P s LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Liil, A l^LAY IN FOUR A.CT©. REAL LIFE. BY MAUDE ALLEN. (For amateurs.) Act second, Dennis McGuire's Cottage, is com- ^ plete in one act. Characters required : two ma^, H[ three female and two children. 3 PRICE, TWENTY CENTS^^-. oJ -^ ^/EB 221894 CINCINNATI: / / 2^o3 ^ ROBERT CLARKE & CO. 1891. t- T543r Copyright, 1894 m p©?/r p. (Hn A?r'njMivjA'r: -^IMQ' THE SUMMER BOARDER. A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. COSTUMES. The usual yachting and tennis costumes, worn at sea-side resorts. . CHARACTERS. Miss Daisy Comstock, young Frank Livingston, a New sister. Yorker. Miss Kate Comstock, an old Dennis McGctire. maid. Mrs. Betty McGuire. Mrs. Wycliffe. Jerushy McGuire, ^ ~, ... Miss Flossie Wycliffe. Johnnie McGuire, j ^ ^®°' Dr. Stanhope, D. D. Mrs. McCarty. Miss Grace Peninkton, summer Adonis Cruikshanks, the boarder. groom. Miss Dorothea, or Dot Mon- Maria Sophia Pearson Steb- TAGUE, a Southern girl. bins, the bride. SCENE. A handsome parlor of a summer hotel, with large open doors and windows opening out on to a piazza, with the beach and harbor in full view. The water covered with yachts, row-boats, and a pier; the little ferry plying between the main land and the island. At the opening of the play, the orchestra will play " The Star Spangled Banner." When they come to the end of the verse, " That our flag is still there," the curtain commences to rise, showing two porters on the lawn (with their check-shirts on), hoisting the flag to the top of the flag-staff". (This is a morn- ing scene.) The guests, young and old, of the hotel, grouped (3) 4 THE SUMMEK BOARDEPw. around on the lawn and piazza, watching them. Then, as the orchestra continues to play the chorus, it will make a beautiful tableau for the audience to look at, and also give the young sister a chance to watch the actions of her sister, to call forth the first remark. ACT I. Daisy Comstoch (always lounging round with a paper-covered novel). Well, sister Kate, what traps and plans have you laid for to-day? You look as if you were just brimful of busi- ness. Kate Comstoch. Why do you ask such a silly question ? I am sure I know of nothing different, or unusual, from other days. Daisy Comstoch. I should judge from your appearance, at present, they were otherwise. Kate Comstoch (thinking a moment and shrugging her shoulders). Well ! it does please me very much when I think how green with jealousy the Woods will turn when told by the Taylors who composed my clique here. Daisy Comstoch. Ha, ha, ha ! Is that the latest bulletin from you this morning? Decidedly rich, I must confess I Nevertheless, do you think people are so blind as not to see how you maneuver to get with them? You have to lie awake all night planning how you can secure them through the day. People can easily see through your tricks. Your efforts are so desperate you can not hide them. Take my word for it, these people would n't notice you if you w^ere to go to their towns. Now, you see if they do n't make excuses about ex- changing cards with you when they are going home. Kate Comstoch. Count me one ahead, then. I do not have to ask for them. I have always made it a point to collect the cards, and ring the door-bells, whenever we have been calling in the village; so, every card I particularly wanted, I just lost it in my pack, when I pretended to get one of mine. So, I have all their cards, and no thanks, or extra charge to them. THE SUMMER BOARDER. O Dai^ Comstoch. Then, you having the cards, their friends will never know that they have called. Kate Comstock. That 's their lookout, not mine. (Enter Mrs. and Flossie Wycliffe, glancing around the room.) Kate Comstock. I suppose you are looking where SHE is ? Flossie Wycliffe (laughing). Whom do you mean ? Miss Peninkton ? Mamma calls her " Silence on a camp-stool." I call her the "Sphynx." Kate Comstock. She moves in such a mysterious way that no one knows whence she came, or whither she goeth, or what she is doing. All the time I am in her presence I feel so un- comfortable — a sort of creeping, crawling sensation. She re- minds me of the owl the Irishman bought for a parrot. He said "it didn't say much, but it kept up a divil of a think- ing." Daisy Comstock. Mr. Livingston calls her his " Queen of Song." He says that she is simply divine. He believes she is a Gary or Abbott incognito. He always leaves the room when you are all slandering her. Enter Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Now, ladies, let us be more chari- table. You know we are often told that we may be enter- taining angels unawares, and it may prove true in her case . so, if she must have a nom de plume, I propose we all call her The Summer Boarder. Flossie Wycliffe. Pray do not give her another nom de plume. I think she is already decorated with one. Her own egotism would select the name of Grace, but in what bio- graphical or geographical dictionary can you find the name Pen-ink-ton ? Miss Comstock. I believe it is so; that angels do go through the world without registering; but, I fear. Doctor, you are like all the men, always ready to be taken in and gulled by any sharpers — in petticoats. Mrs. Wycliffe. Oh ! do let us get onto a more interesting subject. Doctor, how are you enjoying your vacation ? 6 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Dr. Stanhope. Very much, indeed, Mrs. Wycliffe. I left all my cares and worriments at home for my parishioners to take charge of, and I have not only enjoyed, but have been very much benefited by my sojourn in this delightful place. Mrs. Wycliffe. I presume, as you are from an inland city, and deprived of the pleasure of boating, that you must be fond of driving. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. I am very fond of driving, provided I hold the reins ; but, with hired livery, just as you arrive at a beautiful point in the landscape, just at that very moment the Jehu will lash up the horses, and, if the sudden start has not unseated you, it has robbed you of all control over your nerves and vision. Yes, I am exceedingly fond of driving, but I must hold the reins. As for boating, you are aware that I spend most of my time on the water. Kate Comstock. You spent last evening on the water, did you not, doctor? As a party of us sat on the lawn, we could distinctly hear your merry crew singing, "A Life on the Ocean Wave ;" and, as we drank in the beautiful scene and listened to the soul-stirring music, one felt as if they had been wafted unconsciously to some higher sphere, and were permitted to commune not only with nature, but with na- ture's God. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Last evening was a very remarkable evening ; there seemed to be a mighty, but unseen, presence hovering over us — an unaccountable feeling of awe, but stripped entirely of all traces of fear or terror — a weird, uncanny at- mosphere surrounded us. It was a Tam O'Shanter witch night, without the storm. As you remember, after the beau- tiful sunset, the night was very dark ; and, as our boat passed the " Point of Kocks," those high bowlders, towering over the water, looked like great land monsters, who, striding at will over hill and plain, had at last met an obstacle ; the restless waves that lashed their high sides, being charged with such an abundance of phosphorescence, seemed like fiery tongues from the great caldron below, threatening and warning them THE SUMMER BOARDER. 7 from venturing nearer. We could outline them in the dark- ness leaning and hesitating, as if charmed and spellbound by the cringing and then springing fiery serpents at their feet. I could not help comparing them with the lives of our great and the lives of our ordinary men. The great men and the huge rocks make a great splash and commotion as they sink from us ; and the ordinary man's transition is as the pebbles we carelessly toss into the sea, — a little rise, a moment's no- tice, and what then ? the world moves on with workers and actors to fill their places and pilot us on to that unknown sta- tion where those who travel by land and those who travel by water will meet, and answer to their names and deeds re- corded in the "Book of Life." Mrs. Wydiffe. It was the most gorgeous sunset I ever wit- nessed. The brilliant coloring on land, and sea, and sky, made one harmonious whole. I could not but wish that, for one moment, I might have my spiritual eyes opened and see, as we are told, the myriads of heavenly beings, who, clad in robes of white, are ascending and descending the golden ladder reaching from earth to heaven ; and, with harps and cymbals in their hands, singing the loud hosannas of the re- deemed and purified. With this rich and beautifully-colored sunset canvas for a background, what a picture it would have been to feast the eyes upon. It would be a foretaste of the wondrous beauties in store for us in our Father's mansion not made by hands. Daisy Comstock Well, I don't know about that. The le- gends of my Sunday school told me that the streets were paved with gold, and the gates were of jasper and fine pearls. I should think there was a good deal of handiwork there. Why, if that is true, we will be going around with smoked goggles trying to find our friends and ancestors. My heaven is pictured with rippling streams and gurgling brooks, with birds and flowers. I want to chase the butterflies over grassy plains and wooded hills. I want to gather shells on the sandy beach, and have them tell me all the secrets of the THE SUMMER BOARDER. finny tribes. I want to wander, with my friends, in search of sea mosses, coral, sponges, and pearls. I want to hear the clatter of high stepping horses. I want to see the faithful and life-giving Sukey, lying on the green sward, chewing her cud. I want to frolic with Rover, and stroke the back of old Tabby as she purrs and blinks at the antics of her kittens. This is the heaven of happy homes I want to go to. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Bravo, my young friend, bravo! You are quite a philosopher, I see. You want all the beautiful and useful things in this carnal world spiritualized. Daisy Comstoch. Just so. Don't you think it would be delightful ? Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Indeed I do; and I sincerely hope your wish may be gratified ; and, whenever I can secure a pass, I shall come and visit you on your happy hunting- grounds; and then we can have the innate satisfaction of relegating the smoked goggles to the inhabitants of this mundane sphere. Kate Comstoch. I wonder what became of Dot Montague, 1 have not seen her this morning ; perhaps she has gone to chase the butterflies over wooded hills and grassy plains. Mrs. Wycliffe. Mr. Livingstone and she constitute a " com- mittee of two " to go on a picnic. I heard them arranging their plans on the upper piazza last evening. They both pledged great secresy. Miss Montague told him to be on the alert, and not let you, Miss Kate, see him, for, if you did, you would go, and all the rest of us, of course. He said he would be very glad to have " one breathing spell without the whole crew of us following at his heels." They were to meet at the Willows. Miss Montague told him, to prevent you from seeing him, to go to the end of the back hall and get out on the roof of the kitchen, and to be sure and get down on the west side, as the water-barrel stood on the east side. Kate Comstoch. So he did. I helped him to get down. He did not heed the old adage, " Look before you leap," and just THE SUMMER BOARDER. 9 as he was going to swing himself down I screamed to him to wait until I got a chair, or he would land in that sturdy old cactus bed. He said he was in a great hurry to get off, as he was on an errand of mercy, and was afraid, if he met us all, as usual, the pleasure would be so great he might be tempted from the path of duty, and forget his promise to collect for the Bethel. I told him I had made them the very same promise. So he went on his errand of mercy, and I continued my search for my thimble, that had fallen out of the window into the flower-bed. {Enter Miss Peninkton.) All (except the Dr.) Well, Miss Peninkton, we have all been asking about you ! Kate Comstock. We feared you might be ill, or worse still, might have quietly folded your tent and stolen away. Grace Peninkton. I have had a very pleasant morning, floating some beautiful mosses that I have collected from time to time. Kate Comstock. Now please. Miss Peninkton, do not get out your fancy-work until w^e have had some music. You know your singing acts like a charm, or an inspiration, and makes us feel so much happier the rest of the day. Daisy Comstock, the young sister. Oh, yes! do sing "Meet Me by the Willows," in remembrance of Mr. Livingston and and Dot Montague ; and for the charming of the guests present, please sing " Things are Not as they Seem," and " What have the Wild Waves been Saying " about me. Miss Grace Peninkton. Going pleasantly and quietly to the piano, running her fingers over the scales a few times. (Enter Frank Livingston and Dot Montague, the dress of Miss Montague covered with burrs, and Mr. Livingston's hat on the back of her head.) AU. WeU! 10 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Dot Monixigue. Oh, we have had a perfectly elegant time ! Oh, such fun ! have n't we Frank ? Frank Livingston. Well, figuratively speaking, yes. Dot Montague. Well, I wanted to get these roses out of that briar-bush, and I fell into it. I scratched my hands and face some, but I reckon it will wash off; and, we fought a hornet's nest (F. Livingston unconsciously raising his [ban- daged hand) ; and Frank sat down on the top of an old fence, and it broke down, and I reckon it has mashed some of my toes (lifting her foot, showing the sole half off her russet shoe). Oh, but it was jolly! but I wish you could have seen Frank's fight with "Bassett's dog." You know they have a sign up, " No trespassing on these premises. Beware of the dog !" Well, I saw some lovely water-lilies in Bassett's pond — and I would just have died if I had not gotten them. I was sure I had seen that dog tied to a post as we passed the house ; so I got Frank to sneak over, and, just as he bad almost reached them, that miserable dog, Hero, came howling along. Oh, I wish you could have seen them ! Frank faced, that dog and fought him inch by inch on his own ground. Oh, I just danced and clapped my hands and screamed, it was so jolly ! Rev. Stanhope. How does it happen, if he faced the dog, that the wounds are all in the rear ? Frank Livingston. She means I was facing the same way as the dog. Dot Montague. Yes, that 's it. First, it was neck, and then it was heels, Frank never once letting that dog get the lead. Flossie Wycliffe. Where were you all this time ? Dot Montague. I was across the road in that old washer- woman's house, holding the door open for Frank to run in. I just shut the door in that dog's face, and that sent him home ashamed of himself. Frank Livingston. Or, that he had n't a larger supply of summer clothing to show. Kate Comstock. Where is your sailor hat ? THE SUMMEB BOARDEB. 11 Dot Montague. It 's gone sailing with the white-caps. And what do you suppose that washerwoman told me old Bassett told her? He said, if them '"ere tarnal critters" up at the inn did n't stop tramping down his tater patches, he would set a foot-rest for them down at the pond, and then that dog of his'n could have all the fresh meat he wanted without bemean- ing himself following under the butcher's wagon, and only getting a smell. Flossie Wycliffe. Where are your lilies ? Dot Montague. We had n't time to get any then — we did n't stop. Kate Comstock to Frank Livingston. Perhaps it would have been better if you had continued on your errand of mercy, and not been led from the path of duty. Frank Livingston. Now, Miss Comstock, please be charita- ble, and let me down as easily as possible. I am your most obedient servant, to do penance as you will suggest. Kate Comstock. I would merely suggest, that I would risk the water-barrel side every time to the embrace of that old cactus-bed. Frank Livingston. More still. I '11 tell you what we will do; we will join forces and go begging for the Bethel to- gether. Mrs. Wycliffe. Oh, no, no ! That will necessitate the whole crew of us following at your heels. Frank Livingston. Well, I will lie down on the old cactus- bed, or will jump into the water-barrel — do any thing that you will suggest; but, for the present, please accept my flag of truce and cease hostilities, so I can retire to the work-room for repairs. (Exit Frank Livingston.) Kate Comstock (Rev. Dr. Stanhope retiring'). Oh, Dr., I want to speak to you before going. I was so glad to hear you say this morning that you were fond of driving. We are going with a party after lunch, and you must go and handle the reins for us. Mamma will be perfectly delighted when she hears you are going. I have just sent sister up stairs to 12 THE SmiMER BOARDER. tell her. The tallyho will be at the door at half-past two (turning, as if to go). And oh, I almost forgot to tell you; quite a number of the guests have promised to go down and spend some time visiting the poor who live around the Bethel. We shall be ready to start about four o'clock, and I am quite sure you would enjoy going with us. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Thank you, thank you. As for the tallyho ride, I shall be obliged to forego that pleasure, but you may count me in as one of the party to visit the poor and the needy. Miss Comstock. We also promised to carry something use- ful to Mr. and Mrs. McGuire's little family. The ladies have all taken a great interest in the children. I think I have seen you talking to them, when they have been here in the early morning, selling their water-lilies. We will just take packages that we can carry in our arms. We told the chil- dren this morning that we intended calling, so they will be expecting us. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Have no fear that I shall go there empty-handed. "The poor ye have always with you," but ye must not let the right hand know what the left hand doeth. End of Act I. THE SUMMER BOAllDEK. 13 ACT II. [Mr. McGuire's Cottage. Oue room, with a door in the cen- ter, and one window on each side of it. A high, old-fashioned bedstead, with a calico valance around it. Under this is kept the children's bed during the day. On the bed, sleeping, are a pair of twins, with little woolen shawls wrapped around their heads, just as the poorer classes are apt to wrap their children up. An old wooden table, with side leaves, standing in the middle of the floor. Mrs. McGuire in the act of scrubbing it and putting the leaves up, to make as much room as possi- ble for the presents.] Mr. McGkdre. Betty, and what did the fine ladies at the hotel tell the childer about coming here this afternoon, wid armsful of fine things for yees and themselves? Mrs. McGuire. And is it the messages the grand people were sending me this morning ye 's asking about ? And did n't they say that every one who would come would bring arms- ful of the most beautiful things ye 'd lay your eyes upon ? Mr. McGuire. Well, there are a great many things that would prove a great blessing — and never be missed by them. Sure, any thing they would bring could n't come amiss to us. Mr. McGuire. And does ye think that table will hold all the things? Mrs. McGuire. Here are the two leaves, and there is plenty of vacant room in the dresser. I shall take care that they will not be obliged to carry any thing back for want of a resting-place for it. Mr. McGuire. But, Betty, what kind of manners is wid ye, when yees havn't either cake nor drink to offer them? Havn't I often heard ye tell how the bottle and glass was always on the table for all who called in ye's father's house ? Betty McGuire. And whose fault is it but yours that we hav n't it in our own house ? Indeed, it would be a sorry day 14 THE SUMMER BOARDER. to me parents to have quality treated as they will have to be treated here. Mr. MeGuire. What's the reason ye can't treat them in ilegant style here ? There is your fine bottle ; and give me the money, and I will soon have the whisky for yees. Mrs. McGuire. And when would yees come back? Mr. McGuire. When I'd get the whisky. Ye must have been raised mighty mane, to thiuk a man could n't be trusted that far. Mrs. McGhxire. Well, now, Dennis, if I give you the money and that fine bottle, that belonged to me great-uncle, who was a colonel in the English army, do you think you could go and get back wid it before they could get here. Mr. McGuire. Try me ! Mrs. McGuire. [Gives him the bottle and the money, get- ting the money out of a stocking kept in a pocket in an underskirt.] Here is the money, and here is the bottle ; now see that yees gets back before the sun goes down. Mr. McGuire. Never fear but I'll be back in time. {Exit Mr. McGuire.) Mrs. McGuire [soliloquizing]. Well, now, I shall get a chance to brush up the floor and polish the stove, and have things look tidy, as they used to look when I was Betty O'Reef [giv- ing her head a little toss], and had lovers at me feet by the score [humming a little ditty, and sweeping out at the door, and looking up the street]. Well, there goes Dennis with the McCarty boys and Pat Kelly. Well, that's the last we will see of him to-day ! Mrs. McGwire [turning to the children]. And now, children, yees must not forget yees good manners for a minute when the grand people are here. Johnny McGuire. Do you think they will bring me a gun and a wheel-barrow ? Jerushy McGuire. You can't put a wheel-barrow on the table. THE SUMMER BOARDER. 15 Johnny McOuire. Well, there is plenty of room for it un- der the table, and I can put all my other presents into it. Jerushy McGuire. I want them to bring me a great big doll and a sun-shade. Mrs. McGuire. Yees must not be dictating to them what they must give yees. They know what yees will need a great deal better than yourselves can tell them ; and as they give you each article, yees must make a bow and a courtesy, thanking them each time, always saying. Yes, ma'am, and No, ma'am ; Yes, sir, and No, sir, when yees are spoken to. Mr. McGuire [returning, with his hat on the side of his head]. I am back again. Mrs. McGuire. I see you are. Mr. McGuire. I came for me coat. I thought as how we might — we might have some — weather. Mrs. McGuire. And where did you lave the bottle? Mr. McGidre. The bottle ! what bottle ? Mrs. McGuire. The bottle I gave ye ! did ye break it ? Mr. McGuire. Break it? no! What would I break it for? Mrs. McGuire. Well, then, where did you lave it? Mr. McGuire. Lave what ? Mrs. McGuire. The bottle. Mr. McGuire. The bottle [thinking and brightening up] — the whisky ye mane ? Mrs. McGidre. I did n't ax ye any thing about the whis- ky ; Ilcnow where that is. What did ye do wid the bottle? Mr. McGuire. The bottle? Ye doesn't know what yees talking about. Mrs. McGuire. I do, but yees do n't. Children [running in]. They are coming, they are coming, and there is about a thousand of them ! Mrs. Guire. Holy mother of Moses ! what shall I do with yees. Yees will be as drunk as a fool in half an hour. There, get in under the bed, on the children's mattress, and do n't let us hear a whimper from yees. 16 THE SUMMER BOARDER. [Mr. McGuire crawling under, so that his legs, from the knees down, will be from under the bed.] Mrs. McGuire. Draw up yees dirty boots, so they will not be seen. Children [running in again]. There are only three of them coming here ; all the others have gone to the station. Enter Miss Comstock. Well, Mrs. McGuire, we are all de- lighted to get here at last. There are so many little duties, both social and personal, to attend to at the hotel, that it is just on the eve of our departure that we can do ourselves the pleasure of coming down to see you and the children. This is my friend, Mrs. Wycliffe, and our dear pastor. Dr. Stanhope. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Happy to meet you, Mrs. McGuire ; I hope I find you and your little brood enjoying all God's bless- ings. Mrs. McGuire [hesitating a moment]. Well, sir; for all that we have we try to be duly thankful. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. That 's right, that 's right ; that shows the true Christian spirit. "Those whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth." He says, "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto ye." Mrs. McGuire. