En . The " Popular Edition " of Baker's Reading: Club and Handy 2, 3, 4 and 5, 50 selections in each. Price 15 cents each. Copyright, 1876, by George M. Baker, HCrs. TFalthrop's Bachelors. Comedy iu Three Acts. Translated from German by George M. Baker. 25 ay. Farce in One Act. By Dr. F. A. Harris. 25 cents. TJncle Robert. Comedv in Three Acts. 7 male, 1 female character. 15 cents. The Wife's Secret. Play in Five Acts. 9 male, 3 female characters. 15 cents. Xhe Virslnia Veteran. Drama in Four Acts. 11 male, 4 female characters. 2£ cents. Spencer's Universal Stage. ^ A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the necessary Stage Business. PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH, m^ No Piays Exchanged. 1. LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 6 male, 4 female characters. 2. NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 3. THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female char. 4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By "W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. 5. THE TUIIKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. By Montague Williams and F. C. Bumand. 6 male, 1 female char. 6. THE TWO PUDDIPOOTS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 8. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A Fi:^ A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male'char. 9. SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3 female char. 10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A Farce in 1 Act. By Lenox Home. 4 male, 1 female char. 11. JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. ByJ.M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 12. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward Fitzball. 6 male, 2 female char. 13. ATJNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. >I. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 14. BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3 female char. \5. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 16. DTJNDUCKETTY'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. C male, 3 female char. 17. I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 20. MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 22. THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce in 1 Act. By Chas. Selby. o male, 2 female char. 23. DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 24. A SLICE OP LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 25. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 male, 3 female char. 26 A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6 male, 4 female char. 27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Thomas Morton. 6 male, 3 female char. 28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. ByH. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 29. COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2 female char. 80. SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. 31. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. H. Har- rington. 7 male, 3 female char. 32. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, G female char. 33. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 34. YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 35. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. ^ By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 36. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude ill 1 Act. By W. H. Murray. 10 male, 1 fiemale char. 37. LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6 male, 1 female char. 38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female char. 39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male char. 40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. 10 male, 2 female char. 43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 male, 3 female char. 44. DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 45. NURSE Y CHICKWEED. A Farce in lAct By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female nhar. 46. MARY MOO ; or. Which shall I Marry? A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male, 1 female char. 47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. By Robert Jones. 16 male, 7 female char. 49. SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Commedi- etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 fe- male char. 50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. Reade. 5 male, 2 female char. 65. THE WIPE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. By Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2 female char. 56. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Com- edy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10 male, 3 fe- male char. 57. PUTKINS , Heir t J Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in i Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 male, 2 female char. 58. AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act By Thomas J. Williams. 3 male, 2 fiemale char. 59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act 3 male, 2 female char. 60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 1 Act 3 male, 2 female char. 61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude- ville. 1 male, 2 female char. 63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act 2 male, 2 female char. 64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 2 male, 2 female char. 65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char. 66. A SOLDIER. A SAILOR, A TINKER, AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Act 4 male, 2 female char. f 67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 2 male, 2 female char. 68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 male, 4 female char. 69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char, f 70. i^AYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic 9 Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. Descriptive Catalogtie mailed free on application to "" Geo. M. Baker,' 41-45 Franklin St., Boston. [§r= ^ REBECCA'S TRIUMPH. a ©rama in €\}xtt ^cts. (for female charactees only.) WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR "THE L. O. C. COOKING CLUB" OF CHICAGO. / GEORGE M. BAKER. 31 f BOSTON ; GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY. 1879. 7r ^ ^ ^^H K^ Copyright, 1879, By GEORGE M. BAKER- All rights reserved. Franklin Press: Electrotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, £p* Co,, Boston. CHARACTERS. Mrs. Rokeman, a wealthy lady (age forty). Mrs. Delaine, a widow (age sixty). Repecca, a foundling (age nineteen). Clarissa Codman, a spinster (age forty). Dora Gaines, ] Sadie Morrell, Jennie Woodman, Mellie Dunbar, j Emma Stevens, ^ Our Club. Grace Greenwood, Maria Gray, Alice Leeds, GussiE Green, Katie Conner, an Irish girl. Gyp, a colored girl. Meg, a vagrant. Time, three consecutive days in summer. COSTUMES. Mrs. Rokeman. Dark hair slightly streaked with gray or powdered. Different suits for the three acts, — walking, riding, and reception ; all summer dresses. Mrs. Delaine. Act I., calico dress, apron, gray wig, and cap. Act 111., dark dress, li2;ht shawl, another cap and bonnet. Rebecca and ''Our Clitb.'^ Suitable dresses for the kitchen, the grove, and the parlor, in the three acts, varied in colors and style. Clarissa. Red hair front, with side ringlets ; wrinkled face, highly colored; girlish dresses, with lace mantles, and broad-brimmed straw hat. Kalie. Red hair and calicoes. Gyp. Woolley wig, black face, and black gloves for the hands ; caLco dress; turban for Acts II. and III. Meg. Powder hair neatly ; place over it a gray wig with long stream- ing hair. Wrinkle the face, but remove wrinkles before last appearance. Torn brown dress over a white skiit ; arms bare. Drape a gray shawl by fastening the middle on waist l., then carry the ends to right shoulder and cross them, fastening there, ends hanging down before and behind. REBECCA'S TRIUMPH. ACT I. Scene. — Mrs. Delaine's kitchen^ backed by garden scene. In fiat R. large window reaching nearly to the fioor ; door L. in fiat J screen standing r., back^ behind which stove is supposed to be J door R., iiext screen; plain table against screen R, between door aud audience ; doori.. well up stage _; plain table against scene on that side ; plain table standing in c. ; chairs near each table ; white table-cloth over c. table^ which Mrs. Delaine takes ofi and folds as cui'tain rises ; Gyp at table 'k. polishing a tin pan with a cloth j music at rising of the curtain. Gyp. Dar, missus ! {holding up pan, and looking at the bottom as if it were a jnirror.) Dat ar bread-pan am got de polish. Now, let 'em talk about dar silber-white and dar stove-polish. T^U yer what, missus ! dar's nothin' like brack elbow-greese to gib de genuine lustre. Dat ar shines now jes like ole Daddy Brack's eyes when he got de lumbago, an' got 'em bad. Mrs. D. That's right, Gyp: make it shine. I want the cooking club to find every thing neat and tidy in my house. Gyp. Dar's no fear ob dat, missus : de Httle cookies will find ebery ting ready to upset, an' dey'll do dat shure's yer born. Mighty kind ob you, missus, to let 'em. Mrs. D. They are dear girls, with a laudable ambition to become good cooks ; and, if I can assist them, it is not only a pleasure, but a duty. Is the fire burning briskly. Gyp? Gyp {looking behind screen). Red-hot, missus. 