fS \osj mi Just Published. The "Popular Haudy Speaker. Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4, /faOQOOOOOOO IVEESAL STAGE, 59. S 1059 B22 P2 >^< 52. Old Gooseberry. A Farce in One 70. Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male. 2 Female characters. 53. Who's Who. A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 3 Male, 2 Fe- male characters. Bouquet. A Farce in One Act. 2 Male, 3 Female characters. The Wife's Secret. A Play in Five Acts. By George W. Lovell. 10 Male, 2 Female characters. The Babes in the Wood. A Comedy in Three Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10 Male, 3 Female charac- ters. Put kins : Heir to Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in One Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 Male, 2 Fe- male characters. An Ugly Customer. A Farce in One Act. By Thomas J. Will'omfc. 3 Male, 2 Female characters. Blue and Cherry. A Comedy in One Act. 3 Male, 2 Female charac- ters. A Doubtful Victory. A Comedy in One Act. 3 Male, 2 Female char- acters. The Scarlet Letter. A Drama 'n Three Acts. 8 Male, 7 Female char- acters. Which will have Him P A Vau- deville. 1 Male, 2 Female charac- ters. Madam is Abed. A Vaudeville in One Act. 2 Male, 2 Female charac- ters. The Anonymous Kiss. A Vaude- ville. 2 Male, 2 Female characters. The Cleft Stick. A Comedy in Three Acts. 5 Male, 3 Female char- acters. A Soldier, a Sailor, a Tinker, and a Tailor. A Farce in One Act. 4 Male, L' Female characters. Give a Dog a Bad Name. A Farce. 2 Male, '.' Female Characters. Damon and Pythias. A Farce. One Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 ^ Slale. 3 Female characters. 20. A Bull in a China Shop. A Com- edy in Two Acts. By Charles Slat- thews. Male, 4 Female characters. 27. Another Glass. A Drama in One Act. By Thomas Slorton. 6 Slale, 3 Female characters. 28. Bowled Out, A Farce in One Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 Male, 3 Female \ characters. 29. Cousin Tom. A Commedietta in One Act. By George Roberts. 3 Slale, 2 Female characters. 30. Sarah's Young Man. A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 Slale, \ 3 Female characters. 31. Hit Him, He has No Friends. ( A Farce in One Act. By E, Yates and N. IT. Harrington. 7 Slale, 3 Female characters. 3R- The Christening. A Farce in One Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Slale, «3 Female characters. 3S. A Bace for a Widow. A Farce in One Act. By Thomas J. Wil- liams. 5 Slale. 4 Female characters. 3 A Your Life's in Banger. A Farce ( in One Act. By .1. SI. Slorton. 3 Slale, 3 Female characters. 3?. True unto Beath. A Drama in Two Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. Slale, 2 Female characters eei^ ABOVE THE CLOUDS. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'Sylvia's Soldier,' "Once on a Time," "Down by the Sea," "Bread on the Waters," "The Last J_.ua':." "Stand by the Flag," "The Tempter," "A Drop Too Much," " We're All Teetotalers," "A Little -More Cider," "Thirty Minutes for Refreshments," " Wanted, a Male Cook," " A Sea of Troubles," " Freedom of the i'ress," " A Close Shave," "The Great Elixir," "The Man with the Demijohn," "New Brooms Sweep Clean,' " Humors of the Strike," "My Uncle the Captain," "The Greatest Plague in Life," "No Cure, No l'ay,""The Gree.au Bend," "The War of the Roses," " Lightheart's Pilgrimage," " The Sculptor's Triumph, too Lale tor the Train," " Snow- Bound." "The Peddler of Very Nice," "Bonbons," " Capu- letta," "An Original Idea," " Enlisted for the War," "Never say Die," "The Champion of her Sex," "The Visions of Freedom, I'lie Merry Christ- mas of the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe," " The Tournament of Idylcourt, "A Thorn among the Roses," "A Christmas Carol," "One Hundred Vears Ago," be, »f wash* BOSTON : GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY, 41-45 Franklin Street. n 1 ^ Copyright By George M. Baker, 1876. Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 19 Spring Lane. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. CHARACTERS. Philip Ringold, " Crazy Phil," a Mountain Hermit. Alfred Thorpe, a City Nabob. Amos Gayloi:i>, a Country Gentleman. IIowaeo Gayi.oed, his SorC Titus Turtll, a Gourmand. Curtis Chipman, " Chips" in the Rough. Nat Naylor, Thorpe's Protege. Grace Ingalls, a Young Artist. Hester Thobne, Gay lord's Housekeeper. Susy Gaylord, Gaylord's Daughter. Luceetia Geeeish, " so romantic." COSTUMES. RnfGOLD. Age 40. Pull black board; thick, curly wig; slouch hat; long boots; light coat, buttoned at the waist; blue Blurt, with biack handkerchief knotted at the neck; collar of shirt rolled over coat. Alfeed Thorpe. Age 50. White, curly hair; white side- whiskers ; fashionable dress ; kids, and dress hat. 99 100 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Amos Gaylord. Age CO. White wig; smooth face; nankeen vest and pants ; blue coat with brass buttons ; white tie. Howard Gavlord. Age 24. First Dress : Dark cutaway coat ; neat red shirt, with black neckerchief loosely -tied; dark pants, with leather leggings ; wide-awake hat. — Second Dress : Neat and tasty suit. Turtle. Age 40. Made up "fat"; fashionable fancy suit; red, curly hair; side-whiskers, and plump, red face. Citrtis. Age 20. Rough suit; pants, coat, and vest; light hat; light hair. Nat. Age 20. First Dress : A light suit ; green necktie ; green gloves ; straw hat, with a green ribbon. — Second Dress : Fashionable evening dress; white tie; dress coat; hair light, long, parted in the middle. Grace. Age 18. First Dress : Pretty-figured muslin, or blue or brown cambric, fashionably cut. — Second Dress : White muslin. Hester Thorne. Age 40. Brown or gray dress, with collar and cuffs ; fine, white wig. Face made up young and rosy. Sust. Age 17. First Dress : Figured muslin, witli white apron; long ear-rings. Second Dress : Neat evening-dress. Lucretia. Age 30. First Dress : Travelling-dress, as showy as possible ; face made up wrinkled ; very red cheeks ; a profusion of red curls, and a black patch on left cheek. Second Dress : Light fabric, with ribbons and bows of scarlet. STAGE DIRECTIONS. r., right; c, centre; l., left; l. c, left centre; r. c, right centre; l. 1 e., left first entrance; r. 1 e., right first entrance; flat, scene at back of stage; r. u.e., right upper entrance. ABOVE THE CLOUDS Act I. — Scene: Room in Gaylord's house. Inflate, open doorway, backed by lattice-work, with vine run- ning up it. L. of door, a long window, showing a rail- ing backing it, and beyond that, shrubbery ; the pas- sage-way off is through door, then past window, and offz,. Long curtains at window ; a vase of flowers standing on the stage at back of open door ; flat plain from door to R. with a, picture hanging on it; long windoxo r. next flat, with long curtain; lounge at window u., back to flat ; small table at window l. a, with flowers and books upon it; chair front of it. Door l. half-way up stage ; arm-chair l. Entrance r. Easel, toith picture on it, back to audience, near window r. Grace seated painting. Howard stand- ing c. leaning on a gun, hat in hand, icatching her. Grace. And you really like my picture, Mr. Gay- lorcl ? Howard. Like it, Miss Grace ? It's a bit of Nature filched from our grand old mountain so cleverly, that I wonder