PRICE 15 CENTS The Patriot Girl zzJr~~~ii I Lilian F. Chandler u BLISH1NG COMPANY 6HOL MAKER S BEST SELECTIONS For Readings and Recitations Nos. I to 27 Now limed Paper Binding* each number. • * • 30 cent? Cloth '• " * SO cent* Teachers, Readers, Students, and all persons who have had occasion to use books of this kind, concede this to be the best series of speakers published. The different numbers are compiled by leading elocution- ists of the country, who have exceptional facilities for securing selections, and whose judgment as to their merits is invaluable. No trouble or expense is spared to obtain the very best readings and recitations, and much material is used by special arrangement with other publishers, thus securing the best selections from such American authors as Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, Alice and Phcebe Cary, Mrs. Stowe, and many others. The foremost Eng- lish authors are also represented, as well as the leading French and German writers. This series was formerly called "The Elocution- ist's Annual," the first seventeen numbers being pub- lished under that title. While the primary purpose of these books is to supply the wants of the public reader and elocution- ist, nowhere else can be found such an attractive col- lection of interesting short stories for home reading. Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, or mailed upon receipt of price. The Penn Publishing Company 226 S. 11th Street, Philadelphia The Patriot Girl A Patriotic Comedy in Two Acts BY Lilian F. Chandler PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1914 ^ QJ2> Copyright 1914 by The Penn Publishing Company FEB -4 1914 §>C!.D 35907 The Patriot Girl CHARACTERS ign Penelope Winthrop of Neiv York. Elizabeth a maid. 1775 Madame Katherine Dudley of Boston. Constance Dudley ) , , , J Barbara Dudley } her daughters. Maid. Anthony Howland a?i American soldier. Sir Eustace Grafton an Englishman. Time of Playing. — One hour and a half. ACT I the awakening Time. — The early evening. Scene. — Drawing-room of the Dudleys in Boston. ACT II THE EVENT (Ancestral patriotism) Time. — An hour later. Scene. — The same. STORY OF THE PLAY Penelope Winthrop, of New York, pays her aristocratic Boston relatives an unexpected visit, only to find the family away. Penelope's patriotism is a matter of course, so she does not appreciate the historic and haunted family mansion. During the Revolution an ancestress saved Boston, and the spirits of those who took part in the event reenact it on each anniversary. Penelope has arrived on the very night, and courageously decides to remain. On the stroke of nine, the portraits of her ancestors move, the figures step from their frames, talk to Penelope, and then, true to tradition, enact an inspiring little drama in which papers important to Wash- ington are saved and an English officer is repulsed. Penel- ope's patriotism burns brighter as she realizes what it means to be an American. PROPERTIES Coffee-tray, with pot, sugar-bowl, sugar, tongs, wine glasses, cake. Book, which should look very old. Package of old papers. SCENE PLOT Scene. — Drawing-room of the Dudley mansion, in Boston. Entrances r. and l. Table up c. A book on the table. Chairs as indicated. Desk or old-fashioned " secretary " up Jr. Spinning-wheel down R. (may be omitted). The furniture should be colonial and severe. Chairs stiff. Em- broidery frames in evidence. Miniatures and silhouettes on the walls. One large painting of man on wall, r. At the back three large picture frames, covered with curtains that may be readily pulled aside. The frames come close to the floor, so that the " portraits " may easily step out and return. Dark curtains back of the frames to give the figures an effective background. The Patriot Girl ACT I The Awakening SCENE. — Draiving-room of the Dudleys, in Boston. (Enter Elizabeth ushering Penelope Winthrop.) Elizabeth. This way, if you please, Miss Winthrop. (Enter Penelope.) This is the drawing-room of the Dudley Family, just as it has been for almost three hundred years. Penelope. Yes, it looks it ! Severely Colonial — pure and precious — no jarring notes — except me, perhaps. Elizabeth. Yes, it is purely Colonial, as you say. I trust you will be comfortable, Miss Winthrop. Penelope (looking about her). No, not comfortable, Elizabeth : chastened and edified, perhaps, but not " com- fortable." There are no facilities. By the way, what is be- hind that curtain ? Elizabeth. The portraits of the Dudley ladies, of Revolutionary times. I will bring your coffee directly, Miss Winthrop. (Places table, and goes out.) Penelope (ivalking about and humming). Always take mother's advice. She knows what is best for your good. I have learned by experience the truth of that noble senti- ment, so I need not complain of my