ! If there's anything more you want, let me know. (She closes the hall door and stands for a moment pon- dering.) I wonder what they will do to me when they find out. But I simply couldn't have shown her to the bathroom. Some way it didn't r.eem fair. And the poor kerosene lamps! (She laughs and skips suddenly across the room to the switch.) The poor long winter evenings with the smell of kero- sene ! (She switches on and off the electric light.) It must have been the oil-stove that bothered her. That makes me think — (She goes out at right to kitchen.) ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY 243 (In a moment the door from the side porch opens, and Van Deuten enters. He is a young man, bare- headed, and is wearing an athletic costume — a coat sweater that re- veals underneath a jersey with broad blue and white bands, short running pants that have a black stripe on the side, and running shoes with half-inch spikes on the soles. The shoes force him to walk on his heels indoors.) Van Deuten: Susan! O Susan- girl ! (He hobbles across the floor and looks out toward kitchen. Sees nobody and closes door.) Won- der if they've gone to the Field Day. Confound these shoes. They're not the thing for cross- country. (Kicks them off in mid- dle of floor and stands in socks. Hesitates, then starts victrola, and as the music catches his fancy, be- gins to dance. Suddenly notices "Betty" and going up to it, kneels in mock-heroics, then picks it up and dances with it. Suddenly Aunt Polly appears in doorway and sees him, darts back with muffled ex- clamation without being seen. Van Deuten finishes dance, returns "Betty" to its position, stops vic- trola, and sits down with sigh to read the paper. His back is to the hall door, and Aunt Polly reappears cautiously and surveys him.) Aunt Polly (to herself) .■ Striped costume! Bareheaded! And shoes with nails in 'em ! (She hesitates for a moment and then slips across to window, seizes the revolver and levels it at Van Deuten's head. Her coolness and self-mastery are evi- dent as she stands waiting. A- ware of something unusual in the room, Van Deuten looks around and sees her. He overturns chair in his excitement and falls to floor.) Van Deuten: My God! Aunt Polly: Sit right where you are, young man, without swearing! I know all about you. (Van Deuten attempts to speak.) Not a word ! Put your hands above your . head. (Van Deuten obeys quick- ly.) Have you a hat? Van Deuten (amazed) .• No, but my dear woman — Aunt Polly (threatening with the revolver) ; Not a word ! I thought not ! You have no hat ! You ad- mit that. Y^ou wear a striped cos- tume; anybody can see it's a crazy costume. You cannot deny that. Y'our shoes have nails in them. Crazy sort of nails. And you have the face of a criminally insane per- son if I ever saw one in my life ! Van Deuten: There is some mis — Aunt Polly: (Towering and threat- ening with the revolver) Not an- other word. I won't stand for it. I will shoot at the slightest provo- cation. I wU shoot unless you obey me instantly. Do you understand that, young man? Answer me, yes or no. Do you understand that? J^an Deuten (aghast) ; Y^es, I un- derstand. Aunt Polly: Y^ou will — (She hesi- tates, then moves around room with revolver kept pointed at Van Deuten's head until she reaches the door of the cupboard at left rear. Opens door dramatically) Y^ou will please to go in there at once. Hurry. (Van Heuten obeys hobbling.) Now if I hear a yip from you, young man, or the slight- est noise, I will shoot through the door. Do you understand? (Van Deuten is silent.) Answer me, yes or no. Do you understand that I will shoot ?^ Van Deuten (Hopelessly).* Y"es. (She closes the door with a bang and locks it.) , Aunt Polly: I must telephone to the authorities. (Accent on the it) (She hurries to the telephone, takes down the receiver and waits ex- pecting" the operator to answer.) Hello! Hello! I never saw such a place. I suppose the Central is out feeding the chickens ! Hello, I 244 THE GRANITE MONTHLY say ! (v^hc jigs the receiver-hook iij) and cU)\vn.) Hello ! , /'(/// PcKtoi (From the cupboard); "^'ou'd better ring- the bell, madam. .