it does not give one of its thunder-growls in protest of the robbery. Grace. It will be growled at by those monsters the art-critics. They will not spare a single tree, or a 101 102 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. stone, in my Mountain-Picture. Ah, if they were only as kindly-disposed as you are, I should not fear. Howard. Don't place me among them, Miss Grace. Pm but a rough-handed farmer, who would be laughed at in such company. Grace. Yet you are an artist. Howard. At ploughing — yes. Grace. You may laugh ; but you are a true artist. Yon wooded valley, stretching to the distant river; yon towering mountain, lifting its head above the clouds, thrill me with delight, as a holiday sight glad- dens the heart of the child. But to you they are daily life. As the order, peace, and love of a household fill the heart of the child with all good impulses, so the clear mountain air you breathe, the majesty of Nature in its grand sublimity, train the eye to beauty, the soul to harmony, the heart to inspiration, — all unconscious influences which make you a critic whose praise is worth the winning. Howard. You are enthusiastic. Grace. Thank you. I am winning favor; for with- out enthusiasm how could we poor artists live? Howard. Then you like our rough life here, far above the busy, bustling world ? Grace. Like it? To be free from the thraldom of city life, its crowded, bustling streets, its mockery of comfort, its greed and avarice, crime and folly, is to me as welcome, as joyous, as must be the sunlight to the prisoner for years confined in gloomy dungeons. Howard. And you could forsake all that — could be happy here ? ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 103 Grace. Forever. Howard. O Grace, — Miss Ingalls, — you know not what pleasure that confession gives me. If I might hope — (Enter Susy, door l., with a pan of apples and a knife.) Susy. O, I beg your pardon. Do I intrude ? Grace. No, indeed, Susy. I was just giving a few finishing touches to my picture, and Howard — Mr. Gaylord — was admiring the color of my sky. Howard. Yes, Susy, that's all. Susy. O ! (Aside) Admiring the color ! They've both got an extra quantity of red in their faces. (Sits in arm-chair.) The reflection of the picture, I sup- pose. (Pares apples.) Grace. Are those hanging-clouds light enough? Howard. Exactly the tints displayed at sunset. But to my mind, that quaint scene above the clouds is the beauty of the picture. Ringold's Nest, we call it — Crazy Phil's rocky hut. Grace. The Hermit of the Mountain. I long to catch a glimpse of this mysterious hero of the Peak. Howard. I am expecting him here every moment; but you must look at him outside, for he never enters a house. I go gunning with him to-day. Grace. Gunning with a crazy man ? Howard. Phil is not crazy. His eccentricities have gained him that title here. Ten years ago he passed through here to the Peak, and took possession of the rude hut upon its summit. A wan, ragged, and hag- gard man. Occasionally he comes into our streets, but 104 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. shuns our abodes. His mountain life has made a new man of him; improved his health and spirits; and I want no better companion on a tramp, no wiser friend in council, than Phil Ringold. Grace. And his past history? Howard. Is a sealed book. Occasionally, in fits of abstraction, he mutters hoarsely of a faithless wife, a lost child, a false friend ; but when I question him, he is silent. Grace. Brave fellow ! Foiled in his battle with the world, he turns his back upon it, and in Nature's sol- itudes fashions a new life and battles with himself. Howard. One would imagine, from your poor opinion of the world you have left, that even you — young, talented, and — well, it is the truth — beautiful, had met with disappointment. Grace. No ; I have nothing to complain of, except the fact that I am nobody is a disappointment. Howard. Nobody! You — you have genius. Grace. Perhaps. That remains to be seen. I know I have courage to persevere, will to conquer; but, should I triumph, none to rejoice at my success. Howard. I do not understand you. Grace. Because you do not know me. I do not know myself. I am a waif, the property of nobody who will claim me. Originally, one of those mysteri- ous little mortals that are dropped by the way, as we sometimes dispose of a troublesome kitten. Howard. And your parents ? Grace. I have not the honor of their acquaintance ; nothing but the recollection of a loving face bending ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 105 over me; a silken beard I loved to stroke, long, long years ngo ; and then a change to rough hands, but kind hearts ; and then all is blotted, till my life began with Mr. Thorpe. Howard. Surely that was a pleasant change. Grace. He says he was a friend of my parents ; that both are dead — and nothing more. Where they lived, or where they lie, in vain I ask. He has ever been a kind friend to me ; allowed me to choose my artist life ; spared no expense ; encouraged me in every way; and yet, and yet — I hate him! Howard. Hate him? Grace. What right has he to stand between me and those who gave me life ? Howard. But if they are dead ? Grace (rising). Their memories should live in the heart of their child ; not be stolen from her; hidden away in the grave with them, as though they were guilty things, too base to be remembered. No, no; there is some mystery here. Would I could solve it (raises hand towards window r. and looks off). O, solitary dweller on the Mountain Peak, I can clasp hands with thee. Thou standest alone in Nature's loneliest haunts; amid the crowded ways of life, like thee, I am alone — alone. (With an effort.) Pardon me ; this is one of my changeful moods. I shall soon be better. \_Exit r. 1 E. Howard. A strange mood. So young; so beautiful. She fascinates me ! Am I wise to linger in her pres- ence ? To listen to her beguiling voice ? To look into her eyes? • She, a genius, and an angel 1 Dare I utter the words that spring to my lips — 106 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Susy. Ahem ! Howard. Susy, I had forgotten you. "What are you doing, puss ? Susy. O, I've been keeping Miss Grace and you company. Howard. In what way ? Susy. Paring! O, Howard Gaylord, you've just come, and been and gone and done it. Howard. What, puss ? Susy. Fallen in love with Miss Grace Ingalls. Howard. Nonsense, puss. Susy. Well, I think there is a great deal of non- sense about it. But ain't it nice to feel your heart going pitity-pat, pitity-pat, every time she looks at you, and to feel that delicious lump in your throat, like as though you were going to strangle with delight and was afraid you shouldn't! Howard. Well, you certainly understand the symp- toms, Susy. Susy. Indeed I do. I haven't lived seventeen years for nothing. But all that's nothing to what will come over you the first time you clasp her taper fin- gers. You'll feel just as though you were being lifted upon a bridge of rainbows. You'll be dizzy at first, but it soon wears olf. Hoicard. Ha, ha! you're well posted, puss. Was Curtis Chipman your instructor? Susy. Chips? Not much; he hasn't the courage to look me in the eye. Howard. And of course cannot feel the " pitity-pat " sensation. Curt is a good fellow, Susy ; mind you don't frighten him. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 107 Susy. I frighten him! He don't need any help, he frightens himself Howard. And you think I love Miss Grace ? Susy. You prove it, in being so anxious to return to the subject. Hoteard. What if I do, Susy. Do you think she would condescend to look with favor upon such a rough specimen as I ? Susy. Condescend ? My goodness ! Condescend to you, my brother ? The idea ! Why, Howard Gay- lord, I'm ashamed of you! You're none too good tot the best woman that ever trod the earth. Howard. Ha, ha, ha ! Right, Susy : I'm none u too good." Susy. Now laugh because I made a slip. You know what I mean ; and if you don't boldly woo and win Grace Ingalls, I'll disinherit you. Howard. Hush ! she 's here. Susy. I thought she couldn't keep away from you long. (Enter Grace, u.) Grace. There, the storm is over (goes to her easel). Susy (aside). Now's the time for rainbows! Why don't he squeeze her hand? Hoteard. Shall I disturb you if I look at your work? Grace. O, no; I'm quite myself again. Susy (aside). Look at her work, indeed ! He can't keep his eyes off of her. ( Whistle outside, l. Susy gradually falls asleep.) Hoicard. Ah, that's Phil Ringold. I must be off. Grace. O, do bring him in. 108 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Howard. I cannot ; it would be useless to make the attempt. Grace {rising). Tlien I'll have one good look at him {rises and goes up into doorway ; looks off l.). Yes, what a fine figure. Mr. Gaylord, your friend is splendid. Ah, he sees me (bows and smiles). He starts. He comes this way like a madman (runs down to easel ; turns and stands with hand on easel, bending forward, looking at door. Howard, l.) Phil (outside, l.). Hester ! Hester ! (Passes window and appears in doorway, gun thrown across his arm / stops and glares at Grace.) Hester! No, no; 'lis her face; but she — so like ! so like ! Where got you that face? It belonged to one I knew long years ago. So beautiful — but false. As young and fair, but heart- less and cruel. She made my home a ruin and my life a curse. Howard. Phil, old fellow, be calm. This is our guest, Miss Grace Ingalls — an artist. Look at her work there on the easel. Do you recognize it ? (Grace steps back towards window, r. Phil comes forward, his eyes fastened upon her face until lie nears the easel. He sighs ; lets his eyes rove round until they reach the picture / starts.) Phil (with a smile). Ah, the old nest. See, see, Howard! It's wondrous like — wondrous like! (Turns to Grace icith a boio.) I congratulate you, young lady, on your success. It is a charming picture. Grace. Thank you. Phil (starts). O, that voice ! — it brings back the old days — the mother with the child in her lap ; and ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 109 the music of her lullaby thrills me again and again. No, no ; let me shut it out — shut it out; it softens my heart, — and that should be steel, adamant, to bar out forever the traitoress, the false one. Come, How- ard, the day is speeding, and we've a long tramp. Come, come {goes up). Grace. Stay one moment. (Phil turns.) We meet as strangers to-day; but, believe me, I sympathize with your sorrows and your wi'ongs. Can we not be friends? ( Offers her hand.) Phil {takes it and looks in her face). My sorrows and my wrongs, child, they are forgotten. I trod the haunts of men, mingled with the bustling and the busy; loved, lost ; and then, there {pointing off through window, B.) on yonder mountain peak, perched myself above the clouds, that, floating at my feet, shut out all tokens of the sin and wrong below. Ah, little one, pretty one, this is a world of trouble. We joy and we sorrow, gain and lose; but there — there on His eternal mountains that pierce the sky, all is forgotten, for we are alone, — with Nature here, and Heaven there. Grace. May Heaven recompense you for all you have suffered. Phil. It will ; it does. My wrongs were like those of other men. I loved, and was deceived. I married, and found my wife's smiles were bestowed upon an- other. I was a fool to trust a woman, and so pay pen-' ance by forgetting the whole world. Howard. Except — Phil {giving Howard his hand). Except Howard, 110 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. for we are friends, and lie is of my own mind. He'll never trust a woman. (Howard withdraws his hand, looks at Grace, and turns away. Grace blushes and looks down.) Ho, ho! I've snid too much. Never mind ; it's only Crazy Phil. Come, Howard, we must be off, for game's afoot, and Crazy Phil is a wondrous good shot. Ha, ha, ha ! {At door, turns and bows to Grace.) Good-bye. So like — so like — it almost drives me mad. [Exit c. off l. Howard. You see, Miss Grace, Phil is an odd char- acter. Grace. Very. Howard. You mustn't mind all he says ; for in- stance, that remark about me that I would never trust a woman ; for there is one woman I could trust with my life, my soul. Grace. I hope there are many such. Howard. Yes — O, yes. But this one — Grace. Your friend is waiting, I see. Howard. I'm off. {Aside) She's not for me — not for me. I was a fool to think it. [Bows, and exit c. Grace. I'm on dangerous ground here. This rough but honest-hearted fellow is stirring my heart strangely. Is fate or fortune about to send some one to prove false my statement that there's no one to rejoice at my success? If so, I hope he'll be the man. [Exits,. 1 e. {Enter Chips from l. He comes on with his hat twirl- ing in his hand; comes to door slowly and stands looking down bashfully, rubbing against door-post.) Chips. I was just going by. {Pause). I said I was ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Ill just going by {looks up). Hallo! Nobody hero? That's queer, I vum ! (Comes down.) I've made up my mind that Susy Gaylord is the prettiest, smartest, and likeliest gal in these parts, and I've just got spunk enough to tell her so. (Sees Susy.) Jewhittiker! there she is ! (Hacks across stage to n., looking down and twirling his hat.) How d'e do? I was just going by. (Pause, looks up.) Why, she's asleep ! ( Comes to c. and looks at her.) Now, ain't she a beauty ! just clear pink and white. Look at them lips! there's honey for the taking ! Curtis, now's your chance (roijies his mouth with coat-sleeve) . She's asleep, and nobody's looking (creeps towards her). (Enter Nat Naylor, l.; looks through witidow.) Fm trembling all over; but, darn it, here goes! (Stoops to kiss her. Nat comes to door.) Nat. Brace up ! (Chips runs across stage to b. Susy wakes. Nat comes down.) Here 's robbery ! Grand larceny ! Bumpkin, forbear, touch not those tempting lips, Base is the man who thus felonious sips. Impromptu. Ahem! (To Susy) Excuse me, I am the avant courier of Mr. Alfred Thorpe, Mr. Titus Turtle, " and last but not least is our dear love," Miss Lucretia Gerrish, — three mountain travellers who are on their way to spend a {"aw days in this delightful mansion of Mr. Amos Gaylord. A stately pile, the country's pride and boast, Amid the mountain, with A Gaylord host. Impromptu. Ahem! (Struts up stage.) 