6 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Mrs. D. Fill the kettle and put it on. Gyp. Bress your soul, missus ! it's dere now, buzzing like a bumble-bee. Mrs. D. That's well. They will soon be here. {^Exit with cloth, door L. Gyp {comes to table, and takes tip pan). Dar ain't no non- sense 'bout my missus, she's jes as good as gold ; an' de goodness shines out ob her face brighter dan dis yere pan. An' dar's Miss Becky too, her 'dopted daughter, a born lady, dough she was picked up in de woods. Ebery ting quiet and nice about de house. Neber seed nuffin like it, an' I've lived round heaps. {Rubs pan.) (Katie passes window, and stands in door.) Katie. Is this the house I am afther huntin' .? {Comes down to table L.) Is Mrs. Mouslin in, I dunno.? Gyp. Missus, missus! — who's dat ar? Katie. Sure I said Mrs. Mouslin plain enough. Gyp. Dar's nobody here of dat name. My missus am Missus Delaine. Katie. To be sure, Mrs. Delaine. Faix ! I knew it was some kind of a cloth. Will, thin, I'm from the big house beyont, an' — an' I'm sint down wid a message. Gyp. Did — did you wipe your feet? Katie. Me fate, is it? Sure, I'd not be demaning me- self wiping me fate for a pine flure. I'm from the big house, I tell yees. I am quahty, I am. Gyp. Don't want no white trash here, nor poor quality. Go away ! Katie. I've come, and, bedad, it's not a black face will put me out of countenance, moind that, now ! Gyp. I won't have nuffin to do wid yer: I won't asswo- tiate wid white help. Katie. Well, I'd loike to know if it's the Ouane of Kam- scatta, or the Prancess of Guiney yees are, onyhow, that yees so high-flown wid yer blarney. Gyp. Don't want nuffin to do wid yees. Look at dar, look at dar ! {Points to floor.) Dar's de prints ob yer hoofs on de clean floor. {Goes to screen, and brings out broom.) Whare's your manners ? {Sweeps about Katie's /^^A) Katie {snatching bi'oom, and threatening Gyp with it). Out of that, or I'll swape you out ! (Katie moves to table R.) {Enter Mrs. D., door l.) REBECCA S TRIUMPH. / Mrs. D. What's the matter here ? Katie. A bit of a shindy, ma'am : that's all. I'm from the big house, if yer plase, ma'am. Gyp. Didn't wipe her feet. Mrs. D. Gyp, be quiet ! Gyp. Brought in a heap of dirt. Mrs. D. Gyp! Gyp. Das a fac'. If I tole her fifty times, I tola her once, wipe her feet. Mrs. D. That's enough. Go into the wash-room: you will find plenty to do there. Gyp. Yas, missus. {Turns itp nose to Katie.) H'm! White trash ! {Exit door R ) ^Mrs. D. Now, Katie, I will hear your message. Kati^. Will, thin, if yees plase, ma'am, Mrs. Rokeman, my missus, axed me would I rin down to the fut of the hill, and ax Mrs. Moushn (I mane Mrs. Delaine) would she be as kind and obleeging as to lend her the loan ov a twist. Mrs. D. Of what? Katie. Will, I don't know as I've just got that right. Och bother! You say Mrs. Delaine, Mrs. Rokeman, my missus, wants to take an airin' wid the fatone. Mrs, D. Mercy sakes ! what do you mean ? Katie. The littk wagon, wid the clothes-basket onto it, Mrs. D. You mean a phaeton. Katie. Yes, ma'am. I'm obleeged to you. Will, there's not a man about the place the day, an' the whales are a lit- tle shaky; and she thinks, could she have a twist, I could tighten them. Mrs. D. I see : you want a wrench. Katie. Sure that's it. I knew it was some koind of an ache. Mrs. D. I'll lend her one with pleasure. {Calls.) Gyp. {Enter Gyp.) Gyp. Yis, missus. Mrs. D. Take Katie Connor to the barn, and give her a wrench. Gyp. What! shake her, missus ? Katie. I'd loike to see ye doing it. Mrs. D. The carriage-wrench. Gyp. Come, be lively. Gyp. Yis, missus. Come along. Miss Quality. {Erit door c. ; passes window., and exits R.) 8 Rebecca's triumph. Katie. I'm obleeged to yees. {Courtesies, and exits after Gyp.) Mrs. D. Mrs. Rokeman ask a favor of me ! the proud lady of the hill ! — she who deigns not to notice her humble neighbors ! Very strange ! {Enter Rebecca r. behind window >j Rebecca {at windoiv). Ah ! good Mother Chirrup, here I am. {Enter door.) I've given the boys and girls a half- holiday, and it would just do your dear old heart good to see their merry faces : and I am just as ready for a frolic as they are. Nobody here yet? Mrs. D. None of your club, but I have had a visitor. Just think of it ! — a message from the lady on the hill ! Rebecca. Mrs. Rokeman? Mrs. D. Yes. she has asked a favor of me; wanted to borrow. Think of that! — borrow of me! Rebecca. Well, don't be proud, Mother Chirrup. Mrs. Rokeman might borrow from you many virtues which I fear she sadly lacks. Mrs. D. She only wanted a wrench, Becky, to fix the carriage. Rebecca. Was that all ? Mrs. D, That was all. Dear me ! what a flutter it gives me, to be sure! And think of it! twenty years since we have spoken ! Rebecca. And you were her nurse ? Shameful neglect \ Mrs. D. Yes, twenty years ago Helen and Clara Delmar were handsome girls. Their father was a proud man : and, when Clara ran off with an artist, he disowned her; she has never been heard of since. Then Helen married Ralph Rokeman, a careless, good-for-nothing fellow, who broke his neck hunting in less than six months. Then Jasper Delmar died, and his widowed daughter has from tliat day to this lived solitary and alone in that grand old home. Rebecca. And never made any attempt to find her sis- ter? Mrs. D. Never, to my knowledge. On that matter we had bitter Avords, and parted. I came here, and we have never met since. Rebecca. And here you would have lived as solitary and alone as the lady on the hill, had not your charitable doors and your kind heart opened to receive the waif of the woods. REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Mrs. D. Ah, Becky ! Heaven sent you to be the comfort of my life. Rebecca. I hope I am grateful, Mother Chirrup, for all your kindness to me. Eighteen years ago a dead man was found lying in the woods, with a living child, scarcely a year old, beside him. The guardians of the parish buried the dead stranger, and proposed sending the child to the poor- house. But you, dear soul, took the child to your heart ; and no mother could have cared more tenderly for her own than you have for me. Heaven bless you, Mother Chirrup! {Throws her arms about Mrs. D.'s neck.) Mrs. D. Dear, dear me, Becky! You mustn't muss my cap ; for you know we are to have company. (Rebecca turns away.) Don't talk about that time, child : it always makes you sad. Rebecca. Is it strange.'* That man — who was he.? Could he have been my father.? Nothing about him to show who he was, or whence he came : nothing about me, save a ring suspended from m}^ neck, — this {points to Jir.ger\ — in- side of which is engraved the one word "• Remember." Mrs. D. Well, now, my child, it will all come out one of these days : if it doesn't, it is all the same. You have learned to take care of yourself ; and, when I am gone, all I have is yours. Rebecca. Dear Mother Chirrup ! {About to throw her arms about her.) Mrs. D. Stop! stop! — my cap. You know I don't like to be hugged so. You are a dear good girl, Becky : and, if I should lose you, it would break my heart. {Throws her ai-ms about Becky's neck, and sobs.) Rebecca {kisses her). Who's mussing now? {Laughs.) You don't like to be hugged ; but I do. (Meg appears at window.) Meg. " We were two sisters of one race: The wind is blowing in turret and tree." Thaf s right : make much of each other. You know not the day nor the hour when fate, cruel fate, shall break the bonds, and separate you forever. Ha, ha ! I know, — I know. {En- ters at door. When she appears at window, Mrs. D. and Rebecca separate r. and l.) 10 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Mrs. D. Crazy Meg! Come in, Meg : you're always wel- come here. Meg. " Welcome ! " I heard that word long years ago. 