-///;// Polly: Don't let me hear another word from you, do you hear? (Sees bells on box and tries to hit them together.) I never heard of such an arrangement. How do you ring this bell anyway? Imagine having a telephone like this! (Addressing the cupboard) How do you ring the bell? (No answer) (Louder) I say, how do you ring the bell? Are you deaf? Van Dciitcu: You requested me to be silent, madam, and I shall steadfastly refrain from answering. Aunt Polly: Answer me at once, or I will shoot. Do you hear? / '(/// Dcittcu : You will have to shoot then. This is a principle, and I may as well die for it. AiDit Polly (In despair finds knob and rings): Operator! This is Mrs. Walker talking. I want Emergency! Emergency! Don't you understand? E-mer-gen-cy ! What kind of a place is this? Oh, you're emergency too. Yes, I said this is Mrs. Walker talking. Mrs. Walker, yes, at the Reynolds farm. I want you to inform the proper authorities that I have captured the man they are hunting for single- handed. And that he is at present in my persession. Yes, that's what I .said, in my persession. I want them to come and get him at once. At once ! Rightaway, do you un- derstand? Thank you! Oh, it was nothing at all. It w^as very simple! ran Dciitcii: (Echoing): Yes, cjuite simple ! Aunt Polly (Hanging up the re- ceiver) : Susan ! O Susan ! (She oi)ens the door to the kitchen and calls loudly.) Well, where have you been? (Susan apjiears) Sus- an, I've caught him, do you under- stand ? Susan (Eyeing the revolver) : Caught whom? Aunt Polly (Waving the revolv- er) : The man who escaped ! And I've got him locked up right over there in that cupboard ! Susan: You don't say, Aunt Polly! How jolly! l\in Dcutcn: Yes, very jolly! (Susan starts at the sound of the voice.) Aunt Polly: Don't you let me hear a yip from you again, young man! Do you understand? (She waves the revolver) Or I will shoot ! The idea of his mocking us ! Susan (Running up to her and whispering) : Oh, do be careful, Aunt Polly ! . It might go ofT. Tell me, what does he look like ? Aunt Polly: Oh, you'd know the instant you saw him that he's an escaped lunatic. (Groans from the the closet) Striped shirt and trousers and no hat, and great nails as long as that in his shoes. And hi.s face — you ought to see his face ! Pie looks like a criminally insane person if I ever saw^ one. (Moans from the cupboard) Imagine ! — W^hen I came dowm the stairs, he was dancing around with that im- modest thing in his arms ! (Points to Betty) Susan: Say, you're a brick, Aunt Polly! You're a heroine! Did he struggle at all? Auiit Polly: How could he? In an instant I had the revolver at his head. *Tf you move a muscle," I says, **your brains'll never give the w^orld any more trouble !" And he wasn't so crazy but what he un- derstood that ! Susan: Oh dear! I'm so sorry! Oh, what a vexatious thing ! Aunt Polly: What do you mean, child? What is there to be sorry about? I'd like to know. I guess you'd have been sorry if it hadn't been for me ! Susan: Oh, what a vexatious thing! If I had onl}- been here — Just think! — I could have thrown ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY 245 the dough-ball right at him in earnest! Wouldn't it have been jolly? Aimt Polly: I hope it will be a lesson to the entire family never to stay another night in this house without a loaded revolver. Susan: I really think hereafter we'll make father carry one when he goes out to milk the cows. Aunt Polly (Pacing up and down the floor) : I telephoned the au- thorities and I expect they'll be here for him most anytime now. I hope so ! Susaii: Now, Aunt Polly, you ought to know the country authori- ties better than that. Aunt Polly (In a low tone) : I shall want to change my dress be- fore they come, Susan. I should hate to have them find me like this. So I want you to take this revolver, Susan, and stand here on guard. (She hands her the re- volver which Susan takes ginger- ly.) The door is securely locked, and he has strict orders not to move in the slightest degree. If he does, call me at once. Be very careful of the revolver. I always hate to see anybody use one Avho ain't used to it. Susau: Oh, I quite understand. You needn't have the slightest fear. (Aunt Polly goes out at left front. Susan follows her to the door and listens until she is sure Aunt Polly is on the stairs. Then she struggles with the revolver un- til she has opened the barrel^ when she picks out the cartridges one by one and hides them under a pillow on the sofa.) Susan: There! That's much safer. (She then strides up toward the cupboard door and levels the weapon at it.) Hello, the cup- board ! Van Deuten: Susan, open up, will you? That's a good girl! I've played 'coop' here about long enough. Susan: So it zvas Dick! (Ad- dressing him) I understand, sir, that you are a very desperate char- acter. Van Deuten: Susan! Susan: That you are a criminal, and that (snorting with glee) one has only to see your face to know at once — Fa/? Deuten: Wait till I catch you ! Susan: To know at once that you are an escaped lunatic ! Van Deuten: I'll make you sorry for this ! Susan: Not a word in there! Not a 3np from you, young man, or your brains will spatter the cup- board ! Do you understand that you are a prisoner? (Chortling) A prisoner? Answer me! Van Deuten: I've done nothing for the last half hour but answer bullying women like a school-boy ! Susaji: It was high time that somebody took you in hand, young man. I have known that for months. Van Deuten: Oh, I say, Susan, I want some air and sunlight in my cell. Susa]i: You are absolutely and indisputably in my power, and you have no recourse. (She taps on the door with the revolver.) 