112 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Susy. Well, I never! Chips. Wall, he 's gone crazy, and got it bad. Susy. Chips, what are you doing here? Nat (comes down). Chips, is it? O, Chips, I blush for you. Young lady, look upon me as your preserver. I caught this modest rustic in the very act of snatch- ing a kiss from those ruby lips, — Where Cupid sits enthroned with arching how, Before the ivoried walls that gleam below. Impromptu. Ahem! Susy. Chips, is it possible ? Did you dare ? Chips. Well, you see, Susy, I was going by, and — and — I thought I'd just drop in to tell you that — that — mother's making pickles to-day. Nat. O, Chips! Chips! While making pickles, mother dear, I find a sweeter pickle here. Impromptu. Ahem ! Chips. Look here, Mr. What's-your-name, you're a darned sight too free with your Mother Goose Melo- dies. Ef you get my dander up, you'll think a horse kicked you, — now I tell you. Susy. Chips, don't be rude. Chips. Well, I ain't a-goin' to be sassed by a feller that can't talk English. Nat. Chips, you want polish. Chips. Well, p'raps you 'd like to polish me. Ef you would, I'm your man. Come down behind the barn — Susy. Chips, I'm ashamed of you ! ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 113 Nat. So am I, Chips. The blush of shame is mounting to my cheek, It glows — It glows — There, I've lost it! You must know, I'm a protege of Mr. Thorpe's, destined to become a poet. Yes, he's fond of helping aspiring genius up the dizzy- heights — and I'm to be a poet. So, as practice makes perfect, I indulge in flights of fancy on all occasions. So if you happen to hear from my lips eccentric bits, don't mind them. It's nothing — mere practice. Susy. O, you're a poet! Well, I declare! Nat. Yes — NatNaylor. Sometimes called Natty, because my verses are neat and natty. See ? Susy. I am glad to welcome you to my father's house. Nat. Then I am in the presence of Miss Susy Gay- lord. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Allow me — (lifts her hand to his lips). Here on this band I pay the homage due To lovely woman — {About to kiss again ) Susy {withdrawing her hand). Thank you ; that will do. Nat. Impromptu. Ahem ! I must return to my friends. You may expect us in half an hour. Adieu (goes to door and turns). We part to meet again. — Sweet one, farewell. Chips, au revoir. \_Exit c. Chips. Get out, you tarnal swell ! Darn his pic- ture, I'll have one shot at him. (Runsup to Susy, takes three or four apples, and runs up to c.) 8 114 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Susy. Chips, what are you doing with my apples ? Chips {throwing apples off l. swiftly). There, im- promptu ! Darn you ! I wish they were Centennial eggs ! ( Comes down c.) Susy. Curtis Chipman ! Chips. That's my name, and I ain't ashamed of it. Susy. I'm ashamed of you ! Such treatment of a gentleman and a poet ! Chips. O, bother! What' s a poet, anyhow ? He can't tell a Shanghai from a Bantam, a pitchfork from a rake. What right has he to kiss your hand ? You never saw me trying it? Susy. No ; but he saw you attempting something worse, Chips. Chips. Don't care. I was just going by — Susy. Pshaw ! you 're always going by. Why don't you come straight to the house, and not make an excuse, when you know you are dying to see me. O, Chips, you're a good fellow, but you want a little pol- ish. Look at Mr. Naylor. Chips. Hang Mr. Naylor ! I hate him. Susy. And I like him. He's so gentle, so well- bred ; such a flow of language. I'm sure we shall be- come good friends. Chips {throws his hat on stage). Susy Gay lord, I'm mad; and I'm going to tell you just what I think of you. Snsy. That's right, Chips ; frankness is a virtue. Chips. You're a — a — confound it, Susy, you're an angel ; and I love you better than father or mother, sister or brother — ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 115 Susy. Uncles ami aunts, first and second ccusins. Put in all the relatives, Chips. Chips: I know I ain't handsome. Susy. So do I, Chips. Chips. I haven't what you call "polish." Susy. Not a bit, Chips. Chips. But I've got a heart crammed full of love for you. Will you marry me ? Susy. I cannot, Chips ; because — because — Chips. Because what? Susy. I'm an angel ; and angels don't many. Chips. Don't torture me, Susy. Susy. No, Chips — I should if I married you. So I'll be merciful and spare you. An angel of mercy, hovering nigh, To watch your footsteps when you're going by. Impromptu. Ahem ! Chips. Hang it ! don't you go to making melodies and jingles — Naylor's lingo. All fools make rhymes; they do, by jingo! * Susy. Impromptu. Ahem ! Ha, ha, ha ! Chips. You won't have me ? Susy. Haven't got time. Strangers are coming here, you know, and I must be bustling. All of them coming, including that delightful Mr. Naylor. Chips. Darn him! You'll be sorry for this, Susy Gaylord. As for that poet fellow, if I don't smash his rhyming-machine, then my name 's not Curtis Chipman (goes offc). Susy. Good-bye, Chips; call again when you're 116 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. going by. Ha, ha, ha ! I've found a new way to make a bashful lover speak. Get him mad, and then he dis- closes his passion. Ha, ha, ha! {Goes up and puts pan of apples on table.) {Enter Amos Gayloed, c.) Amos. Susy, has Mrs. Thorne returned ? Susy. No, father; she spent the night at Mrs. Green's, with her sick boy. Amos. Bless her ! that woman's a sister of charity, Susy ; a friend in trouble ; the poor pray for her, and the sick forget their pain when she is near. /Susy. Ah, father, you've a tender regard for our new housekeeper. Amos. To be sure I have, Susy. Isn't she a treas- ure here ? How carefully she looks after my comfort ; so quiet, yet so active at her household duties ; so un- obtrusive ; so motherly to you. Ah, it was a happy day when she came to our home ! Susy. Father, you surprise me ! Amos. I have a still greater surprise in store for you, Susy. I am going to ask Mrs. Thorne to marry me. Susy. Marry you ! Amos. Yes ; she has become so necessary here that I fear to lose her. She has evidently seen trouble, poverty. Why should not I try to make her forget all she has suffered by making her the honored head of this my home ? Susy. Father, no one would more gladly welcome her to that position than I. I truly, sincerely hope ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 117 you may be successful ; but I fear you will be disap- pointed. Amos. Don't dash my hopes, Susy ! I'm not a very old man. I have wealth. Susy. Any woman might be proud of your pro- posal, father ; but she has that in her face which tells me she has suffered deeply. Hester {outside a). I will have it attended to at once. Amos. Hush ! she is here. {Enter Hester Thorne from l., passing window to c. door. She has a light shawl on her shoidders y a rigolette on her head.) Hester. Good morning, Mr. Gaylord. Susy, have you missed me ? Susy. We always miss you, Mrs. Thorne. ( Takes her shawl and rigolette.) How is the boy ? Hester. Poor little fellow ! — at rest ; he died this morning. Brave to the last, he suffered uncomplain- ingly, and passed away with a smile upon his lips. Amos. You have had a weary night. You must take rest. {Exit Susy, door l.) Hester. No ; my brisk walk this morning has re- freshed me. Amos. I do not like to have you waste your strength in such constant watching. Hester. I think one gains strength in seeking to alleviate distress. Amos. Yes ; but — Hester. You think it unfits me for my duties as your housekeeper. 