'Twas in a banquet-hall : the lights burned brightly; music filled the air. The bridegroom sat at the head of the table, and beside him the bride. Do you hear? the bride: 'twas I, Meg the outcast. Ha, ha! the bridegroom lifted high the brimming glass. A raven black as night sprang through the casement, dashed the glass from his hands, the lights went out, and I was left in darkness. The bridegroom — where is he? I can never find him, — never! {Si?iks ifito chair by table R., and buries her face in her arm.) Mrs. D. Ah ! there's a sad story there. Rebecca {lays her hand on Meg's shotilder). Cheer up, Meg : you are among friends. Meg {slowly lifting her head, and looking at Rebecca). Ah! you are the schoolmistress. I've seen you with troops of girls and boys about you, with eager faces looking up at you. They love you ; and I hunger for the sight of one little baby face that looked into mine, and smiled so sweetly I O baby, baby ! Rebecca. You, Meg ? have you a child ? Meg {quickly). No, no ! Who told you I had .? Rebecca. I understood you to say — Meg. No, you cannot understand me : something's wrong here {taps forehead), so the doctors say. Don't mind me: I am only Meg, — crazy Meg. Rebecca. Meg, you look tired and weary: this wander- ing life is killing you. That litde hut in the woods is a lor.e- some place. Come and live with us: you shall be made comfortable here. We have plenty of room, and would be glad to have you. Meg. You cannot mean it, pretty face. I am old and ugly : your neat home will be disfigured by my presence. No, no ! let me wander. Rebecca. You know not how tender care will transform you. {Kneels at her side.) Look at me, Meg ! I was once as poor ns you. When a little child, I was left alone in the wild woods to die. M EG {starijig at her). You ? Rebecca. Yes, I: no mother, no father; no one in the wide world to claim me or care for me. But that sood woman REBECCAS TRIUMPH. II there took the strange, forsaken one to her arms, as she will now take you, poor outcast. Meg (looks at her eagerly). Alone in the woods ! — you ? {Starts to her feet) Oh, let me go from here quick ! Your face, your words, shape far-off memories that they told me I must forget, or I should go mad, — mad. {Crosses to L.) Mrs. D. Meg, you must be hungry : let me get you some- thing to eat. Meg. No, no ! I cannot eat. Rebecca. A cup of tea ? Meg. No, no! I must have air! — air! {Goes up totter- ing. Rebecca piits Iter arm about her waist) Rebecca. You are faint and ill. You shall not go until you are rested. Come , everybody in this house obeys me, and so must you. Meg {looks 7ip in her face). You've a kind heart, pretty face. Somewhere in the future you'll be the light of a happy home. Do with me as you will. There's something in your iace calms me, overcomes me. {Kisses her haiid) I am your slave forever. {Miisic. Rebecca slowly leads her off door l.) Mrs. D. That's a wonderful girl : I must say it, if I did have the bringing of her up. She's mastered every thing she sets about; and, last of all, wild Meg, who's been such a roaming vagabond round here for the last six months ! Nobody knows who she is, or where she comes from ; but, if Becky don't find out before she's done with her, I'm mistaken. {Enter Gyp by window^ through door) Gyp. Missus, de cookies am coming:, heard 'em on de hill, laughing and singing like a Mefodis' camp-meeting. Precious little work dey'll do dis yer aternoon. {Chorus outside. Air, '•''Nancy Lee.'') The kitchen-fire does brightly glow, You know, girls, know, you know, you know; The shining pans hang in a row, You know, girls, know, you know; And all is neat and snug and sweet For you and me To brew and bake, to mould and make, Or frolic free. Our happy day will pass away With mirth and glee, 12 REBECCAS TRIUMPH. 1 You know, girls, know, you know ; The dainty dish the maiden's pride shall be. You know, we go, to work with glee. The dainty dish the maiden's pnde'shall be; The dainty dish our pride shall be. {When the song reaches '^The dainty dish the maiden^' s pride,'' &>€., the singers appear behind window, finish it, and then with a laugh Jiock into the kitchen-door as follows, — Dora, Sadie, Jennie, Mellie, Emma, Grace, Maria, Alice, and Gussie. Mrs. D. is near table r. ; Gyp at table left.) Dora {running up to Mrs. D., and taking both hands with a vigorous shake). How d'ye do, Mother Chirrup? Here we are, you see. {Crosses to Gyp.) How d'ye do. Gyp? {All follow her example ; make it lively.) Mrs. D. Glad to see you, girls: we are all ready for you. Gyp. Das a fac'. Dora. Of course you are; and, if I'm not mistaken, you'll be glad to see the last of us. You heard my new song? Original, — quite original. Words and music both my own, — a musical cake made out of my own head. Girls (/« chorus). O Do ! {Laugh.) Dora, No : there is no dough about it. Gyp. Den how could yer make it out ob your own head? {Girls laugh.) Dora. O Gyp ! how could you ! Come, girls : off with your hats, and on with your aprons. {Girls take off hats, aiid pile them on Gyp's arms; then each one takes apron from pocket and puts it 07i, talking together. Gyp carries hats off door l. ; then some of the girls sit in the chairs, others behind them) Sadie. What's the programme? Mrs. D. Becky will be here in a moment. {Exit door J..) Nellie. Becky is mistress to-day. Emma. I'm glad of that: she always has some new dish. Maria. She'll want more new dishes when we are gone. {Girls laugh.) Dora. Yes, if we undertake to make pumpkin-pies, as we did at j^our house. Sadie. When Maria and Jennie undertook to put the pies in the oven — Dora. And their heads came. together: the pumpkin- REBECCAS TRIUMPH. I3 pies were transformed to squash {girls laugh) and turn- overs. {Laugh.) Maria, 1 couldn't help it. The floor was slippery, and the time short. Dora. But the pfe-crust wasn't. {Laugh.) Here's Becky. {Enter Rebecca, door l.) Hail to the chief — cook ! How d'ye do, Becky .-* {All flock about her., with how dye-does, hand-shakes, and hugs.) Rebecca. Don't smother me, girls ! Dora. Well, here we are, armed and equipped as the law of cooking directs. What is it? — pies, cakes, or fancy dishes ? A dainty dish for me. {All sing last part of softg.) -''The dainty dish," &c. Rebecca. Suppose we try cake to-day. I've found a nice receipt among Mrs. Miller's " In the Kitchen " {shows book), — " Rebecca's Triumph." Girls {iji chorus). Good ! let's have it. Read it, Becky. Rebecca {i^eads), " Rebecca's Triumph," — " Half a pound of butter, one and a quarter pounds of sugar, eighteen ounces of flour, one ounce of blanched almonds cut in strips, one ounce of raisins stoned, half a pint of milk, one and a half tablespoonfuls of baking-powder sifted into the flour, six eggs ; cream the butter, and add the sugar gradually, with a little of the milk, to make them mix ; beat the whites and yolks together until light, then stir them into the butter and sugar; add the rest of the milk 'and the flour, then the almonds and raisins. Bake in loaves." There it is : shall we try it .? Dora. Of course. Those in favor of trying " Rebecca's Triumph" say "Ay!" Girls. Ay ! Dora. 'Tis a unanimous vote. Gussie. You didn't count the noes. Do. Dora. Yours wouldn't count, Gussie, if it was called : it's too small. " Rebecca's Triumph : " there's something high-toned in the name, and, as Becky is to be the manager of this occasion, very appropriate. Come, Becky : give your orders, and we'll get to work. Rebecca. You all know where to find things in this house. First for eggs, the freshest and best. Alice and Maria will find them in the barn {exeunt by door Alice 14 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. and Maria, who pass wifidow). Grace will look after the butter and sugar (Grace 7'ims off door r.); Sadie, the milk (Sadie passes out of door-Jlat, passes window)-, Jennie and Mellie, the flour and baking-powder (Jennie and Mellie exeunt door r.). Emma will take care of the raisins, and Gussie will look after the tins (Emma and Gussie exeimt door r.). There, I believe all are set to work. Dora. Except me. Rebecca. You, Dora, may blanch the almonds. Dora. All right. {Takes Becky's hand) That's a pretty ring you wear. I never noticed it before. Rebecca. 'Tis very dear to me. Dora. It's too large for your finger. Take care, or you'll lose it some day. {Exit R.) Rebecca. Lose it. No, no ! 'Tis all I have to unite me with the past, — that mysterious past, whose darkness I sometimes think will be dispelled by this ring, with its motto " Remember." I know not why it was hung about my neck : but something long ago told me it was my moth- er's ; that she must be dead, or she would not have parted with it; that its motto tells of loving vows, and hopes of happiness, perhaps blasted by misfortune. To me it is very precious. {Kisses it.) " Remember." Yes, mother, though we may never meet on earth, by this token you are ever near and dear to me. {Exit door l.) {Lively music. Gussie rujts 071 from door r. with an earthen dish for mixing; places it on table c, then runs off door R. Dora runs on from door R. with almonds in dish ; places it on table L., then rtms behind screen R. Gussie runs on with boiul and cups for breaking and beating the eggs ; also beater_, places them on table \i.,and runs off door v.. Alice and Maria run on behind, past windozu, in at door, down to table L., and break a?id beat the eggs. Grace 7-uns on door l. with butter and sugar ; goes to table c, and creajns butter, and adds sugar. Sadie 7'uns 07i f'07)i outside with milk, and assists. Gus- sie runs to c. table, a7id helps. Jennie rutis on f7'07n door l. with four and sifter, and sifts flour at table r. Emma bri7igs 071 7'aisi/is f7-om door R. ; sits 7iear R. table, and stones raisi7is. All lively-, chatter a7id talk, if they please. Music, pia7iissi7no, so the voices can be hea7'd. E7iter Gyp door l.) Gyp. Bress my soul ! it am as busy here as a barbecue. {Crosses to table R.) Miss Jennie, let me do dat ; dat's no kind of work for your lily fingers. Rebecca's triumph. 