1 know from past observations of you that you won't -even start a hun- ger-strike. Van Deuten: If you don't let me out, I shall make it known pub- licly that this utter fool of a woman is a relative of yours. Susan: Oh, I should love to hear you when you make it known publicly. I can just hear you at the postoffice of an even- ing. (Mocking) "Here, was I, Dick Van Deuten. the artist, out for "me daily trot" after a morn- ing's hard work with the brush. I was wearing my running costume — nothing crazy about the costume, gentlemen, I submit — when all of 246 THE GRANITfE MONTHLY a sudden a perfect fool of a woman holds nie up with a revolver and assures me that 1 am an escaped lunatic. What utter rot, gentle- men ! She is from the city, a rela- tive of the Reynolds famly, which of course tells you what an ass she must be. And this woman, after insulting- me and repeatedly declar- ing that my features belong to the criminal type, this woman locks me up, gentlemen, at the point of a revolver. Locks me up in the cup- board, gentlemen ! Of course it is obvious that the whole affair is preposterous and that the Reynolds' and all their relatives are perfect asses." What sympathy will be aroused among the people waiting for their mail ! I fairly weep ! Va)i Dciitcn: You hyena-woman! (Pounds on the door) Susan: Oh, but vengeance is sweet ! And now shall we have a look at the prisoner, or shall we keep him in confinement until the authorities arrive? (She rattles the lock as if unlocking it, while Van Deuten thumps on the other side of the door.) Not just yet, young man. The opportunity is too glorious not to prolong it. Do you forswear all vengeance? J 'cm Dciitcn: Y\\ be hanged if I do. Susan: Half an hour longer then ! Do vou confess y»ur crimes? ran Dcutcn: No, but I confess my criminal intentions. Susan: Two hours longer then. Do you admit your lunacy? Van Dcutcn: Yes, willingly. Susan: Then, as is the custom in this country, we will give you freedom. (She unlocks the door and \'an Deuten h()bl)les out. Susan is convulsed with laughter. \'an Deuten blinks at the light and holds aloft a jar of jam he has taken from the cupboard.) l\in Dcutcn: Who said hunger- strike ? Susan: ( )h, what an obvious criminal ! Notice the striped cos- tume with its murderous shoes. Mark closely the hard lines on the face, the meager brain capacity, and the low slanting forehead ! Van Deuten: Susan, I'm nearly famished ! All this has come on top of a five-mile run. I went over to Rumney and back across the pas- tures in 55 minutes today. Susan: Poor man! We'll get him some tea right away ! (She goes out to kitchen.) Van Deuten: (Opening up the jam and sniffing) Now a feller might enjoy himself, I should say, pro- vided that she-loon stays upstairs. And provided' we're not visited by the authorities ! So she's from the city ! The most fragrant Reubs Fve ever seen hailed from some side-street in Boston or New York ! (Seeing the revolver which Susan has laid down.) By the way, why shouldn't I make her stay upstairs? (He thinks for a minute while the idea grows and then steps with de- termination to the hall door, opens it and growls loudly) Er-err-r! woman, you move a step at your peril ! Prepare to di-ie. I have cut the jugular veins of three black calves, and now I shall seek the old cow herself ! Er-er-rr-r ! (Loud screams are heard from upstairs. Susan rushes in from kitchen.) Susan: Dick! You'll give her hysterics ! (She pushes him aside and calls) It's all right. Aunt Polly! I have him completely in control. It'.s perfectly, safe. (To Van Deu- ten dubiously) I think she's com- ing down. Van Dcutcn: I've a good mind to take the gun and drive her into the cupboard just to show her what its like ! Susan: You'll do no such thing! (He beats her to the table, snatches up the revolver and covers Aunt Polly as she enters.) /'(/;/ Dcutcn: Er-r-r ! Not a ♦ ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY 247 word there! Into the^ :€upboard with you ! ■ ■f'w ■ (There are wild shrieks. Susan chases Van Deuten about the room, crying, "It isn't loaded, Aunt Polly ! Don't be afraid!" Van Deuten keeps up a mock growling- which quiets as he finally allows Susan to take the revolver away from him.) Susan: There's really nothing to fear. You see I let him out! Aunt Polly: You let hirh out! Susan (thinking hard); Yes, you see I — I had to geit the tea things. We have to serve tea at four o'clock, you know, every afternoon ! Aunt Polly (Her attention dis- tracted from Van Deuten by this remark): Serve tea ! You don't mean you serve tea out here in the country ! Susan (Opening the door to kit- chen and pulling out the tea wagon) : Yes, we have to relieve the country life, you