118 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Amos. Mrs. Thorne ! I/ester. Pardon me ; that was an unkind speech to so generous a man as you. Amos. I think only of your own health, Mrs. Thorne. I am anxious on your account solely. For a year you have been my housekeeper, and I need not tell you how highly you are respected here. Hester. I am glad to know you like me. Amos. So well, Mis. Thorne, that I am anxious to secure you for life. Hester {surprised). Mr. Gaylord ! Amos. Hester Thorne, I am too old a man to prate of love with a young man's passionate warmth. I have the most exalted opinion of your disposition, your talents, and your honor. Will you become my wile ? Hester. Mr. Gaylord, you know not what you ask. Impossible ! Amos. Impossible ! Mrs. Thorne, I am a man of few words ; but I am honest, earnest in my offer. Give your consent, and you are mistress here. Hester. Stop — stop — give me time — Amos. To consider my proposal? Hester. No, no ; not that. It must not, cannot be. O, you have taken me by surprise. I never dreamed of this. Your offer is generous, noble. You have been a kind, dear friend to me, and I respect you ; but marriage ! — No, no — there is a bar. Amos. You are a widow ? Hester. Widow or wife, Heaven alone can answer. Mr. Gaylord, there must be no secrets between us now. Listen to me ; listen to a story never breathed to mor- ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 119 tal ears before. Years ago, I, a young girl, was wooed by two suitors, both handsome and accomplished. One became my partner, and, for a year, happiness was my lot. Then a child was born to me, and still my happiness continued ; my husband loved me, and my home was heaven itself. When our little girl was three years old, the other suitor returned from a foreign land. My husband and he were intimate; he came to our house, and in an evil hour professed his love for me. I spurned him ; but still he came. Then I com- mitted the first error cf my married life. I kept his secret from my husband, but still avoided him Avith loathing and abhorrence. He — villain that he was — filled his friend's ears with slanderous reports. My husband grew cold, and still my lips were closed. One night — shall I ever forget it? — I awoke to find my- self alone. My husband had fled with our child, leav- ing behind, in letters that burned into my brain, his bitter taunts for my unfaithfulness and guilt. O, heav- ens, I, innocent and loving, to be so accused ! From that day I have never seen them. Amos. But could you find no clue? Hester. None ; day followed day, and still I waited. A year passed, and I read in a paper, marked for my inspection, the death of my child in a distant city. Amos. Was no provision made for your support? Hester. Ample; but I was too proud to take his wealth while he believed me guilty. With my own hands I toiled, patiently trusting to time to work out the right. Years have followed years, and still I wait. O Heaven, be merciful ; shed some light upon my dark 120 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. path, ere I go down into the grave. Let him believe me innocent, and death will be a welcome release. Anio . This is a sad story, Mrs. Thorn e. I thank you for the telling. You have a friend in me, trust me — a home here among us. You have been deeply wronged, and I'll search the world over, but your in- nocence shall be made clear. Hester. No, no ; let it rest. "Were my child living, for her sake I would be vindicated ; but I am alone, and, confident in my own integrity, can wait the right- eous verdict in the great hereafter. [Exit door L. Amos. She's a noble woman ; there's goodness and honesty in her friee. 'Tis hard to lose her; but I'll have the truth, wherever it rests. (Enter Alfrkd Thorpe, c.) Thorpe. Ah, my old friend, your doors are open, and, of course, the latch-string is out. Amos (shaking hands). Thorpe, welcome, welcome ; this is a surprise. Thorpe. Indeed ! Then my poetical protege, Nat Naylor, has surely not performed his duty. I sent him here to announce my coming. Amos. No matter; it needed no ceremony ; we are always ready to receive you. Thorpe. And my friends, I trust. But where's my Grace, and how is she ? Enraptured with your de- lightful scenery, I'll be bound. Amos. Yes ; enjoying herself hugely. She's a genius, Thorpe. Where did you find such a treasure ? Thorpe. Ah, that's a secret. But, between you and ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 121 me, she's the daughter of a couple whose married life was not as happy as it should have beeu. The wife went astray, and the husband went roaming, nobody knows where. Amos. And Grace — does she know of this? Thorpe. No ; she believes them both dead. Amos. Ah, and their names? Thorpe. O come, come, old friend, you are getting excited. I've told you quite enough. The rest is my secret. The intrigues of the world in which I live can scarcely interest you in your simple, honest, country life. Amos. And you are content to practise this decep- tion upon a young girl ? Thorpe. Who would be made unhappy by the knowledge I withhold ? Yes, believe me, old friend, in all I do, I am anxious to secure her happiness; for she has become very dear to me — so dear that I am here for the sole purpose of asking her to become my wife. Amos. Ah, this is a part of your secret ? Thorpe. Yes. I've told you I am a man of the world. I never allow anything to thwart me in my inclinations and desires. She is dependent upon me. I have made her young life pleasant and happy. Every wish has been gratified, every desire fulfilled. She looks upon me as her benefactor ; and when I ask her hand, I have no fear of a refusal. Amos. But there's such a difference in your ages. She may respect you as her benefactor, but when you ask her love, she may rebel. Thorpe. Possibly; but when she hears the story of her parents — when she knows that by making it pub- 122 ABOVE TITE CLOUDS. lie she might feel the stigma of their shame, she'll be glad to buy my silence. Amos. And you could do this ? Thorpe. Certainly, if by no other means I could gain her consent. Amps. Why, this is cowardly, unmanly. Thorpe, I would not believe you could be guilty of so ba^e a deed. Thorpe. Tut, tut ; this is the way of the world — my world. Amos. Then your world is a province of the infer- nal kingdom ! Thorpe. Possibly. And yours, of the better world ; for here you are much nearer to the heavens. Come, come, old friend, keep my secret and lead me to my protege. Amos. She 's here. ( Goes up stage.) {Enter Grace, b.) Thorpe. Ah, Grace! Grace! Grace {running to him and taking his hand). Wel- come, a thousand times welcome, Mr. Thorpe ! Thorpe. What a change ! The mountain air has put a rich color in your face ; you are wondrous beau- tiful, child. So you are glad to meet me again ? Grace. Indeed — indeed I am. If the mountain air has freshened my complexion, my absence from you has freshened the recollection of how much I owe to you, — how grateful I should be for all your care of me. Turtle (outside a). How soon will dinner be ready ? ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 123 Thorpe. Ah, there's Turtle ; with characteristic in- stinct he is sniffing the country air to catch a whiff from the kitchen fire. ( Goes up c.) This way, Turtle. (Amos comes to k. and sjyeaks with Grace.) Turtle (outside c). It's very well to say this way ; but, considering what I weigh, you'd better let me have my way in getting up. (Passes wi/idoic with Lucre- tia. on his arm., and enters c.) Thorpe, this is a wretched country ; it's all up stairs. Thorpe. Don't grumble, old fellow. Mr. Gaylord, my friend Titus Turtle. Amos. Glad to see you (shakes hands). Turtle. Thank you. Fine place you have, Mr. Gay- lord. Ah, fir.y little friend Grace! (Passes Amos, and takes her hand.) And how are you ? Hearty, eh ? Grace. Quite well, thank you, and delighted to meet you again. Thorpe. ( To Amos, presenting Miss Gerkish.) My friend, Miss Gerrish. Amos. Happy to meet you, and hope to make your stay pleasant in our homely way. Lucretia. Thank you. 'Tis really a delightful place ; delightful trees; delightful hills; delightful odors; and all — so romantic. Turtle. Right; Miss Lucretia (snuff's) ; delightful odor (snuffs). (Aside) Roast mutton. Lucretia (running to toindow, R.). O, Mr. Turtle, do come here, quick ; such an exquisite prospect! Turtle (goes to table). Thank you; here's a finer prospect to my taste (takes apple and eats). Lucretia. How gracefully those boughs bend to- wards the ground. 124 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Turtle. They can't help it ; they're loaded down with apples. Lucretia. And do see those lambs frolicking in the sunshine. Sportive, innocent creatures. I do love lambs — so romantic. Turtle {helping himself to another apple). So do I — with mint-sauce. Lucretia. And do see that poor dumb animal fast- ened there in the grass, like a martyr at the stake. Turtle. Ah, what luscious steaks he '11 make when he 's cut up ! Mr. Gaylord, what is the dinner hour in this mountainous country ? Amos. Twelve o'clock, Mr. Turtle. Turtle {looking at watch). O ! — two hours, thirty- five minutes and ten seconds (sinks into arm-chair, i,.) . I shall starve before that time ! Amos. Suppose Ave furnish you a lunch ? Turtle. Capital idea, Mr. Gaylord ; I've not eaten anything since six o'clock ! Thorpe. Titus ! Lucretia. Mr. Turtle ! Turtle. "Well, nothing worth mentioning. Thorpe. The lunch-basket was very heavy when we started. It is empty now ; and neither Miss Gerrish nor I have helped unload it. If I recollect right, there were a pair of chickens. Turtle. Only six pounds ! What's that to a hungry man ? Lucretia. Three dozen sandwiches. Turtle. Mere wafers ! Thorpe. Two dozen eggs. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 125 Turtle. So very small ! Thorpe. A box of sardines ; two dozen crackers; and turnovers enough to stock a country muster. O, Turtle, you cannot be hungry after such a feast. Turtle. Feast? Call that a feast ? Thorpe, I blush for you ! You're getting niggardly ! I shall have to be caterer for the balance of our trip. Thorpe. Then I'll provide a baggage-wagon. Lucretia. O, Mr. Turtle — dear Mr. Turtle, do make me happy by leading me to those flower-beds that bloom outside the window ? Thorpe. Yes, Turtle ; and Grace and I will bear you company. Turtle. That's right, Thorpe. You take them both, and I'll join you after I've had my lunch. Grace. I'll show the way. Come. [Exit E. 1 E. (Lucketia takes Thorpe's arm.) Thorpe {aside). Confound that glutton, he's spoiled a fine tete-a-tete with Grace. {Aloud) Turtle, remem- ber where you are, and don't make a hog of yourself. [Exeunt Thorpe and Lucretia, r. 1 e. Turtle. Now that's unkind of Thorpe. Is there anything about me, Mr. Gaylord, that bears the least resemblance to a hog? Hogs don't go upon two legs. Hogs have no delicate appreciation of the delights of eating. Hog indeed ! Amos. Never mind, Mr. Turtle ; it's one of Thorpe's pleasantries. Turtle. But I don't like it; it's a rude attack upon the fundamental principles of my being. Nature en- dowed me with uncommonly fine digestive faculties 126 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. and gastronomic talents. I didn't ask Nature to do it ; but having received what I did receive, it is my duty to use my talents — isn't it? Amos. Undoubtedly, Mr. Turtle. Turtle. Thorpe has no taste. He 's all head ; for- ever scheming. Smart, but unscrupulous. For proof — years ago we both enjoyed the hospitalities of a friend. Such dinners ! my mouth waters at the thought. I made love to our friend's table ; he to our friend's wife; consequence was — while I only broke bread, he broke up the family. Well, of the two, I'd rather be a hog than a serpent, for hogs are death on snakes. Amos (aside) Ah, this is news indeed ! Turtle. Then there's the girl Grace Ingalls. There's a queer story there. When he took her from old Jack Graham's house, at Greenland, she passed by another name than that. Hog indeed ! A hog would have to root long and well to unearth the secret you have kept so well, Alfred Thorpe Amos. Ah, the secret ! Turtle. Eli ? O, bah ! that's my nonsense, Mr. Gay- lord ; don't mind it. Come, let's to lunch. Amos (aside) Ah, he's crawled into his shell again — tins Turtle. But enough ; I have a clue. (Aloud) Be patient, Mr. Turtle, I will have it arranged at once. [Exit door l. Turtle. The old fellow looks hearty, and I've no doubt has a good larder. (Enter Nay lor, c.) Nat. Ah, Turtle, my boy, I've been looking for you. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 127 Give me my turtle — crying everywhere, Until the echoes sent mock-turtle through the air. Impromptu. Ahem! Turtle. Now don't do that, Nat ; you'll spoil my appetite. Those spasms of wit must be an awful strain on your weak brain. Rhyming is a sure sign of dys- pepsia; but when to that yon add punning, you are digging a pit that will undermine your constitution. Nat. What matters this frail structure untg me ? . I teed upon the heights of Poesy. Turtle. Must be high old feeding, —if you're a specimen, Nat. Nat. I hear afar the sound of rippling rills; I scent the verdure of a thousand hills. Turtle. No, you don't. {Snuffs.) That's mntton roasting. {Sjtuf's.) Glorious — isn't it ? O, will din- ner-time never come ? {Enter Susy, door l.) Susy. Lunch is on the fable, sir. Turtle. Ah, that's glorious news ! Come, Nat, join me with a knife and fork. I'll show you poetry — the poetry of motion from the hand to the mouth — flornething you can feel ; something you can taste. Come on. \Exit l. Susy. Will you follow him, Mr. Naylor? Nat. While such an angel hovers in my way? Thank you ; at present, think I'd rather stay. Impromptu. Ahem ! Susy. That's very pretty. Going to stay long? 128 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Nat. Well, Miss Susy, I cannot say. It seems to me I have been here too long already. My fluttering heart in piteous accents cries, Naylor, begone ; for here sweet danger lies. Impromptu. Ahem ! Susy. O, there's nothing here to hurt you ; a few snakes and woodchucks. Ain't afraid of woodchucks, are you ? Nat. • Were they as fierce as lions, I would rout, Yea, from your presence I would chuck them out. Impromptu. Al»em ! Susy. O what a man for rhyming ! Do you know, Mr. Naylor, I am something of a poet? Nat. You? Charming! I felt there was some hid- den beauty about you which attracted me. Susy. O yes ; I make verses — (aside) as ridiculous as yours. You'll find them all over the house. There's a sweet little legend of mine over the back door: — Stranger pilgrim, pause awhile; On this door-step, broad and flat, Let no stains of earth defile ; Wipe your boots upon the mat. (Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! Nat. Splendid ! Beautiful ! The true poetic prin- ciple. Susy. Think so ? Well, here's another. Mine are domestic verses. Wanderer, at the dizzy brink Of this freshly-painted sink, Beware the thrifty housewife's grow(e)l; On its peg hang up the towel. (Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 129 Nat. Exquisite! So appropriate ! Ah, Miss Susy, I toil over an humble rhyme in the hope that one of" these days I shall strike a mine of poetic metal that shall make the world ring with the music of my verse. Now, that's a pretty sentiment, if I could only put it into verse. Susy. Perhaps I could help you. Nat. O, if you only would, I should adore you. Susy. Would you ? Suppose we wander in the garden — there's so much there to inspire ? Nat. Witli pleasure. ( Offers his arm.) Susy (taking it.) You Avant to strike a mine? Nat. I aim to reach a rich poetic mine. Susy. As green and sappy as a towering pine. How's that? Nat. Very J)ad, Miss Susy. Pines have nothing in common with mines. Susy. Certainly they do. Ain't they both blasted ? Well, if you don't like that, try again. Nat. Grant me to find the true poetic mine, Susy. That laurels may my burning brow entwine. Nat. O, that's capital ! I 'd be the poorest scholar in thy school. . Susy. Stood on a bench, and plainly labelled — fool ! Ha, ha, ha! Impromptu. Ahem! (Huns off c.) Ha, ha, ha! Nat (following). Now Miss Susy ! how could you ? [Exit c. (Enter Grace, r. 1 e.) Grace. There's something in Mr. Thorpe's manner I do not like. Twice he has seized my hand with a 9 130 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. fervor that startled inc ; find continually his eyes are fixed upon my face with a look that terrifies ine {goes to easel). So I've left him to listen to Miss Gerrish's rhapsodies. Ha, ha, ha ! So romantic {works at her picture). {Enter Hestkk, door l.) Hester. Good morning, Grace {comes to easel). Grace {extending her hand). Good morning, dear friend. We have missed you sadly. Hester. Indeed ! 'Tis pleasant to be missed. And how comes on our famous picture? Grace. Judge for yourself. Hester {looking at picture). Ah, better and better. It improves with every touch of your brush {lays hand on her head). Ah, my dear, you will become famous! Grace. And that is something to be^desired. Hester. Yes ; when laurels can be worn modestly, as you will wear them {removes her hand). Grace. Don't take your hand away ; its caress sym- bolizes something to be desired more than laurels. Hester {replacing her hand). And that is — Grace. Affection. O, Mrs. Thome, a mother's touch could be no more gentle and soothing — and that I have not felt for years. Hester {kisses her). Poor child ! Grace. O, thank you, Mrs. Thorne ; you are a mother? Hester. Alas ! a childless mother. Once I clasped a tiny form, showered kisses on its infant lips, stroked with tenderness its golden locks, and was so happy. But we were parted; and the sweet memory of that ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 131 happy union are all that's left me now. O, my little daughter ! my darling, darling child ! ( Weeps.) Grace. (Hises and pats her arm about her waist ; liads her dozen front.) O, would I could* take that daughter's place; not to drive her from your heart, but to share with her its love — the living and the dead! Hester. O, Grace, there 's a tone in your voice, a look on your face, that brings her back to me. Had she lived, she would have been of your age. Grace. Then let her live in me. I could toil for you, suffer for you, to be recompensed with the delight of calling you "mother." Hester. Then call me — No, no ; I had forgotten. Grace, that name cannot be given me now. My fair fame has been tampered with. O Grace, child, pity me. I am innocent in thought and deed, but the sharp dart of suspicion has been launched at me, and I must bear the sting. Grace. But not alone. Let me share your sorrow ; comfort you as you can comfort me. Hester. No, no, it cannot be. I should love you so dearly, that when the sneers of the world should come — as come they would — and should part us, my mis- ery would be more than I could bear. Heaven help me, I am indeed accursed! {Totters to arm-chair, throws herself into it / covers her face with her hand' kerchief, and weeps.) Grace, c. O, this is cruel ! Thorpe (outside c). Grace, Grace ! (Miters c. and comes down n.) You little witch, why do you run away from me, when I've come here on purpose to see you? (Takes her hand.) Yes, Grace, to woo you ? 132 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Chrace. To woo — ine ? (Hester removes her hand' kerchief, and stares at hfm.) Thorpe. Yes, Grace ; you shall be my wife : I love you so dearly. Grace. No, no, not that. (Snatches away her hand, and runs R., leaving him staring at Hester.) Death rather. \_Exit R. 1 E. Thorpe (amazed). Hester Thorne! Hester (bending fomoard). Ay, Alfred Thorpe, Hes- ter Thorne, the woman you have wronged. Coward ! Twelve years have not changed your heart, though your locks have all the beauty of honorable years. (Hises.) Thorpe. Well, we meet again. How ? as friends or foes? Hester. Can you ask? Dare you ask? You, who with smooth tongue and smiling lace blasted a happy home, wrecked a good man's happiness, and sent a lov- ing woman forth to battle with the world. Thorpe. Hm! Well, I have your answer — Foes. So be it. What are you doing here ? Hester. My duty. Thorpe. You must be my friend Gay lord's house- keeper. Strange I never heard your name ! Perhaps you have changed it? Hester. No ; 'twas a good name, given me by an honorable man. I have not soiled, so should not blush to bear it. Thorpe. Indeed ! Well, you know I could make this place too hot for you ? Hester. Could you? Try it. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 133 Thorpe. A whisper to Gaylord, and the house- keeper's place would be vacant. Hester. Do not leave your friend in the dark. Give him your confidence, your advice. Be an honorable counsellor — you are so fitted for it. Thorpe. Hester Thorne, beware ! Do not tempt me to crush you ! On one condition I am silent. Let not that girl Grace know we have met before. Hester. Condition? No; I will make no bargain with a villain. Do your worst. I have the courage — weak woman that you judge me — to fight you there — the power to win. Thorpe. Enough. I know my duty to my friend ; be assured I shall perform it. {Enter Amos l., with a valise in hand.) Amos. Thorpe, I come to beg your pardon for a most inhospitable act. 1 am called away suddenly; have five minutes to catch the stage; may be gone two or three days. Make yourself at home here, and trust your comfort to Mrs. Thorne. Good-bye {shakes hands with him). Good-bye, Mrs. Thorne {shakes hands with her, then goes up). Thorpe. But, Gaylord, one word. Amos {comes dozen). Well, be quick; I've no time to lose. Thorpe. Well — {looks at Mrs. Thorne ; she smiles and goes vp stage to table.) Amos, you believe me to be your friend? Amos. Certainly. Thorpe. That woman there is dangerous. 