15 Jennie {takes her hand out of the flour^ and lays it on Gyp's cheeky leaving it white.) No, I thank you, Gyp: it whitens them, don't you see ? Gyp {wiping his face). Don't do dat, chile : folks'll tink 1 powder. Dora {behind sa-een). Clear the way ; for I am coming. {Appears with tea-kettle; crosses stage to table L.) Gyp {coming to table l.). Dat's too heaby for you. Miss Dora. Let me do dat. {Just as she reaches table, and puts out her ha7id, Dora pours boiling water on almonds.) Oh, massy sakes, you've burnt me ! {Holds her hand., and datices about stage. Music stops.) Dora {carrying the kettle back behind screen). Sorry, Gyp ; but children should never put their fingers into the sugar-bowl without leave. Gyp {blowing her hand). Oh ! she's smart, she is. But dar's going to be trouble here. If dey don't blow de roof off afore dey gits frough, den you can call me Misstook. I'll jes put myself out ob de way. {Exits door C, and passes window^ Dora {returns to table, singing). Air, " Oh ! give me a Cot in the Valley I love*"* Oh ! give me a place in the kitchen I love, A cake in the oven, a fire in the stove, I care not how heavy, contented I'll be, If some one will eat it when cooked by me. {Girls laugh.) Jennie. Come, Mellie : hurry with the baking-powder. {Enter Mellie with a bottle and knife j sojnething in the bottle to fly, — soda or mineral-water.) Mellie. Can't find the powder. Here's a bottle of yeast : won't that do t {Cuts string; cork flies ; all scream. Some jump on chairs ; while Mellie flies around, and tries to stop the fermentation with her hands) Jennie. You careless thing ! that won't do at all. {Enter Rebecca door l.) Rebecca. What's the matter? {takes bottle from Mel- lie.) You want the baking-powder: I'll find it. {Exit door R.) Jennie. Well, Mellie Dunbar, I hope you're satisfied now. See what a mess you've made ! i6 Rebecca's triumph. Dora. Yes, Mellie's made a melancholy failure. {Enter Rebecca with baking-powder^ Rebecca. Here it is, Mellie {gives her box : she goes to table R.). Now let me see how you are getting along {goes fro7n one to the otJier). (Clarissa appears at door in flat >j Clarissa {with an affected drawl). Why, how de do, girls .'' Hard at work t This is de-lightful ; pos-i-tively charming ! Dora. Mercy ! there's the old maid ! Now won't we catch it ! Rebecca. Ah ! good afternoon, Miss Codman. Walk in. Clarissa. Thank you. {Etiters attd comes c, looking abont with an eyeglass.) So domestic ! It reminds me of my early days, when I used to make dirt-pies in my little garden with my little brother. Dora. I don't see how you can remember that : it must have been years and years ago. Clarissa. Oh, no ! I have not yet lost the springing steps of girlhood, the rosy dreams of youth. My gentle heart thrills at the passionate appeals of the lover in my reading, and I grow brave at the daring exploits of the heroine of romance. I feel as if I could do brave deeds myself, — " beard the Hon in his den, the Douglas in his hall." Dora {screams, and J7imps upon chair). A mouse, a mouse ! {Girls screa?n, and gather their skirts about the7n. Mellie sits on table., and others jump on chairs. Clarissa runs down to L. corner, opens her pai'asol, and points it at the floor.) Rebecca {comes c). Nonsense, girls ! Where did you see it, Dora .? Dora {jumps fro7n chair). " In my mind's eye, Horatio." Jennie. You hateful thing! Sadie. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! {Girls resume work) Dora. I couldn't help it. Miss Codman looked so brave, that I wanted to scare up some game for her. Clarissa. Oh, a joke ! Ha, ha ! A joke ! Girls are so sportive ! {Aside) I'd like to shake the hussy! Dora {hands chair). Take a seat, Miss Codman : you're all of a tremble. REBECCA S TRIUMPH. 1/ Clarissa (s/ls in comer). Thank you. Don't let me in- terrupt your delicious pastime, it is so conducive to health, so useful as a preparation for that domestic hfe which must come to us all at last. {Sighs) Heigh-ho ! Jennie. I wonder if she expects it to come to her. Mellie. While there is life, there is hope. Clarissa. I have just been to the post-office. I found a letter awaiting me, a tender epistle, from you know who, Rebecca, — my mysterious correspondent, Theophilus Mon- tague. Rebecca. I remember you told me you had received a note from an unknown correspondent. I also remember I advised you to treat it with contempt. Clarissa. I could not do that. It was so respectful, so eloquent of sincere admiration, so tremulous with suppressed passion, that I fell into the epistolary snare set to capture my sensitive and susceptible heart. I answered it with tender lines, that fed the flame of love ; and he writes again, so sweet, so tender f {Kisses paperi) Do let me read you a few lines. Chorus of Girls. Oh, do, do, do ! Clarissa {opens note, and reads), " Charming Clarissa ! " Girls {in chorus). Oh, splendid ! Clarissa {reads). " Your dainty epistle has reached me. It now reposes near my heart, adding fuel to the fire that flames within me." Dora. Won't the oven get too hot? (Grace rnns behind screen., then returns to tabled Clarissa {looks around., then reads). " It needs but one thing more to make it rise " — Jennie to Mellie. A little more baking-powder! Clarissa {looks around., then reads). "Like the fabled phoenix from its ashes, to soar to the Elysium of your love." Dora. That's too lovely for any thing ! (Rebecca goes to table., c. to mix the cake. Stands behind it.) Clarissa {reads). " What can I bring you, dearest," - — Rebecca. Eggs, Alice ! (Alice carries the beaten eggs to Rebecca.) Clarissa. Eggs : oh ! excuse me. {Reads) " To obtain the one thing I desire," — Rebecca. Flour, Jennie! Qennie carries Jlour to Re- becca.) 1 8 Rebecca's triumph. Clarissa {irritated). " Your sweet* consent to our wed- ding nuptials. I have no gold ; but I have " — Rebecca. A little more milk, Sadie ! Clarissa. Oh, this is mockery ! Dora. Oh, go on, go on ! It's splendid! Girls {in cJwrtis). Lovely ! Go on, go on ! Clarissa. " A heart, and in that heart are " — Rebecca. Raisins, Emma ! (Emma carries raisins?^ Clarissa. Oh ! {desperately) " High hopes and " — Rebecca. Almonds, Dora ! (Dora carries up abnonds. The girls ai'e all about table, watching Rebecca, and for- getting Clarissa.) Clarissa {desperately). " High hopes and noble aspira- tions " {waits for an exclamation : all silent. She slowly turns round, and looks at the girls ; then folds the note, and puts it in her bosom). This is " wasting sweetness on the desert air." I'll go home, and in the silence of my chamber brood over the love-lit words from the flowery pen of pas- sion. ' O my Theophilus ! unseen, unknown, but not unloved, No more your precious missives are to be intrusted to the prying eyes of the plebeian post-mistress. You have named a trysting-tree in the gloomy forest, within whose hollow trunk henceforth our epistolary messages of iove are to nest themselves. I will remember, and to-morrow convey my answer to its oaken keep. {Straightens up,.puts parasol imder her arm^ and marches up to door in flat, and oft, past window.) Rebecca. Now, Gussie, we are all ready for the pans. (GussiE ru7is off r.) Miss Codman, go on, if you please. Dora {tmiis aroiind). Go on. -She's gone off! Girls {t7ir7i around). Oh, that's too bad ! Jennie {comes down R.). I wanted to hear the last of that letter. Dora. Did you ? So 3'ou shall. I know every word in it ; for I wrote it. I am {puts her thumbs, as a man would in the arm-holes of his vest, and struts down to Jennie) Theophilus Montague. Jennie. What! you, Dora? (Gussie enters door r with the cake-pans) Dora. Yes; and I've had such fun! She really believes that some mysterious individual, who, on account of his poverty, is afraid to seek an introduction, has taken this ro- REBECCA S TRIUMPH. IQ mantic way of making his affection known. Oh, if you could only read her epistles! — such gushing moonshine, such ridiculous nonsense ! But I wouldn't show them for the world. You know we are to have a picnic to-morrow m the grove ; and, to give a little fun to the occasion, I have con- trived to make a post-office of the old oak. So to-morrow, if you don't see fun, then my name is not Dora Gaines. Rebecca. One