on every third note. It didn't matter to her whether the rest of the congregation went up too or not, she stood by the strength of her convictions and went up alone. It might not have gone so hard with me if Fred had not nudged me and whispered, "I wish she'd say 'whom.'" And Mr. Harding and Mr. Bertrand were both looking at me with the plain intention of making me laugh. The three combined produced the desired effect. I was simply convulsed right in church! Will you forgive me? Now you don't know who Mr. Harding and Mr. Bertrand are, do you? Mr. Harding is the "hero"the gentleman who caught me when I stumbled on the deck. We gaze at the waves and say things to each other that our honeymoon couple would envy. Mr. Bertrand is the gentleman who made room for me to see the porpoise. His wife is a little baby-blue eyed woman without many brains, but sweet and lovable. "Not a gull! You won't shoot a sea gull!" "Yes," he answered. "Why not?" "It would be so cruel," I answered. "They are hungry and are following the boat for something to eat. They don't dream of harm, or they would not follow. They trust you and you shoot them!" He gave me a pitying smile and put the gun to his shoulder. Then, in sheer desperation, I blurted out about how my people had struggled with a sagebrush desert: how, just as the crops were beginning to come, a cloud of crickets came, too, destroying everything; how the sea gulls ate gulls ate the crickets, ate and ate, gorging themselves and disgorging again and again, until the crickets were all gone; how the people were saved from famine in that way and looked upon the gulls as sent by Providence; and how, when peace and plenty followed, they taught their children to hold the gulls sacred from harm. "This may sound 1.ke a fairy tale to you," I continued, "but it is a historical fact. There are thousands of gulls flying about our lake and we love them. I couldn't bear to see one hurt. I don't ask anything of you, except that for this once, while I am here to see it, you won't shoot at them." I think I have written enough nonsense now, don't you? But I want to tell you one thing and I don't know how to. It was the morn、 ing that we sighted land. Oh, the shore of England, green and love ly! And to think that I was really there! I stole away from Fred and June and went to the stern, where Well, good people, the man was our dear old Stars and Stripes was a gentleman, so he considered my refloating. A great flock of gulls was quest, even if he did not see the following the vessel. What a pret- thing as I did. And then I noticed ty sight it was, and how much like that we were the center of an adhome it seemed! Lo, for only one miring (?) group who had come to little moment, I played that I was see the shooting and, therefore, had on the Saltair pavilion and that all heard the dialogue! I believe that of you were downstairs having lunch. if I could have fallen dead on the And I was thinking of you and how spot, I should have done so gladly. dear you are to me, and of how I That world of eyes with their various loved the gulls, when a voice broke expressions was more than I could in with, "I'll take a shot at one!" bear. One great wave of color toAnd there was a young fellow with tally submerged me, and I ran to my his gun! I did not stop to think stateroom as if I were the poor litwhat I was doing. I put my hande gull in danger of being shot. How on his arm and said: thankful I was that Fred and June weren't there! Why do I do Now, please don't laugh at me, grave these things, I wonder? There Aunt May and giddy Doris and the is nothing I hate so much rest. Sympathize! To think that a being conspicuous, and yet on all the earth, there isn't a person always doing something. who, for general idiocy, can take the laurels from "Miladi." I that makes me conspicuous. It seems as if my only gift is making a fool of myself! Fred says that I must not hide my talent in a napkin, but make the most of it. I suppose that I will go on following his advice, no matter how I try not to. I have been hating myself ever since. Fred and June send oceans of love. Of course I counted them in with the C. C.'s I was so proud of June with her clean, clear skin, soft, shiny hair, and eyes like an angel's. (To be continued.) WHAT HAPPENED IN DREAMLAND. This dialogue is the second of the series written to illustrate the lessons in Ethics. This one, as will be seen, develops the ideal of the home, and demonstrates, to an extent, the fact that the home is the unit of society. CHARACTERS. Fred Lovell-A Mormon youth. man. Freddie Jr.