present predicament. I suppose Bostonians do go away from home occasionally, but I could not quite imagine that these ancestor-worshipping relatives of mine would leave their eighteenth century house even for a night. So, instead of awaiting an answer to my telegram, as mother advised, I took the Knickerbocker, and 5 6 THE PATRIOT GIRL here I am, to find the family away until next week. Well, I have unpacked and dined, and shall improve my time until their return by inspecting the house, the furniture, the pic- tures, and other pleasant reminders of ye olden days. {All this time she is looking about her.) Now see these chairs; not a lounge among them. No wonder the girls of 1775 had good figures, and no wonder they went to bed early ! There must have been a powerful amount of rest and relaxa- tion possible in those ten-foot-thick feather beds. One of them is in my room now, and I am morally certain they will heat it up to-night with the warming-pan I saw in the corner. {Enter Elizabeth with coffee tray.) Elizabeth. Shall I pour your coffee, Miss Winthrop ? Penelope. Yes, do ! 1 have not energy enough to do anything for myself ! Elizabeth {holding sugar in tongs). One lump or two, Miss Winthrop ? Penelope {sighing). Only one, please. I want two, but mustn't have them. Elizabeth {suggestively — looking into bowl). Here is a large lump, Miss Winthrop — almost as large as two pieces. Penelope {laughing). Thanks! {Sits up and looks at her.) You seem like a very intelligent girl, Elizabeth. Have you been in this family long ? Elizabeth. Oh, yes, Miss Winthrop. I came over with the Dudleys on the " Arbella," in 1630. Penelope {utterly astou?ided ) . In — in — in — 1 630 ? Ah, then you are indeed what is called an "Old retainer" ! Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but would you object to calling me a middle-aged retainer? Penelope. Certainly not ; but might not one who came over in 1630 be reasonably considered as — er — er — well, getting along in life? Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but I live so much in the past. I meant that my people had always served the Dudleys, and came to America in the same ship. I have been in the family from my birth. Penelope. Ah, I see. Wonderful ! There is not a servant like you in New York ! Elizabeth. But, madame, there is only one Dudley family. Penelope. But I am a Dudley. THE PATRIOT GIRL J Elizabeth. Only of the New York branch, Miss Win- thro p. Penelope. And evidently of not much account. I could not persuade you to go back with me ? Elizabeth. Thank you, no, Miss VVinthrop. You see the ladies here are very kind to me — teach me grammar and ail that. Besides — Boston, being the original home of the family in America, is greatly to be preferred. Penelope. Yes, 1 suppose so. (Yawns?) I think I will have no more coffee. Elizabeth. Very well, Miss Winthrop. Would you like to see the " Transcript " ? Penelope. No, I shouldn't like to, but I suppose it is the proper thing. Elizabeth. Certainly, Miss Winthrop; the Dudleys have always read the "Transcript." Penelope. I dare say that while I am here I shall learn many things that a Dudley ought to do. Elizabeth. Indeed, Miss Winthrop, I have no doubt that your stay in the cradle of your race will be very benefi- cial. Penelope. Oh, I hope so. It ought to make me a bet- ter American and — er — all that sort of thing, oughtn't it? Elizabeth {seriously'). I hope so, Miss VVinthrop. Penelope {flippantly). Well, I am sadly afraid that spending the most of my life abroad has dulled my patriot- ism. 1 am not positive whether our National Hymn is " Hail to the Chief" or " Watch on the Rhine." Which is it, Elizabeth ? Elizabeth {shocked). Oh, Miss Winthrop ! Penelope. Oh, I wouldn't be anything but an Ameri- can, of course. It's very pleasant to reside in the cradle of the race, as you say. But I could not live in the past as these Bostonians do; I want to be right up at the head of the procession, with the drum-major and the flag, and not at the end, with the small boy and the bucket of water. {Animatedly.) And speaking of cradles — is there any- thing in this house as modern as a mattress ? Elizabeth. Pardon, Miss Winthrop, but the Dudleys have always slept on feathers. Penelope. Well, I suppose I must endure it; but you need not apply the warming-pan to my feathers to-night. Elizabeth, But the Dudleys always ■ 8 THE PATRIOT GIRL Penelope (inipressively.) Elizabeth, as I must draw the line somewhere, I shall do so at the warming-pan. (Eliza- beth bows. Penelope yawns.) Heigho ! How stupid it is 1 I wish something exciting would happen to-night. Elizabeth. Exciting ? Something exciting will happen to-night. This is December 2d. Penelope. Well? Elizabeth. Does the date, December Second, remind you of nothing ? Penelope. Nothing except that I have not bought my Christmas gifts. Elizabeth. Not December Second, seventeen seventy- five ? Penelope. Forgive me, Elizabeth, but I was not here then. Now you, who came over in 1630, must have been quite a well grown girl in 1775. Then again, I have always lived abroad, and hardly know my family history. What happened on December 2, 1775 ? Elizabeth. The servants are not permitted to discuss family affairs. Penelope. If anything is to take place here to-night why are my relatives away ? Elizabeth. 