loaf is ready, Dora. Will you put it in the oven? Dora. Yes, indeed. {Goes tip to table, takes pan, and carries it behind screen.) Gyp {outside). O missus !, missus ! here's trubble ! {I^ims in door c.) Rebecca. What's the matter, Gyp ? Gyp. Let me get my breff. Dat lady up to de house on the hill is jest runnin' away down de road. One wheel off de hub, and she jest hangin' on, an' dat are horse flyin' ! Rebecca {runs to door). It's Mrs. Rokeman {runs off R. by the window). Gyp. Bress my soul ! She's nebber goin' to try to stop dat ar horse ! Break her neck, sure ! (Girls rtin off behind window, and stand looking off R. Gyp stands at door, with hand shading her eyes, looking off v..) Dora {rims out, by Gyp, among the Girls). Who is it? Where is it ? What is it ? Jennie. Mrs. Rokeman's horse is running away, and I do believe Becky's going to try and stop him ! Dora. Of course she is. See! she has reached the horse ! She is running with it ! Now her hand is on the bridle: still she runs. Now she draws it tight. He's drag- ging her from her feet. No: his pace slackens. She has him now! Bravo, Becky ! Girls {clap their hands). Bravo, bravo ! Dora. She's all rioht now. Mercy ! my cake ! {Runs in and behind screen ; girls return.) Gyp {at door). She's a bringin' dat ar lady here. Speck I'd better look arter de horse. {Exit past window R. Girls carry ojff pans, &^c., door r. Pa7i with one loaf of cake left on table c. Enter, passing by window, and through door, Rebecca, with her ar?n about Mrs. Rokeman, whose hand is on her shoulder; seats her in chair near table c. A little music while this is going on.) 20 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Rebecca. You are safe now, madam. Mrs. R. Thanks to you, my dear girl. You have saved my life; My wheel slipped off on the hill, and frightened the horse. My hold on the phaeton was relaxing. In another moment I should have been hurled out upon the rocky road. Mine is but a worthless life. I have prayed for death many and many a night ; but, when it was so near me, I felt how dear and precious hfe is. Rebecca. I am glad I have been of service. But .1 think you overrate the danger. The carriage is low, and a slip into the road would have been a frolic to me. Mrs. R. Ah ! you are young and happy ; you have become strong by exercise : while I am weak and timid. The shock and the fear would have killed me. How can I repay you ? Rebecca. By saying nothing more about it. I shall begin to think I am a heroine, if you make so much of a sim- ple affair. {Girls retur7ij some come down R., others pass to L.) Why, any of our club would have done the same, and thought nothing of it : wouldn't you, girls .'' Dora (r.). Speak for yourself, Becky. There's not an- other girl in our club brave enough to think of any thing but screaming at sight of a runaway horse. Jennie (l.). I guess not : catch her near a horse's heels ! Sadie. We should all run the other way : wouldn't we, girls ? Chorus of Girls. Yes, indeed I Mrs. Rokeman. May I ask what "our club" is? Dora. A cooking-club, Mrs. Rokeman. We've been experimenting to-day with one of Becky's receipts for cake. She calls it " Becky's Conquest." Girls {laugh). O Dora ! Dora. No: "Rebecca's Triumph." And I know it's just splendid. You see, we visit each other's homes, any- where we are invited. Mrs. R. Indeed ! Then allow me to extend a cordial in- vitation to "our club" to visit my home. I am a lonely woman, and the sight of your merry faces in my house would be a pleasure'to me. Girls. Oh ! thank you. Rebecca. I fear we should intrude. We are a noisy set when allowed our liberties. REBECCA S TRIUMPH. 21 Mrs. R. The more noise, the better. I should like to taste your cake. Dora (r.). It's cooking now. It won't be nice to eat to- day. Mrs. R. Then suppose you set a day to visit me, and bring me a morsel of your cake. Let me see. This is Tues- day. Suppose we say Thursday. Would that be agreea- ble? Girls. Oh, yes ! — splendid! Mrs. R. Then we will consider it settled. Rebecca. O girls ! my ring ! I've lost my ring ! I must have dropped it in the road. Dora. I'll go and find it. {Goes up to door.) Jennie. So will I. {Follows) Girls. We'll all go. {Trip out of door., and past win- doWy singing, — " A dainty dish, the maiden's pride, " &c.) Rebecca {comes dowjt r. ; Mrs. Rokeman watches her). Oh ! if it should be lost ! Without it, now, I feel as if part of my life had gone from me. Mrs. R. {rises, a7id comes down). I have been watching you, child. Something in your face is strangely familiar. Have we ever met before ? Rebecca. Not to my knowledge. Mrs. R. Who are you? Rebecca. The schoolmistress in the place, — the adopted daughter of Mrs. Delaine. Mrs. R. My old nurse ! Where is she? {Enter Mrs. D., door l.) Mrs. D. Here, Mrs. Rokeman! Mrs. R. Mary, my dear old nurse ! {Holds out hands.) Can you forgive me ? Mrs. D. {takes hands, and p7'esses thejn warmly). I have nothing to forgive, Miss Helen. Mrs. R. My neglect? Mrs. D. Don't speak of it! We parted in anger twenty years ago. You thought you was right, and I knew I was. With so strong a difference of opinion, we could scarcely remain friends ; and, if I cannot have friends, I wish no acquaintances. Mrs. R. Still obstinate, I see ! 22 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Mrs. D. On that point, yes. I told you you did not treat your sister fairly, and twenty years have not changed that opinion. Mrs. R. {proudly). Neither have they mine. My sister left her happy home to follow an adventurer, with no legal right to bear his name. Mrs. D. That's false ! He was her husband. Mrs. R. Have you any proof of that.? Mrs. D. The best. Her birth, her education, her true and noble heart, — all proofs of her goodness, virtue, and truth. Mrs. R. I want stronger proof. No distance would have separated her from her home forever; no circumstances shut out the love from her heart, save shame. Mrs. D. Have you sought for proofs ? Mrs. R. No. Mrs. D. Is she living, or dead t Mrs. R. I do not know. I have not dared to search, lest my worst suspicions should be realized. Heaven knows I loved her, — love her still ; but ours is a proud name, and no blot of shame shall ever tarnish it while I live. No more of this. Your adopted daughter has done me a great service. I would befriend her. Give her to me. I will be a mother to her, and, should she prove worthy, make her my heiress. Mrs. D. What ! my Becky heiress to the grand estate, the Delmar name ? Do you hear, Becky? Rebecca. I hear. Mrs. D. Why, here's a brilliant future for you, Becky! Heiress! — why, Becky, I never dreamed of such good for- tune ! Mrs. R. Rebecca, will you go with me t Rebecca {quietly). Thank you, no. I am happy here, — my own mistress, and quite content. Mrs. D. Becky, you are mad to refuse such an offer. Becky. Do you think so ? My happiest days have been spent in this dear home. The first, best love of life, a mother's, I have found in your dear heart. There is nothing sweeter, purer, better, in this Avorld, than that. {Throws her ar??7s about Mrs. D.) You have won me : you shall keep me. • Mrs. D. {huggi7tg ^y.cky). I knew I should, my Becky! Oh, I'm a happy old woman ! rebec!ca's triumph. 23 Mrs. R. {turfis to r. aside). Oh, how I envy them ! From my lonely habitation, rich in all that wealth can purchase, I can look out on broad lands stretching far, o'er fields and woodlands, beautiful in fruits and ripening grain, and call them mine. Yet here's a simple girl, whose love I covet, turns away from all that might be hers to homely life with all its cares, — contented, happy in the love that nursed her into life. Oh, I am poor indeed ! {Sinks into chair near table R., and covers her face with her hands.) Song outside I.. Meg. Air^'-^TiredP Sisters were we, yes, sisters true, In our old happy home : No saddening shadows then we knew ; And now 1 lonely roam. I'm longing to meet, yes, meet again, — Longing for her embrace : The glooming shadows fall again, Forever to hide her face, {During the singing Mrs. R. looks up and about her, vety ?nuck affected. Rebecca stands l. with Mrs. D., their arms about each other, listening.) Mrs. R. Who is that singing .'* Whose voice ? Tell me quick ! Rebecca. That is wild Meg, as she is called, — a poor half-crazy wanderer, whom I have put to rest in my room. Mrs. R. Wild Meg! But that voice ! those words ! I must see her {rises) at once {goes towards door l). {Enter Meg door l. Chord. They stand and look at each other.) Mrs. R, {stepping back). No : this is the face and form of an old woman. It was the song which deceived me. Meg. Deceived ! Have you been deceived ? So have I. Ha, ha ! You are rich and proud, — rings on your fingers, jewels in your ears ; and I'm in rags. Yet we are sisters. Mrs. R. {agitated). How ? — what mean you ? Meg {poi?its tip). In the sight of Heaven, rich and poor, high and low, brothers and sisters all, sent to love, but remain to hate each other ! I could tell you a story, lady, of two sisters, that would make your heart bleed with pity. They were rich ; but one married a poor man. The father disowned her ; and the sister, when the riches became hers, forgot her, for fear she might come and claim her share. 