134 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Amos (whistles). You don't menu it? Well, Thorpe, do von know, I've just begun to tliink so? Thorpe. I've met her before. She i .■; not what she seems. She's a deserted wife. Amos. Is she, poor thing? Thor*pe. Deserted by her husband, and not without cause. I could tell you a story. Amos. But I haven't time. Goodness gracious! how my legs will have to fly now ! Thorpe. And you will trust that woman here after what I have told you ? Amos. Certainly. Why not, Thorpe ? I'm sur- prised at you — a man of the world, you know. She's a good housekeeper, and — and — the rest is my secret (with mock pomposity). The mysteries of my " sim- ple, honest country life" — ahem! — can scarcely interest you — the man of intrigue, you know. Don't be fright- ened, she won't hurt. Good-bye (goes up). Ah, Mrs. Thorne, I believe I lbrgot to shake hands with you (gives hand). Hester. A pleasant journey, sir. Amos. Thank you. Take good care of yourself (with a look at Thorpe). I know you'll care lor the comfort of my guest, for I have every confidence in you ; nothing could shake that. Good-bye (rvns ojf'c). Thorpe. Curse that woman ! she has bewitched him (goes r). Hester (coming down l.). Well, Mr. Thorpe, it seems your power to harm me here is weak. [Exit door l. Thorpe. Time will tell. ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 1-35 (Enter Grace and Litchetia, arm in arm, n.) Lucretia. Perfectly enchanting! I had no idea the country could be — so romantic ! O, Mr. Thorpe, I have had such an Arcadian ramble in the farmyard, seeing the little chickens running about with the aban- don of children ; the fatherly roosters with their clarion chorus; and the motherly biddies, with their careful affection for their youmr. Even the swine in their rustic abode, with the little pink-nosed pigs frolicking about them, was a delicious picture — so romantic! ( Goes to lounge.) Phil {outside). Not for me — not for me. There's freedom without. I'll be none of your hot-house flowers. Good-bye. Grace. Ah ! there's Crazy Phil. I've lured him in once ; I'll try it again. Thorpe. Shall I never get a word with her? Grace (at door; smiles off). He sees me. Yes, -I triumph. He 's here. (Phil runs up to c. with gun.) Phil. Ah, those bright eyes again ! There 's magic in their glance. Wife — child — home — come back to this desolate heart ! Thorpe. Ah ! (Aside) Brought to light at last. {Aloud) Crazy Phil indeed! Ha, ha, ha! Phil (starts). Ah, that voice ! 'Tis he — the de- stroyer! Years come and go, but fate holds the lines of life. We meet at last, — despoiler of my home ! Wretch accursed ! Death to thee ! Death to thee ! (liaises gun.) Grace. No, no. (Puns down to Thoepe and throws 136 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. arms about his neck.) lie 's mad ! he \s marl ! (How- aud enters door c, seizes Phil around waist, and snatches gun.) Howard. Madman, hold ! Phil {struggling to free himself). Away ! He's mine — he's mine! Foul bird of prey! you feasted at my hearth-stone; you plucked from out my heart my life ! my love ! Henceforth you are marked ; my aim is sure. Beware of Phil Thorne ! {Enter Mas. Thorne, l.) Hester. Phil ! — my husband ! {Falls with her arm and head in arm-chair.) Tableau. Phil at door c, his clenched hand raised. Howard, with arm about waist, holding him back. Thorpe r. Grace, with arms about his neck, head on his breast. Hester lying with her head in arm- chair. Lucretia on lounge, looking on. [Slow Curtain."] ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 137 Act II. — Scene: Same as in Act I. Easel removed from the stage. Foot of lounge turned toward window, r. Moonlight through xcindow strong on Phil, who lies upon lounge, boots changed for slip- pers. Howard standing at head of lounge, leaning against flat, his hand on Phil's head. Hester standing behind window in flat, looking in at Phil. Footlights down. Music soft and loio at rising of curtain. Phil. How grandly the moonlight tips my old hut above the clouds! Dear old place; would I were there, where all is peace. Ah, Howard, when I de- scend that mountain, I leave behind my better self. The sight of the habitations of man awakes bit- ter memories of wrong and outrage, fill me with loathing of my race, and stir my baser nature with fierce desires for revenge. Why is it? Here I am always under the clouds; dark, dismal night forever here. Howard. And yet the moonlight lingers as loving- ly about you here as there. See how it floods the fields and shimmers on the stream. Ah, Phil, 'tis a beautiful world — this of ours; and, whether on the mountain-top or in the valley, robed in light or darkness at thi desire of our own hearts. Phil. That's queer philosophy ! Howard. 'Tis the truth, Phil. I am young and buoyant; life has gone smoothly for me, and all is 138 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. light. You have suffered — still suffer; and the dnrk- ness of night has fallen upon your heart, blinding your eyes to all the beauty about you. Am I not right ? Phil. Why am I lying here, Howard ? Howard. I am glad to hear you ask that, Phil. 'Tis three days since you were suddenly prostrated. You remember the day we went gunning — Monday? Phil. Yes. Hoicard. On our return you were suddenly taken ill, and until this afternoon you were unconscious. Phil. Yes. Well, I'm better now. But why was I taken ill ? Howard. Well, you don't care to know that, Phil ? Phil. You need not pause, Howard. I know I met here under your roof my wife and — and — Howard. Mr. Thorpe. Phil. Under the same roof, — he, the false, — and she, the faithless ! O, Howard that man — that fiend ! Where is he? Did I slay him? Howard. He is gone ; where, I know not. Phil {starting to his feel). No matter ; I'd reach him, were he at the centre of the earth. Curse him ! I thought long years had dulled my spirit: but the sight of him has aroused the avenging demon in my soul, nought hut his life can satisfy. (Goes to n.) Howard (comes down l.). No, no, Phil ; forget your wrongs ; forgive your enemy. Phil (r.). Forgive him ? Howard, that man was my dearest friend. We both loved one woman. She chose me; and he, clasping my hand, wished mo hap- piness, and fled abroad, to crush out his passion. Well, ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 1X9 his ■wish was fulfilled. I was happy, supremely happy. Wife ami child — two golden links in life's chain — were mine. Then he returned, still my friend. With full faith in his friendship, I received him a welcome guest in my home. Then, then, over the sunshine of my life lulled the dark clouds. He was one of your soci- ety-men — glib of tongue, ready to fetch and caYry at the glance of a bright eye ; all smiles and pretty ways — bah ! a ladies' m:in — while I was brusque and some- times rough, — though not to her — no, not to her. ( Crosses to b.) I saw she was pleased at his attentions. Howard. And you were jealous ? Phil. Not then. But one day I saw him slip a note into her hand; another; caught him at her feet ; :md then, filled with fury, I followed him from the house to his hotel, and there faced him and demanded an explanation. Then, IIowar