-A child in Dreamland. Rose Douglass-A Mormon girl. day we have had. A little too warm, maybe, for comfort, but delightful withal. Chauncey Elliott:-Most true. Weather perfect, the men good natured, the ladies beautiful and fascinating Marcia Maxwell: (Courtesying with a mocking air,) Oh, Mr. Elliott, you are pleased to be complimentary Chauncey: And the picnic-ye gods! That salad, the pineapple lemonade, the, the Alonzo Merrill:-Hold on, Elliott, you'll make us all hungry again. Irene Merrill:-Now, Alonzo! You Rosebud Jr.-A child in Dreamland know your weakness, boy. (Turning Mary-A maid servant in Dreamland. makers. to Marcia.) This brother of mine conjugates hungry in one tense only. The present tense, first person, and very singular. There is no past nor Dreamland-Fred's cot- future about his hunger, for it is a Scene I. Picnic in the Grove. Scene II. Dreamland-Fred's home on the Heights. Scene III. tage home. Scene IV. Picnic in the Grove. SCENE I. PICNIC IN THE GROVE. (Curtain rises discovering all the company laughing and merry making. Some are seated, others standing and chatting, others walking about. The seating of the stage should represent as much as possible a grove, with trees, banks and flowers.) Harry Smith:-What a charming very irregular verb within the everpresent active voice. Alonzo Merrill:-Now, see here, sis, you needn't run me so hard about eating. It takes a good deal more to fill up six feet two than four feet two. Remember that I am two feet taller than you are, little sister. (Standing beside her and holding his arm out straight, above her head.) Fred: Convert Chauncey Elliott? Well, hardly! I wish uncle would drop that. Irene: Why, Fred? If we have the truth, and we love mankind, won't we endeavor to convince them of that truth? Fred:-(Testily.) Fred: (Testily.) Oh, I Oh, I don't know, cousin. Have we any more truth, anyway, than any one else? Won't everyone who does fairly well be about as well off as we will be? We don't do fairly well, some of us. Irene: Why Fred Lovell, I'm surprised at you. What have you been doing to yourself lately? You are certainly changing. Even Rose has noticed it. Fred:-Well, what of it, must a man never change or grow? Must I be a fossil? There are too many fossils among us now. The world moves, cousin. Hark! Hark! They have persuaded Rose (note: or Marcia or any member who sings) to sing! All:-A song, a song! (After a song is sung, a duet or chorus, or instrumental music may be added or a few brief musical selections. After the little concert is ended, Uncle John comes up C.) Uncle John:-Rose, my dear, come here. I want Miss Maxwell and her sister to have a little chat with you. (Turning and introducing Rose to Ethelyn and Marcia.) This is the president of our ward Young Ladies' Association. This young lady is the only daughter of a widowed mother, and her only support. Marcia:-Ah indeed! How extremely interesting! (Offering the tips of her fingers, with a grand, yet gracious air.) Would you mind telling me about yourself, Miss Douglass? I have heard some one else, Mr. Lovell, perhaps, speak of you. Are you a clerk, or a school teacher? Rose Douglass:-No, ma'am; I work out. deed! You work out at typesetting, Marcia: (Surprised.) Oh-h! Inor something of that sort? Rose: (Unabashed and smiling.) Oh, no. Not that at all. I work out at Uncle John's. Aunt Phebe's health is poor, and I am doing the work. Ethelyn: A lady help, I presume. Uncle John:-Nothing of the kind. She's my wife's hired girl. And as clean and neat as wax, and as economical as Aunt Phebe herself. But Rose, here, finds time to take music lessons, and she makes a fine president for the Mutual. Marcia: Dear me! What a very queer people you are. I shall never quite make you out. It is all very puzzling. Listen, there is the band again. I hope, Miss-Miss Uncle John:-Douglass! Miss Rose Douglass! Did I call her Rose to you! Pardon me. (All bow and separate.) Marcia:-(Aside to her sister.) Fancy! Introducing us to his servant girl! What a lack of taste! What a stupid old gentleman! Ethelyn:-Don't you be stupid, sister mine; that very same hired girl is the brightest girl in Oakville, and your new infatuation, Mr. Lovell, has been her lover ever since they were grown. Marcia: Impossible! Fancy such a thing! A hired girl for a rival! To me! Ethelyn: No fancy, but plain fact. Come sister, let us leave this little town tomorrow; I am so tired of all these religious people, and I am wild for some balls and theater parties and all the rest. Let us wire papa to meet us in Salt Lake Saturday morning. Marcia: Not yet, Ethelyn; there is to be a grand ball here, you remember, tomorrow. And I am determined to make this country beau bow to my will. He has much to thank me for, now, in the freedom of thought and spirit which I have helped him