24 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Mrs. R. No, no ! 'Tis false 1 She had no such motive. Meg. Ah ! you know her? Mrs. R. I tis my own story, which you have picked up in your wanderings about here. Be careful, woman ! There is more of cunning than madness in you ; and, if you prate of my affairs, I'll have you locked up where your ravings will not be heard. Remember ! Meg {starts). Remember {aside): no, no! {Aloud.) Re- member you! — there will come a time when your proud head shall lie in the dust. Cunning! — yes, so cunning, that I could tell you the two sisters loved one man. They pledged each other that his choice should be sacred; pledged each other with rings. No matter what came : their love for each other should continue. He chose the younger, and the sis- ter— Mrs. R. Woman, who are you ? Meg. One who never did you wrong ; one who from the stars obtains secrets ; who hopes for justice, prays for justice, and so is mad ! — ha, ha ! — mad, mad ! {Exit by door c. tt> L.) Mrs. R. From the stars? No, no! this woman is an emissary of my sister, trusted with secrets of ours, and sent to goad me into madness. She shall be driven from the place. {Talks with Rebecca l.) Girls {outside). Ha, ha, ha ! DoYiA {outside). Come along: it's no use to search any more. {Enter Dora a7id others door r. Come down r. and L.) Becky, the ring is not in the road: you must have dropped it about the" house. Rebecca. Then it's sure to be found: so give yourselves no more trouble. Have you looked at the cake, Dora? Dora. Goodness gracious, the cake ! {ru7is behind screen) Mrs. R. {to Rebecca). I'm sorry you cannot come and live with me ; but you will come often and see me ? Rebecca. Thank you, if it will please you. Mrs. R. I shall expect to see you all on Thursday, and that wonderful cake. ViO'^K {appears from behind screen with pan. in which is a very black cake). The cake can't come : it's gone into mourning. Jennie. Completely ruined I Girls. Oh, dear ! Rebecca's triumph. 25 Mrs. D. {lifting her hands). . Well done ! Dora. Yes, it is well done, — over-done. Rebecca. No matter: we've another loaf. Dora. Thank Goodness for that. Mrs. R. You will find a warm welcome awaiting you at Delmar. It will be red-letter day in my lonely life. Do not disappoint me. {M-eg passes door from i..) Remember! Meg {at window). Remember! — ha, ha! Gather the young and merry about you ; seek to banish the bitter past. Your efforts are vain. Out of shadows points a skeleton finger, and in your blasted heart is imprinted in letters of fire one word, — " Remember ! " (Mrs. R. sinks into chair right of table c. ; Mrs. D. ru7is to her, and stands behind chair; Rebecca kjieels, and takes her hand, looking up at her face; girls grouped r. and L. ; Meg behind window, with finger pointing at Mrs. R. Soft music, slow Curtain) END FIRST ACT. 26 Rebecca's triumph. ACT II. The Picnic. Scene. — A grove ; flat a wood; c, three feet from back, set tree with branches reaching over and into side-scene R., forming an arch; same on left, but a wider opening; at R., tree with hollow trunk, bank ; L. rustic bench, before c. tree; swing hung behind opening ; R. c. to swing; r. attd L. past opening; chorus ; commence a little before rising of the curtain ; then rise on picture. Re- becca seated on bench c. ; Jennie seated on stage beside her, with her arm thrown across Rebecca's lap ; Sadie in the swing, singing; Grace on bench l. ; Mellie stand- ing behind her, placing flowers in her hair ; Dora leaning against tree r. ; Maria swinging Sadie ; Emma seated near Dora, making a band of leaves ; Alice and Guss i e, their arms about each other's waists, stand L. c. opening, {Chorus. Air, " There'' s Music in the Air.") 1. There's beauty in the grove When the opening Spring, unseen, With fairy touch invests All the earth with robes of green ; While the birds' exultant song All the rocks and woods prolong : Then all hearts are filled with love For the beauty of the grove. II. There's beauty m the grove When the Summer's sultry air Commands a safe retreat To its cool and mossy lair, REBECCA S TRIUMPH. 2/ With its wealth of bloom arrayed, Fragrant breath and grateful shade: All enchanted there we rove 'Mid the beauty of the grove. III. There's beauty in the grove When the Autumn's magic spell Transforms with dainty touch All the glowing, leafy dell. Yellow, red, and brown combine, Golden lustre's quivering shine ; Then we joy all else above In the beauty of the grove. Dora. Oh, I'm so hungry ! Jennie. That's compUmentary, I declare, after the musi- cal feast we have just spread before you ! Dora. Music, like other tonics, only creates an appetite for food. Jennie. Music is food, so Shakspeare says, — " the food of love." * Dora. Oh, yes ! Love can feed on air or moonshine, and music is quite as unsubstantial. That's why lovers always look so pale and thin. I'm not m love, and I'm awful hungry ! Jennie. Awful, Dora ? Then these old trees should sat- isfy that hunger. Don't the poets say they fill one with awe ? (Gir/s laitgh.) Dora. O Jennie Woodman, spare that tree. Are we ever going to get any thing to eat.-* Jennie. " In the sweet by-and-by." I declare, Dora, you quite destroy the romance of this lovely solitude with such earthly longings. Doesn't she, girls? Chorus of Girls. Yes, indeed ! Jennie. I could roam these woods for days, breathing the odor of the pines, feasting my eyes on the verdure, plucking the beautiful flowers, and never grow weary or faint. It's just lovely, isn't it, girls ? Girls (/;/. chorus). Perfectly lovely. Dora. Indeed ! And yet you girls are 'all just as hungry as I am. Chorus of Girls. Oh, no ! Dora {comes c). Here comes Gyp with the basket. ^8, Rebecca's triumph. Girls {all flock about Dora). Oh, good, good ! The bas- ket — where is it.? Dora. " In the sweet by-and-by.'* Girls {tiirn away). Oh ! Dora. Now, don't feel bad : you've got the piney odors, and the variegated verdure, and the beautiful flowers. Just lovely, isn't it, girls ? Jennie. Dora, how could you? Grace. You're just awful ! Mellie. Ought to be ashamed of yourself ! Girls (/« chorus). O Dora ! Dora. There's a chorus of hungry mouths. Rebecca {seated). I'm very sorry, girls. Gyp was to have started from the house an hour ago with the basket. Jennie. What can have become of her.? Dora. Lost her way ; perhaps wandering like a black babe in the woods. I move that we appoint a committee of the whole to go in search of the black diamond. Girls. Oh! let's. Dora. Unanimous vote. Follow me. * We'll scour the woods, and o'er the mountains skip, Until we find the long-lost dusky Gyp. Come along. {Girls 7nai'ch once around in the stage in couples after Dora, then off l. opening by trees, and exit r., si7iging one statiza of " There's beauty in the grove.") Rebecca {after the chorus has died away in the distance). I wonder how long it will be before they miss me. There's no false pride about our girls. As freely and warmly as my love goes out to them, as freely and warmly it is returned. Never a word or look of scorn for the poor charity-girl. Poor ! — I blush at the thought. Am I not honored, re- spected, beloved ? Yesterday I might have been envied by them all. Mrs. Rokeman, without a question, would have taken me to her heart. Why was this, something in my face 1 I am not beautiful. What can it be ? It has awakened the old longing for knowledge of the past. How often in soli- tude have I sat and looked at the old tree fast fading to decay, which, if it had the power of speech, might tell me something of my history ! Rebecca's triumph. 29 Dora {outside). Becky ! Girls {in chonis). Becky ! Rebecca {rises; goes to tree R.). Beneath its shade a we:iry man laid himself down to die, with me, a prattlincr child, clasped in his arms. Was he a pitiless wretch, whS had snatched me from my cradle ? or was he a tender father bearing me from danger or disaster, to safety.? I have tortured my brain with doubts and hopes in vain. You keep your secrets well, old tree, and perhaps wisely. The future IS all my own in which to do and dare. I have courao-e to pursue the open way. 