know, as much as we can, so we always have a cup just before we do the milking. Aunt Polly: Well, I never! Fa/z Deuten: You've no: idea how. much easier it makes the milking ! Aunt Polly : And y o u have are a 1 tea-wagon! Susan: I made it myself, i. Not bad, is it? (She pours the, tea.) Attnt Polly: I feel awfully kind of funny ! Susan: You mustn't mind him (nodding at Van Deuten.) As soon as I saw him, you know, I recognized him. Aunt Polly: You don't mean it! Susan: Yes, he used to live up this way. I'll introduce him to you. Let me make you better acquaint- ed with Mr. Van Deuten, Mrs. Walker. Van Deuten (bowing) : I hope we're quite. Aunt Polly (Acknowledging the introduction wide-eyed, but unable to address 'him) : But what did he mean when he shouted like that? Susan: Oh, he jusH: has fits of talking in that way. It doesn't mean anything^ but it gave him an awfully bad reputation. Aunt Polly: I should think it would. Susan: Sit down now, Mr. Van Deuten, and enjoy your tea. (Van Deuten glares at her, but the temp- tation to obey is too great, and he sits down in the lounge-chair w^here he devours the sandwiches and cakes hungrily.) (To Aunt Polly) -Yes, it's a sad story. I'll tell it to 3'OU. (Whispers) You know he is the descendant of a very famous Dutch family^ '^ ' ' * Aunt Polly: You don't mean it. Susan: Yes, one of the original patroons. Aunt Polly: I thought he looked kind of dark-complected! Susan: He used to live over here in the valley on the Kearsarge road ; but it got him in the end. Aunt Polly: What do you mean? W^hat got him ? Susan: Oh, the loneliness of New Plampshire life! The bleak, de- serted hills ! And the utter and be- wildering loneliness ! . Aunt Polly: Poor fellow ! Susan: He used to .shell beans for instance until eleven o'clock at night just for the sociability of it. And at three o'clock in the morning he used to tell me, it was such a relief to meet the cows again ! All day long he used to hoe the weary rows of corn without meeting even the postman. And in the winter the unending stretches of dazzling white snow maddened: him so that when he met a man one day, he didn't know how to behave and so he killed him. (Van Deuten's face is a study during this recital.) Aunt Polly: How little we realize tragedies like that in the city! Van Deuten: I was in the city once, but I shall never be able to go again. 248 THE GRANITE MONTHLY .Imit Polly: Isn't it pathetic? Really, my dear, when I think of his siitrerings, I can hardly make up my mind to turn him over to the police. Perhaps if he only had a few months of real living in the city, he would recover. Susan: That's what the doctor said. Aunt Polly: You don't mean it? The doctor said that? (The honk of an automobile is heard in the yard. Aunt Polly starts up.) Here they are now after him. Quick, young man ! There is only a minute! (She fairly raises him by the sweater collar.) Take that door and run for your life. (He slips his .shoes on some way as she hurries him toward the front door.) Hide in the woods; and if you can only get to the city, inquire for the Y. AI. C. A. They will give you a bed and take care of you. Per- haps you can still be a useful citi- zen. Run ! Van Dcutcn (Going) ; Madam, I shall always remember you in my prayers. (Exit) Aunt Polly (Closing the door be- hind him).- Tell them he got away from us, Susan. Tell them he took the other road, down through the pasture. Susan (Looking out of the win- dow) : Why, it wasn't the police, Aunt Polly! It's Mother and Dad back from the Field Day ! Aunt Polly: Your mother and father ! You don't mean that you own a motor? Susan: Why yes. Aunt Polly. Nearly every farmer has one now- adays. You see, we have to have to have something to relieve the terrible loneliness of country life ! (Curtain) PIPES OF PAN By Elizabeth Hope Gordon "Come into the woods," call the pipes of Pan, "Come into the fields and play." Shrill and sweet on the wind float the notes to me, "Come into the woods," they say. "Afar by the brook lies your childhood, lost With the coming of care and of pain ; If you pass through green cresses and over the moss. You may be as a child again. "For the new baby leaves are unfolding their hands. With wee wrinkled palms outspread ; The arbutus breath is astir on the breeze ; In the swamp maple torches flame red. "So come to the woods with the soul of a child. Come into the woods away. See, the .soft grasses bow to Pan's twinkling feet- Ah, the lure of the pipes that play ! LIST OF PROPERTIES Needed for Play Traveling bag Papers and magazines for table Flour and dough Revolver Wash-pitcher Towels Automobile horn Decorations for room Table electric lamp Electric switch Betty, or home-made dress-form Wall telephone Tea-wagon( preferably home-made) Tea-set, sandwiches, etc. Jar of jam Susan: "It's all right, Aunt Poi ly ! It isn't loaded