to; he shall have yet more gratitude, for I am quite re solved to make him so dissatisfied with his tame and stupid surroundings and friends that he will be glad to escape. Ethelyn:-Be careful, sis, or you will fall in love, meanwhile, with your country bumpkin. Marcia: Hush! Here he comes, with that servant girl by his side. (She turns aside scornfully.) Fred: Pardon me, ladies, I did not know you were left here alone. I trust you will excuse our thoughtlessness. Marcia:-We were just resting, thank you, and quite happy. Where are the rest? Fred: The young people are trying to coax Uncle John to take them up to the Indian Cave. It is a long climb, and the cave is a dangerous place, although very wild and romantic. Uncle knows every foot of the way. Marcia: How very interesting! I am so anxious to go. Shall we add our persuasions? (Goes gently near Fred, and looks coaxingly at him. Fred looks uncertainly at Rose.) Fred: (Slowly.) If Miss Doug lass will excuse me a moment-1 brought her Marcia: (In assumed confusion.) Oh, I beg your pardon! Pray excuse my rudeness, I didn't know you were engaged Fred:-Engaged? (With embarrassment,) I to Rose? Oh no, not at all—I—that is—I-simply brought Uncle John:-Why, Fred, you here alone? Where's Rose, and where are the two Gentile girls? Fred: All gone up to the cave. I thought you were there, Uncle. They were to follow you. Uncle John:-Well I came to look for the young girls who are strangers among us. I don't like to have you young men too attentive to them; nor, on the other hand, must they be neglected and slighted. But I'll take the short cut and catch them before they get half way up to the cave; you won't come, then? (Fred shakes his head.) Say, Fred, which of the two girls, Miss Marcia, or Rose, will you take to the ball tomorrow night? Fred: I don't know, I'm sure. I am just torn to pieces in my feelings, Uncle John. I never suffered more in my life. Uncle John:-Well, my boy, choose wisely, for, no doubt, that party will be a sort of turning point in your life. Rest here; we will be gone an hour, plenty of time for you to think it out. And Fred, remember you have a Father in heaven to call on. (Exit.) Fred: (Lying down on the bank.) I wish I knew which to choose; Marcia is so fascinating, and so beautiful. She is a lady. While Roseoh, Rose is sweet and true; but which? Which? (Fred falls to sleep, music.) Fred's home on the Heights, in New York City. IN DREAMLAND. (Enter Marcia, much older-looking, dressed elegantly and followed by a maid with her cloak over her arm.) Marcia: Has your master returned? Mary: No, ma'am. I heard Jones, the coachman, say, that he had ordered the carriage to call for him at his office at nine o'clock. Perhaps he is not well, ma'am. Marcia:-(Haughtily.) Pray keep your opinions to yourself, Maguire. Mary: My name is Miss Maguire, ma'am. When I was in Ireland, I did not mind the ladies speaking so to me; but I am in America now, ma'am, and we are all free and equal, ma'am. Marcia:-(With indignant sarcasm.) I presume American money is as good as Irish money, Maguire. You may consider yourself dismissed. Mary: Indeed I will, ma'am. I could never live with the likes of you. Enter Ethelyn. Mary (to Ethelyn):-Indeed, ma'am I told you yesterday, ma'am, I could not sister ma'am. stay with your She wants to put on all the style as the English ladies have, ma'am, but she has neither their kind heart nor their good manners, ma'am. Good-by, ma'am, goodby. (Exit.) Ethelyn:-What is it, Marcia? I hunted for two months to get you this excellent lady's maid. And she had such splendid recommendations from her English employers. Marcia: (Angrily.) Well, she is an impudent piece of baggage! And so are they all! I am sick of America; I want to live in England, where people are put in their proper places and kept there. Ethelyn:-Nonsense, Marcia. I don't wonder Fred is nearly worn out with your vagaries. You've not made him a very loyal wife. Marcia: Well, I've made him Marcia:-Well, rich, and taught him to break loose from his stupid Puritanical, Mormon notions; Fred can stay all night at the club, and drink as much wine as any man in town; he can swear picturesquely, and really-he's quite an elegant man of the world, in looks and in behavior. Ethelyn:-Yes, you have succeeded in making Fred almost as polished a rascal as dwells in New York City. But I don't like him as well as I did years ago when he was an innocent youth in far-away Utah. Marcia:-Bah! He bores me! and so does your talk about him! He has had talent enough to become a very successful Wall Street speculator; this gives me jewels and luxury. For that I am not sorry, of course. But he does get so stupid and sentimental |