'Tis from the gloomy clouds beliind I fear the bolt may come to blacken and destroy. {Exit r.) {Enter Katie l. behind trees, with a basket on her arm.) Katie. Will, now, it's bothered I am intirely ! My missus axed me would I run down to the hollow wid — wid — the basket, an' her comph mints to the young ladies I'd foind a-picknicking ; and shure there's nobody picking ony thin^ at all, at all. Phat will I do .? ^ ^ {Enter Gyp r. ist entrance with basket) Gyp. Bress my soul ! dat ar paf jes ain't no paf at all : it's jes de mos' circumbendus road I eber trabelled ; keeps j It's very old .and yellow with age. {Reads slowly.) "Dying — wife — Rome." I can make nothing of it. Yes, yes, I can : Clara was in Rome, and he — Mrs. R. Was on his way to me, to me. Tired of her, he turned to me, no doubt to confess his error, and implore pardon. Mrs. D. Your own love deceived you. 'Twas Clara he loved, and her alone. Mrs. R. His last words were for me. Mrs. D. That you might seek your sister. There could be no other motive,*save one. Mrs. R. And that? Mrs. D. To place — {Aside.) I see it all : I must lose my Becky, but not until justice is done to Clara. {Aloud.) You will seek her in Rome.'* You will go to her.'' Mrs. R. No. Mrs. D. Then I will. {Rises.) I'm an old woman, hardly fitted for a task that requires strength and endurance; but I would cross seas, mountains, to clasp in my arms once more the child who nestled there long, long ago. Helen Rokeman, you are proud of your name, and yet you would let the darling of your house wander among strangers. Thank Heaven, I have no such pride to check the promptings of my heart I will find her if she be living. Mrs. R. Shall we join the young ladies ? Mrs. D. {returns paper). When you please. I want Becky. Mrs. R. {goes to door c). Then follow me. {Turns,) REBECCA S TRIUMPH. 45 Mary, if I seem cold and cruel, remember that all the brightness was blotted from my life by the man who made my sister happy and me miserable. Come. {Exit l. Mrs. D. Ah ! the Delmar pride is stubborn. But if you knew all — if you knew as I do now who will inherit this grand estate, your pride would be humbled, my lady. {Exii C. to L. Meg creeps onfroj/i door R., and watches them off.) Meg. Too late. By the old familiar way I have crept into her house, only to miss the opportunity of meeting her alone. (Girls laugh outside^ Merry voices and gay com- pany {looks off), bright and happy faces about her. She greets them with smiles. What masquerade is here ! They told me she was cold and haughty, held herself aloof from her neighbors. Have I been mistaken? Is there warm life within that marble statue, feeling within that obdurate heart? If it be so, my wrongs will find a way to reach it, my despair the power to touch it. \_Exit door l. {Enter, doorR., Katy, with a letter in her hand) Katy {ttirning letter over and over). An' sure I got a love-lether frum Patsy ; an' phat will I do wid it I dunno. I can't rade, and the misthress is away wid the company girls. How will I find out phat's inside it? It's bothered I am intirely. {Enter from l., through c. door, Dora.) Dora. Ah, Katy! Is it ther yees are? Where's Mrs. Delaine's shawl ? I see it. {Goes towards window R.) Katy. If yees plase, Miss Dora, might I be afther trou- bling yees ? Dora {comes down). Certainly, Katy. What's the trouble ? Katy. If yees plase, I have a lether. Dora. From the ould counthry ? Katy. No, indade : it's from — it's from — sure you'll be afther laughin' if I tole yees. Dora. Then you needn't tell me, Katy : I can guess. It's a love-letter. Katy. An' who towld yees that ? Dora. Yourself, Katy, by the blushes on your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. You want me to read it for you ? Katy. If yees plase. Miss Dora. {Hands letter) Dora {opening letter). I shall learn all your secrets, Katy. Perhaps the young man would not like that. 46 . Rebecca's triumph. Katy. Thin yees moight shkip the sacrets. Dora {lan(^hs). All right. Katy. {Reads.) " Lovely Katy." Katy. That's me. Sure that's no sacret. Dora {reads). " I take me pin in hand wid a bating heart, to till yees uv the sthrong wakeniss 1 have for yees." Katy. Yees moight shkip that. Dora {reads). " i have nather ate, dhrunk, nor slipt, for a wake.'' Katy. Will, that jist accomits for the wakeniss. Dora {reads). " Barrin' my thray males a day, an' me pipe an' tobacyer." Katy. An' he wid the hearty appetite ! Dora (reads). An' all me slapeliss nights are fill wid drames of yees, Katy Mavourneen." Katy. Sure he's the darlin'. Dora {read:,). •' 1 have yees phortygraff nailed to the hid uv me bid ; and ivery night, afther 1 ve blown out the candle wid me fingers, 1 tak a good look at it, an', if ye'U belave me, there's not a dry thread in me eyes-." Katy." Sure he was alwus tinder-hearted. Dora {reads). " If yees don't belave me, tak a good look at yees own face before yees open the leiher, and see if I have not cause to wape." Katy. Sure I ought to have known that before the lether came. Dora {reads). " If yees foind these tinder loins blotted wid tears, it's all owing to the bad quality uv the ink, which has compilled me to pin this wid a pincil." Katy. That's no mather. Dora (reads). •' if yees don't recave this lether, or can't rade it, niver moind : ye'll know that all that's in it is the truth, an' nades nather radin' or writin' to till the same. So name the day, Katy darlin', whin me single blissidniss is to exphire. an' t^e mathrimoonial noose shlipped over the hid of yees lovin' and consolin' Patsy Dolan. "P.s. — These last lines are the poethry av love. *' SECOND p.s. — To be rid fhirst. 1 inclose a ring for yees finger, which same yees will find in me nixt lether." That's all, Katy. (Hands b.ick letter.) Katy. It's jist illigent. I'm obleeged to yees. Dora {takes shawl from chair). Quite welcome, Katy. Rebecca's triumph. 47 Wlien you get ready to name the day. I'll answer it for you. But be quick, Katy '; for the poor fellow will not live long on "only his thray males a day, an' his pipe an' tobacyer." {Runs offo.. to L.) Katy {looks at letter). Sure it's a darlin' lether, an' Patsy Dolan's a broth uv a bye. {Enter froin r., through c. door, Gyp, with basket of cake covered iviiJi a napkin.) Gyp. Ah, dar you is, Katy ! Whar's de misses ? Whar's Miss Becky? Whar's eberybod) ? Katy. In the garden, sure. Yees may coom in, if yees wipe yers fate. Gyp. Yas, indeed! How yerwas? ,And how's Patsy Dolan ? Katy. He's will. I've jist recaved a lether from him. Gyp. Dat so ? Dat's good ! Lub-letters am bery con- solin' to de flutterin' heart. Here's de cake for Miss Becky. {Sets it on top of piano) Got a letter, hab you? S'pose you red it frough and frough. Katy. Sure I can't rade at all, at all. Gyp. Dat so ? Well, well ! De ignoramance ob de foreign poperlation am distressin'. Katy:. Can you rade ? Gyp. Read ? What you take me for ? How else could I debour de heaps and heaps ob lub-letters dat I constantly receibe from my adorers ? - Katy {aside). Faith, I'd lolke to hear Patsy's lether again. {Aloud) Thin plase rade this for me. {Hands letter) Gyp {conpised). Wh-wh-what you take me fur? {Aside) Gollv ! she cotch me den. {Aloud) No, chile : dose tender confections am fur you alone, and dey shouldn't be composed to de world. Katy. An' sure yees can't rade. Gyp. What's that ? Can^t read ? ( Takes letter, and turns it round several times) Berry long letter. Want to hear it all? Katy. I very word. Qyv {aside). Mussn't gibin. Spec dase all alike. {Aloud) Ob course, ob course. {Pretends to read) " Lubliest ob your sexes." Katy. Sure that's not there. Gyp {shows letter). See fur yerself, see fur yerself. 48 Rebecca's triumph. Katy. Go on wid the lether. Gyp. " Sublimest ob de fair sexes, dis am a whale ob tears. Dar ain't no sunshine of moonshine widout you." Katy. That's not thrue at all, at all. Gyp {shows letter). Read it yerself, read yerself. Katy. Go on wid the lether. Gyp. " De moon on de lake am beamin', de lubly sun- flower perfumeries in de garden, de tuneful frogs meliferously warble in de riber, an' de breezes blow fro' de treeses ; but my lub, my lub, whar, oh, whar am she .'* " Katy. I don't belave — Gyp {as before). See fur yerself ; see fur yerself ! Katy. Oh, quit yees talkin' an' talkin'. Go on wid the lether. Gyp. " My lub she isn't hansum, My lub she isn't fair ; But to cook de beef and 'taters Can't beat her anywhar." Dat's potry, Katy, dat is ; alwus find lots ob dat in lub-letters: it gibs dem a fiabor. Katy. I don't belave it's there. Gyp {as before). See fur yerself; see fur yerself! Katy. Go on wid the lether. Gyp. Luf me see wha was I. " Come rest on dis yere head your aching breast." Deyall got dat, Katy, an' — an' {aside), well, I'se jest puzzled fur more : guess we'll hab some more potry {aloud) an' — an', — " We'll dance all night 'till broad daylight, An' go home wid de girls in de morning. " Katy. It's no such thing ! Yer desavin' me, so yees are Me Patsy wouldn't go home wid the girls at all, at all. Gyp. See fur yerself ; see fur yerself ! Katy {snatching letter). So I will. It's false and de- sateful yees are, -for Miss Dora rid the lether, an' — an' — it was jist illegant so it was ; an' it's yersilf, — bad luck to the loikes ov yees, whin yees can't rade ! an' it's the blissid troth I'm tillin', — invintin' a bit uv blarney to make trouble be- twane a poor girl an' her Patsy. Away wid yees ! lExit door R. Gyp. Well, I guess she fooled me dat time. No use. Rebecca's triumph. 40 par's ahvus trubble interferin' in lub affairs, jest like domes- tic affairs : when man and wife am fighting, ef you try to be a messenger ob peace, ef you don't look out, you'll eit de broomstick onto yer own head. {Enter door c. Mrs. R. and Rebecca.) Rebecca. Dear Mrs. Rokeman, it is very kind of you to give us this charming afternoon. Mrs. R. My dear girl, I am indebted to you for a very great pleasure. I have been very cold and unsocial in shut- ting myself away from the lovely and lively society which you can summon about you with a smile, and whom you seem born to command. Rebecca. Tm glad you Hke them. Oh, here's Gyp ! — Did you bring- the cake ? Gyp. Yas, Miss Becky, dar it am on de organ. Rebecca. Thank you; you may go to Mother Chirruo tor further orders. ^ Gyp. Yas, Miss Becky. lExit door c. of l. Rebecca {takes basket). Now, Mrs. Rokeman, you "shall be the first to judge our new experiment. Luckily we are alone : the girls would be so mortified if it should happen to be a failure. yi^s. ^. {sits arm-chairi.. c). Never fear; I shall be a lenient judge. Rebecca. Oh, you must tell the truth! {Takes ^late from window l., and places it in Mrs. R.'s /^^.) It looks nice, doesn't it .? Mrs. R. Very tempting. Shall I try it ? Rebecca {presenting basket). If you please. (Mrs. R. raises a slice) Not that please. Try this {points), there's an almond sticking out. Don't you like almonds ? Mrs. R Very much. {Takes slice of cake, aitd lays it on her plate.) -^ Rebecca {carries basket back to piano). Our fate is in your hands. Mrs. R. {takes cake in her hands, holdifig it above ^late). WhTt^s tWs*? ^ '''''^' '^- ^'''^ f""^^' Ji^giing into plate) ^■f^^^QK {turns qtdckh). My ring ! Found at last ! Who would ever have dreamed of finding it there ! It must have slipped off while I was mixing the cake. Mrs. R. {who has taken up the ring^ and is exarnining if. 50 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. with much efnotion). Your ring? Yours ? How came you by this ring ? Speak, girl ! Rebecca {kneels beside Mrs. R. without turning back to audience). It was hanging about my neck when I was found. Mrs. R. Found where .? Rebecca. In the woods, near the great elm, eighteen years' ago. Mrs. R. Eighteen years ago ? Rebecca. Yes, in the arms of a dead man. No one knew his story ; no clew to his former history could be found. Why, Mrs. Rokeman, how pale you are ! Are you ill .? Mrs. R. {with an effort). 'Tis nothing. This ring — it has a motto. Rebecca. "Remember." Yes, a mocking motto. It bids me do what I have no power to perform, — to remember something which I have never known ; something in the past for which I grope in vain amid the darkness. O Mrs. Rokeman ! you are rich and powerful ; help me to find some trace of her who gave me birth, my mother, and I will bless you. {Bows her head in her hands^ Mrs. R. {places hand on her head). Poor child, poof child ! You are right. I am rich and powerful, and I will help you ; and, should I succeed, your blessing would be the greastest reward I could desire. Will you trust your ring to me, Rebecca '^. Rkekcca {risi7tg). Willingly. {Takes plate to table.) Mrs. R. {rising). And, if I succeed, you will pardon me.-* Rebecca. Pardon ? You never wronged me, and now you will be my champion. {Takes her hand.) Heaven bless you ! Come failure or success, I shall love you with my whole heart. {Kisses hand.) Mrs. R. {aside). Heaven make me worthy of that love. {Aloud.) Go to your friends, my child, and fear not: your interests I shall {looks at ring) '• remember." Rebecca. A thousand, thousand thanks ! How glad the girls will be to know I have found my ring! {Riins off door C. to L.) Mrs. R. There's no escape. I must set myself to the ti.sk too long neglected. I thought myself wronged because one I loved turned from me to one who had all his heart after my promise {looks at ring), " Remember, his choice REBECCAS TRIUMPH. 5 I shall be sacred; it shall never break our love." And I turned traitor, shut my heart against her, and cursed them both in my bitterness and despair. And now this child, hev image, pleads to me for help. Twenty years of sinful hate swept away by the pleadings of a girl. I must repair the wrong. All else failing, I must, I will, win her love. (Comes down R., looking at ring.) {Enter Meg, door l.) Meg. Alone at last. Mrs. R. {turns). You here .? Meg. Yes, I, — Meg, crazy Meg. Ha, ha! not a welcome visitor to your grand house. The lady of the hill. Ha, ha ! rich and mighty, but so proud and haughty she dwells alone, and hears not the cry of want or pity; for. from her heart there wells a bitter cry to drown all else, — " Remorse, re- morse." Mrs. R. Woman, begone! I know you not. Meg. You do {solennily) : '' remember." Mrs. R. " Remember!" Who are you ? Meg {throws off gray wig). Tell me, you. Mrs. R. My sister Clara ! Oh, welcome, welcome ! {Goes towards her with open arms) Meg {waves her back). Back, we are strangers. Mrs. R. Strangers .? O Clara ! sister ! Meg. Peace ! "We are no longer sisters. " Remember, his choice shall be sacred : it shall never break our love." I have kept the compact, have you? Mid misery and want, when the clouds were thick about me, and when he I loved forsook me, I waited, longed, for a loving word from over the sea. It never came. Mrs. R. Clara, you have been wronged, cruelly wronged. I was jMtiless, relentless : but now all is changed. This very day, within an hour, I have heard that which, but for your coming, would have set me on the road for Rome to-morrow. {Kneels.) O Clara, sister, on my knees I implore your par- don and forgiveness! Be reconciled; I am ready to share all with you. Meg. Too late. I have lost my husband and my child; your love I lost yeirs ago; there is nothing worth living for now. Here amid the scenes of my happy youth I should go mad. Mrs. R. {rises). You will not take my hand ? 52 REBECCA S TRIUMPH. Meg. No. {Turns away.) Mrs. R. You are right. For the wrong I have commit- ted I must make atonement, and I will. Meg. How? Can you give me back my husband ? Mrs. R. No, Clara, I cannot do that. But I can give you convincing proof of his love and devotion to you. He did not desert you. He died in the loving duty of bearing his child from your arms to mine. (Rebecca appears f rout l., stops in door-way c.) Meg. Dead ! My husband.'' How learned you this ? Mrs. R. From this {showing paper), found yesterday in an old tree on my — our estate, Meg {snatches paper). 'Tis his writing. O Hector, Hector, my husband ! Go on, go on. Mrs. R. {shows ring). Here is a ring perhaps you will recognize. Meg. Your ring ? Mrs. R. No, mine has never left my finger {holds up fin- ger) as you may see : this is yours. Meg. My ring, mine .-^ How came you by that .-* If you have any mercy, speak. Mrs. R. I might say more to my sister, but not to a stranger. M.Y.G {falls on her knees). O Helen, sister! have mercy. Speak, speak ! Mrs. R. {raises her). Be patient and listen. Eighteen years ago your husband. Hector Gray, was found dead in the woods, with a child fast locked in his arms. Meg. Living or dead — the child 1 Mrs. R. Living. Meg. Thank Heaven ! Mrs. R. Around its neck was fastened this ring. Meg. And the child ? Mrs. R. Was taken by a good woman, and brought up as her own. To-day that ring fell into my hands, and for the first time (believe me, Clara) I became aware of that child's parentage. Meg {comes to l.) My child lives — my child ! Oh, bless you, Helen ! sister, where is she.-* Rebecca. Here, mother, here. {Runs into Meg's arms. Girls all appears behind.) Mrs. R. She speaks the truth, Clara. REBECCA S TRIUMPH. 53 Meg. My daughter, my dear, dear daus^hter ! Rebecca. O mother ! I have so longed for this moment, My dear, dear mother ! Mrs. R. Clara, am I forgiven ? (Meg throws herself into her arms; they embrace j then Mrs. R. holds out her arms to Rebecca, and they embrace; then the three stand L. C. conversing) Mrs. D. {outside). Where's Becky? {Enter c, Rebecca passes to R.) Come, child, we must go home at once. To- morrow I must set out on a long journey to find {sees Meg) to find — no, no, she's found, she's found. Clara, Clara! (Meg runs into her arms.) Home, home at last. Meg. Yes, dear old nurse, to the happy home of my child- hood {turns and takes Mrs. R.'s hand), to the loving heart of my sister. Mrs. R. Yes, Mary, the adamantine walls have given way. (Rebecca goes up c.) Mrs. D. Ah ! I knew it would all come right at last. It's glorious; but there's something better to come ; some- thing that will amaze you {with a very important air) ; some- thing known only to me, — my Becky — Rebecca {coming between Mrs. D. and MEG/"r