1 regret, Miss Winthrop, that the present Ladies Dudley are not as fearless as their ancestors. 1 am not allowed to say more. {Exit.) Penelope. How very mysterious, and what a queer girl! I hope nothing very dreadful will happen. It is peaceful enough now! (Yawns again, picks up a book and turns pages idly.) Genealogy of the Dudley Family. H-m-m-m ! Reads like that annoying chapter in Genesis. Ah ! Here is something interesting. (Reads.) The Colo- nial Mansion on Beacon Street was built by Governor Dudley, and has been occupied by the family for over two hundred years. (Just think of the germs in this house !) In Revolutionary Times it was famous for its beautiful and high-spirited women, and was frequented by both Whigs and Tories. The house is supposed to be haunted, The tradition is — That a certain important episode in the family history is enacted on each anniversary of its occurrence^ December 2, 1775, between nine and twelve in the evening,, and that any living descendant of the family who has the THE PATRIOT GIRL 9 courage may be a witness and a participator in the event. Why, this must be what Elizabeth meant, for this is De- cember 2d, and here am I a very much alive member of the family. Now is my chance, if I have the courage. Have I the courage? Have I? Have I? {Pulls aside the curtains and reveals portraits?) Yes, ladies, I have. 1 have flown in an air-ship; I drive my own automobile; I can swim as far as any woman. I am not afraid of any- thing. Courage? Of course, Penelope. If your lady an- cestors can do brave deeds, surely you can watch them. Besides, there is one question I have for years wanted to ask those Colonial persons, and the opportunity is at hand. Here I remain. {Dramatically.} This rock shall fly From its firm base As soon as I. But what can the important episode be? Only two facts are important to a Massachusetts family. One is that they came over in the "Mayflower." Now, our family did not — I am proud to say. The " Mayflower " was only a furniture van — judging by the amount of "Mayflower" stuff scattered over the country. No, it is not the " Mayflower." The other important fact is that Washington stopped in the house over night. x\s a one-night sojourner, Washington has no rival except Queen Elizabeth. What can it be? I will wait. It is getting time for the performance. {Courtesies profoundly to the portraits?) My brave and beautiful an- cestors, 1 salute you ! Here's to our better acquaintance. Of course this is perfect nonsense — and yet — {portraits all look at her, but without turning their heads ) portraits are uncanny. They always seem to be looking at one ! Surely there are no ghosts — and yet — I wish the servants were not so far away. {Clock strikes nine, and portraits begin to move.) Oh, heaven ! It is true ! They are moving ! They are coming out of their frames ! Help ! {Begins to run, and stops?) No, I will not be afraid. I am a Dudley, just as they are — but I will try and not be too conspicuous. ( Comes down L. and crouches in chair. Portraits step out, adjust their gowns, yawn, and politely stretch?) 10 THE PATRIOT GIRL Constance Dudley. Is it not good to be free, Madame? Katherine Dudley. It is indeed, my child. Constance. Dost think we shall be alone to-night ? Katherine. Alas, yes, sweetheart, though I would that we might know some of the younger generation ! Still, it would sadly pain us to find no love of country or of family. Barbara Dudley. Art thou sure, good mother, that all damsels are now frivolous and worldly-wise, with no rever- ence for the past ? Surely only all-revering love would in- cline females to sit in these chairs of ours, when we have heard rumors of couches soft as down, and alluring ottomans of satin, stuffed with floss. Katherine. Oh, that one of our descendants were brave enough to come here on this, our one night. How much we might learn of the world ! Constance. Look, Madame ! {Points to Penelope.) Yonder is a strange female. Who art thou? One of us ? Penelope. Yes, please, I'm Penelope Winthrop, of New York ; but I fear I'm in the way. I'll go ! Constance {suddenly}. Oh, come on, Penelope ! Don't be a mollycoddle ! Katherine. Mollycoddle ! Thou froward female ! Where learned thou that word ? Constance {abashed). Remember you not the goodly young men who came last year, but lacked courage to stay ? One said — " Oh, brace up, kid ! Don't be a mollycoddle ! " Penelope {gleefully). Constance is a good sport ! All twentieth century ! I believe I'm her reincarnation — or whatever it is ! Barbara. Ah, sister ! What is right for coarse young men is not seemly for females. Constance. Fain would I be abreast of the times ; and one night in a year is full short to learn modish expressions, and all that has happened. Penelope. I should think that one night would be quite long enough to learn all that had happened in Boston fur a year. Katherine. I note in you the same contempt of New York for Boston which prevailed in our time. Dost noth- ing change? Penelope. Well, nothing in Boston ; they wouldn't allow it ! Oh, dear me, ladies, 1 fear that was very rude, but 1 really do not know how to treat a ghost. THE PATRIOT GIRL II Constance. Prithee how didst thou come here, cousin — in thy father's coach ? Penelope. Coach ! No ! I came on the Knicker- bocker — the train, of course ! Katherine. The train ? What mean you ? Penelope. Oh, the poor antiquated creatures ! A train is — a — a — long, large box, with wheels on it. Inside are seats; you sit in one of the seats; a big iron thing in front, with a fire in it, says " Choo ! Choo ! Choo ! Chob, choo, choo, choo ! " and away you go to Boston. Barbara. 'Tis marvelous indeed ! Penelope. Now, ladies, before we go one step further, I want to ask you a question which has haunted me for years. Listen! Why did you serve your tea in dishes? Was it not awkward, and did not the tea get cold ? (All the ancestors, bursting into tears, grasp Penelope, and drag her to the centre of the stage.*) Ancestors. H-u-s-h ! We don't drink tea ! Penelope. Don't drink tea? Why not? Afraid of your complexions? Oh, now I remember! That little tax difficulty ! You ought to know the things we are taxed for now ! But do tell me about the dishes, if it will not make you feel too badly. Katherine. I can hardly bear to speak of my tea; but we drank it in dishes like this. (Picks up a cup.) 'Twas vastly convenient ! Penelope. Thank goodness, I know at last. I thought it was vegetable dishes. Constance. Tell me, Cousin Pen. Have you any lovers ? Penelope (enthusiastically). Dozens and dozens ! Barbara. Oh, but thou art frivolous ! Tell us — are they not monstrous affording? And do they woo at length and with feeling, and kneel and kiss your hand? Penelope. Well, they don't kneel much when they make love. Don't have time. You see, they propose on street cars, or at the theatre, or any old place. Barbara. Any old place? Why an old place? Penelope. Dear me, girls, I am a horrible example for you innocents. Don't you ever say " Any old place." It is fearfully wicked — slang and all that ! 12 THE PATRIOT GIRL Constance. 'Tis monstrous expressive ! But tell me — your lovers — are they Whigs and Tories? Penelope (uncertainly). No-o-o-o, I guess not. Re- publicans and Democrats. (Constance looks surprised.) That is, not many Democrats, but one or two will creep in, best you can do. Barbara. I care not what they are, so they are interest- ing. Would they love us? Penelope. Oh, mercy, no ! You're too old ! Constance. Old ! 1 have seen just nineteen summers ! Penelope. Ah, my dear, but that was in 1775. Think of the one hundred and thirty-six cold icy winters you have passed since then ! Constance. But we really live only in 1775. Alas ! They are troublous times, and often Barbara and I fear we may never wed. My chosen lover is Anthony Howland, and I have not seen him for weeks. Penelope. Why don't you ring him up? (All the ladies astonished.} Constance. Ring him up? Penelope. Yes, telephone him ! Oh, I forgot ! Tele- phones are since your time. Nowadays, you can talk into a little box, fastened to a wire, and be heard at the other end of the wire, which is in your friend's house. Kathekine. My child ! My child ! Surely thou art mentally distraught ! Try to cure these wild delusions ! Penelope. Oh, auntie, it is true — really it is; but I can- not make you understand ! Katherine. 1 fear, daughters, that thy Cousin Penelope is not a maid of truth. She is not fit company for thee. Penelope. But it is true, 1 tell you. A great many wonderful discoveries have been made since 1775. Now lis- ten carefully, while I try to explain the telephone. You go to a box, fastened to the wall, with a round thing attached, which you can put up to your ear — like this. Then you say " Hallo ! Hallo ! " Then you wait a while, until you hear a very cross little voice asking, " What number? " and you answer politely — "Beacon 4020." Then you hear — "Line busy ! " and you go away. After a while, you try again — "If you please, Beacon 4020." At last you hear a man's voice, and you say — "That you, Charlie?" and you hear — "Charlie? Not on your life! Please keep off this line THE PATRIOT GIRL 13 till I get through ! " And after a long, long time, when you are very, very tired, you get Charlie's house, and find he is not at home. Barbara. 'Tis marvelous, indeed, Cousin Penelope; but to my simple mind, it would be vastly easier to send the footman with a note to friend Charles. Penelope {imitating Barbara). Beshrevv me, wise Bar- bara, but methinks thou art right. A footman and an auto- mobile are the swiftest combination. Katherine. An automobile, did you say? What is an Penelope. Now don't ! Do not ask me to explain an automobile, for I cannot do it ! The locomotive and the telephone are all you can possibly grasp in one year. On December 2d of next year you can learn about the automo- bile and the air-ship. Let us continue the discussion on lov- ers — a topic with which we are all familiar. Barbara. Sometimes I think 'tis best, on the whole, to let the men alone, and devote one's life to literature. Can you write poetry, cousin ? Penelope. Write poetry ? No ! I can recite only one stanza. {Dramatically.') Down in the cellar, dark, remote, In solemn grandeur stands — the Goat. About him sweeps the raging storm, And snowy hillocks round him form. He eats the coal to keep him warm. Barbara. 'Tis wondrous dramatic, yet strange and un- expected withal. Penelope. Yes, it's — it's — it's — the limit. Constance {delightedly). The limit! The limit! The limit ! Barbara. Think you it is as good as my epitaph ? Twice ten years old, not fully told, since Nature gave me breath. My race is run, my thread is spun. Lo ! Here is cruel death. Katherine. Barbara, get thy back board and walk for a little. Thou art growing round shouldered from over study. 14 THE PATRIOT GIRL Penelope. Continuing our cheerful conversation, who is this solemn old codger in the picture — one of our ances- tors, Barbara? Barbara. It is, indeed. Joseph Dudley. He was put in jail for going fishing on Sunday. Penelope. The abandoned villain ! Was he famous for nothing else? Barbara. Nothing but a froward temper. Penelope. And this simpering lady ? Katherine. Hush, Barbara. I will tell thy cousin. It is not fitting that young maidens should speak of this female. This is Hannah Dudley. She was called before the town fathers for allowing a young man to sit with his arm around her waist for two hours. The fathers agreed that the young man had beguiled her, and should be punished ; but she said she was not beguiled ; whereupon, they denounced her as a bold virgin, and it was so writ in the town records. Penelope. Have we any ancestors that we can speak of without blushing ? Barbara. Here ! The distinguished Governor Dudley — four times Governor of Massachusetts, and deputy Gov- ernor times without number — our first ancestor to come to America. Penelope. Ah ! I breathe again. Governor, I greet you. (Bows to the portrait.') KatheriNe. Children, it is wrong to waste the precious hours in idle discourse. Let us compose ourselves for the ordeal which lies before us. Constance, to your spinning- wheel, and sing to us as you work. Barbara. Yes, Constance. Sing us Anthony's favorite love song, which he carols so sweetly. (Constance sings — "Drink tome o?ily with thine eyes .") curtain ACT II The Event SCENE. — As before. Katherine, Constance, Barbara and Penelope present. Constance walks about, un- easily expectant. Constance. Oh, Madame! Why does he not come? How cruel of General Washington to send Anthony on that dangerous mission ! Katherine. But the glory of success ! Through all the ages will be told the brave deed of Anthony and his little band to save his beloved town. Constance. I care not for glory, but only for my lover. Suppose he does not return ! Barbara. Then, Constance, be comforted. I will write his epitaph. Penelope. Barbara is positively exhilarating. Katherine. At any rate, we have heard no bad news, so seek to calm thyself, my child. As thou knowest, Sir Eustace Grafton will soon be here, and thy grief may arouse his suspicion. Constance. Misfortune seize Sir Eustace. Barbara. Oh, Constance ! Of a surety, he will ask for thy hand this night, and I do so long to know how he will address thee. Katherine. I prithee, dear child, do not anger Sir Eustace. Though he has been kind, I fear him — staunch Loyalist that he is. Word has come to him of the meetings held here by the patriots, and he may suspect that valuable papers are concealed in this house. If so, it will need all our craft to protect them. Constance. But, Madame, I do not love him. He is an enemy to our Cause. Besides, I am betrothed to Anthony. Penelope. Is it possible that even the ghost of an American girl would prefer a plain American citizen to a titled Englishman ? I cannot believe my ears ! Barbara. Yes, Constance, be true to Anthony. As for the papers, we will defend them with our lives ! 15 l6 THE PATRIOT GIRL Penelope. Glorious ! Maid. Mr. Anthony Howland, Madame. {Enter Anthony Howland, dressed in soldier's uniform, tvith long riding cloak, as if from a journey. Bows to all.) Anthony (to Constance). At last, my dear one ! (They embrace.) Barbara. Oh, Anthony, here you are — safe ! And I was just writing your epitaph. Listen ! Katherine. Silence, Barbara ! Anthony, this is our cousin, Penelope Winthrop, from New York. Penelope. Why, how do you do, Mr. Howland ? Anthony (bozving low). Madame, your most obedient ! You came from New York, ma'am. Noticed you any great activity among the British there of late? Penelope. Well, no ! You see, almost all the American heiresses are married or engaged, and impecunious English- men are looking elsewhere. Anthony. I protest, ma'am, you misunderstand me! I meant activity in regard to the war. Penelope. Oh, no ! The war is all over in New York. Barbara. La, Penelope ! I vow 'tis not fair so to tease him. He does not know you. Constance. Leave the frivolous miss, Anthony, and tell us of your expedition. Was it successful ? Anthony. It was entirely successful ! Penelope. Where have you been, and why did you go? Tell us all about it. Anthony. You know that for some months Boston has been at the mercy of the British soldiers, who have ruined our property, desecrated our sacred edifices, and insulted our people ; and it has been the desire and purpose of General Washington to drive the army out of the city. This attempt would fail without the aid of heavy artillery, which we sadly lacked ; and remembering that we held guns at Fort Ticonderoga and Crown Point, a plan was made to transport them hither. Constance- 'Twas Anthony's plan, dear cousin. Penelope. Oh, of course! Anthony. Twenty of us volunteered, and left Cambridge under command of Colonel Knox, the brilliant young sol- THE PATRIOT GIRL 17 dier. At the moment of departure, we learned that treachery was afoot. Our plans had been betrayed to British spies, and General Gage had ordered a company to forestall us in our arrival, and seize or destroy the guns. Nothing daunted, Colonel Knox urged greater speed, and more caution withal, and we started on our way. Katherine. Is not the Colonel young for such re- sponsibility ? Anthony. Ah, Madame, young in years, but old in courage, and in soldier's wisdom. Our way was rough and cold. Some nights we spent in small villages ; but more often, our lodging was the frozen ground, where we lay in the snow, wrapped in our blankets, with camp-fires burning, to keep off the wolves. By day we struggled on, hungry, half dead with fatigue, and always expecting an assault by Gage's men. Nearing the forts, we procured sledges and horses from the farmers, and at last arrived in Ticonderoga, finding, to our joy, the guns in good condition ! Katherine. Heaven be praised ! Anthony. We loaded the artillery on the sledges, not stopping for even one day of rest. The return was more dangerous, for the British, not daring to attack us openly, placed obstacles and traps in our way at every turn. But one evening we came upon them unawares; and after a short skirmish, we went on into the darkness, leaving behind us in the snow our foes, their unseeing eyes turned upward to the midnight sky. Constance. And were you not wounded ? Were none of your men killed ? Anthony. Fortunately, none. The cannon are even now near Boston, and Colonel Knox sent me forward to ac- quaint our General with the good news. Barbara. What said he? Was he pleased ? Anthony. He said nothing. Penelope. Like the parrot ! Anthony. Few ever are his words ; but I shall never forget his look of triumph, and the clasp of his hand. But I must return. I came only for a moment to learn of your health and safety. For a short time, farewell. ( Goes out.) Constance. Oh, I am so happy ! Barbara. How does it seem to be in love, Constance ? Constance. Oh, but 'tis heavenly, sister ! 'Tis like nothing else in the whole world ! l8 THE PATRIOT GIRL Barbara. Fain would I know the feeling, but methinks I shall go to my grave unsought. I shall so tell it in my epitaph. Penelope. Don't you do it, Barbara ! Don't you do it ! Never, never acknowledge that you could not have a lover, if you desired one ! Katherine. Thou art most worldly, Penelope, and wise beyond thy years ! Penelope. Well, you have to be — in New York ! {Enter Maid.) Maid. Sir Eustace Grafton, Madame. {Enter Sir Eustace.) Sir E. Madame Dudley ! {Bows low and kisses her hand. Then greets the girls.) Miss Barbara, still wooing the Muses? Miss Constance, what ecstasy to see you once more ! Barbara. Did you not see her yesterday at Madame Lee's ? Sir E. Ah, but 'tis a century since then ! How beauti- ful you are, my Lady Constance ! Constance. Sir Eustace, you presume ! Sir E. But, fairest, you must long have known Katherine (interrupting). Sir Eustace, I wish to pre- sent you to my niece, Mistress Penelope Winthrop, from New York. Sir E. Ah, so ! {Raises his glass superciliously.} Mistress Winthrop is from the theatre ? Penelope. Well, I never ! Oh, it is these clothes. (Giggles and sweeps a courtesy.) Yes, from Drury Lane, London. Sir E. Ah, so ! (Turns to Constance.) Surely, my sweetheart, you will grant me time this evening to say what I (Constance looks at the girls i?i distress.) Barbara. Sir Eustace, may I read you my latest epitaph ? 'Twill please you vastly ! Penelope. How 1 wish it were his own epitaph! I fear he is going to make trouble for my ancestors. Sir E. (aside). Perdition seize these meddling females I THE PATRIOT GIRL 19 (To Barbara.) Of a surety, Miss Barbara. Tis a sweet privilege to listen to you. Barbara (reading). My bones are buried in yon churchyard So far beyond the sea ! 'Tis only that my blithesome ghost Is speaking now to thee. Sir E. {aside). I almost wish it were. (To Barbara.) With what deep feeling do you write — what true sensibility ! Thanks, fair poetess ! But away with gayety and mirth. The times forbid it ! Penelope. Is an epitaph his idea of gayety and mirth ? Sir E. Madame Dudley, Lord Howe, knowing my friendship for you all, commissions me to offer you a pass out of Boston, and accommodations on the next ship sailing for England. At any moment there may be a battle to teach these rebels who is master, and the place for all loyal ladies is at home. Katherine. Convey to Lord Howe my grateful thanks for his consideration. Sir E. Forgive my abruptness, Madame, but you must have long been sensible of my love for your daughter. I sail for home next week. May it not be my privilege to escort my promised bride, the fair Constance, and her family to England ? Let us leave this country forever ! Katherine. Sir Eustace, you say truly that all loyal persons should be at home ; but Boston is our loved home, and gladly and proudly we share in her suffering, her failures, her triumphs. Here we shall remain. As for your suit to my daughter, she will speak for herself. Sir E. Madame, I stiil hope to persuade you. Mistress Constance, I await your answer. Constance. Sir Eustace, I thank you for the honor you have done me, and I answer {Steps suddenly to the table and takes up a 7vine glass, which she raises high in air.) Here's to George Washington and all true patriots! Success to our glorious struggle for freedom ! Penelope. Hurrah ! America forever ! Sir E. (sneering). Ah, so ! My fair rebel. You reject my suit. Perchance your love is already bestowed on one of these same patriots. Constance. It is. 20 THE PATRIOT GIRL Sir E. {to Katherine). Ah, ladies, it requires diplomacy to be friends with both parties. I congratulate you. I had no idea that your sympathy was bestowed upon the riffraff that presume to rebel against their King. Katherine. Sir Eustace, your words are an insult ! Barbara. With what pleasure shall I write his epitaph ! Sir E. Pardon, Madame ! My grief and disappoint- ment must be my excuse. 'Tis my misfortune that I urged my suit too late. Barbara {aside). Why does not the man go away? Sir E. {overhearing). In good time, fair lady. There is still another matter. 'Tis known to Lord Howe that certain rebels — country bumpkins — have held meetings in this house, and he suspects that valuable papers may be concealed here. Below wait a company of soldiers with orders to make a thorough search. I had hoped to avert the unpleasantness from my bride, but now {boiving ironically) I really fear the search must go on. Constance. Is it thus you prove your love, Sir Eustace ? Sir E. Alas, Madame ! My love is vain — is killed, and nothing is left me in future but my country. But even now the trouble may be averted if I but say the word. Fair Constance, art sure you cannot love me? Constance. Sir Eustace, I would rather die than be your wife ! I despise you ! Penelope. Of all the contemptible Let them kill us all, Constance ! Sir E. Madame Dudley, 'tis useless to resist. It is positively known that you have here concealed papers re- garding the fortifying of Dorchester Heights, and find them we will, though we pull down every stone in the house ! Constance. Mother, forgive me ! There is no other way. {Goes to desk, a?id with seeming reluctance takes papers from a secret drawer, and gives them to Sir E.) Coward ! Now go ! {Enter Anthony. Constance runs to him.) Sir E. {sneer i fig, and raising his glass). Ah, friend Howland ! 'Tis a Yankee trick to appear when danger is past. Anthony {furiously — half drawing his sword). Dog ! Your life shall pay for this insult ! THE PATRIOT GIRL 21 Katherine {stepping between them). Gentlemen, put up your swords ; you forget where you are. Sir E. {bowing). Thanks, Madame, for the interruption. I had, for a moment, forgotten that gentlemen fight only with their equals ; and methinks my sword would have been tarnished with the blood of this yokel — this tea-destroyer — this - Anthony. Madame, forgive me ! I must Penelope. Yes, Anthony Howland, if you do not fight him, I will. The coward ! to hurl his insults from behind the shelter of women's skirts ! Sir E. Ah, so ! Our little English actress is becoming dramatic ! Penelope. No English actress, Sir Eustace, but Penel- ope Dudley Winthrop, of New York — a plain American girl, with a deep and enthusiastic love for my country, its principles and its aspirations, which two hours ago I should have deemed impossible. Henceforth, an eagle will scream on both my shoulders ! When you are half as good an Englishman as I am an American, you will not be sent to intimidate women. Sir E. {bowing to Penelope and going to Constance). Forgive me, sweetheart, but I am half mad at the thought of losing you. Is there no hope ? Will you never marry me ? Constance. Marry you ! {Draws aside her skirts i?i loathing, and tualks haughtily away.) Katherine. Sir Eustace, for over a year you have been welcome in this house as a courteous gentleman. Now all is changed — though I would fain think that your conduct to-day — despicable as it is — may be justified in some man- ner by your love for your country. Never darken these doors again ; but now, for past friendship, go in peace ! Anthony. You shall hear from me, sir ! Sir E. At your service, sir. Madame, your pardon — pardon — and farewell. (All turn their backs as he boivs and goes out.) Penelope. Oh, but the papers — the papers ! Barbara. They will ruin Washington's plans. 22 THE PATRIOT GIRL Anthony. The villain, to persecute women ! Harmed he any of you ? Constance (laughing). Have no fear, Anthony ! Through some spy, he learned of valuable papers concern- ing the fortifications on Dorchester Heights, which papers, as you know, were commended to us for safe keeping. To save Madame, our mother, from insult, and the town of Bos- ton from the British, I feigned to surrender the papers, and gave him — Barbara's collection of epitaphs. Didst know it, sister ? Barbara. Of a surety I knew it ! But I thought — what more can I give my country than my life's work ? and I bade my poems Godspeed ! Anthony. Good little patriot that you are ! The Gen- eral sent me for these same papers. (Constance takes them from another place. He moves up stage. Con- stance, Barbara a?id Katherine follow him.) Now I must hasten on. Word has just come of the capture of a British supply ship, and I will do my best to obtain what will add to your comfort. Our men shall guard this house henceforth. Farewell, my brave little sweetheart. I am doubly proud of you this day. A disclosure of our plans at this time would have lost us Boston forever. Farewell, my little New York cousin-to-be. Don't forget to be proud you are an American. (Bozvs to all the ladies, and exit. A clock strikes twelve.) Katherine {holding up a finger). Hark, the hour strikes. (Katherine, Barbara and Constance, up c, stand as though petrified. ) Penelope {down l.). Constance ! Barbara ! Why do you look so strange ? {She goes toward them, looks from one to the other and comes down l.) Oh, I see. It is all over. What an experience I have had ! How wonderful they all were ! Anthony risked his life on a dangerous quest. Madame unhesitatingly chose insult, privation, and even death itself, rather than desert the Cause. Constance, by her quick wit, saved the town ; and Barbara gave her life-work for her country. Oh, 1 have just learned what it means to be an American. To think I even jested about our National Hymn ! But I am an American. Thank THE PATRIOT GIRL 23 God ! And of course I know our National Hymn. The lamp of liberty may sometimes grow dim, but it burns with a deathless flame in every true heart. Oh, America, my glorious country — the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave ! My country 'tis of thee, Sweet land of Liberty, Of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, Land of the Pilgrims' pride, From every mountain side Let Freedom ring. Our Fathers' God, to thee, Author of Liberty, To thee we sing. Long may our land be bright With Freedom's holy light. Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King. (As she begins the hymn, the ancestors step slowly back, and resume positions in frames. During the last stanza, they remain as portraits.} CURTAIN Practical Elocution J, W. Shoemaker, A. M 300 pages Cloth, Leather Back, $1.25 This work is the outgrowth oil actual class-room experience, and is a practical, common-sense treat ment of the whole subject. 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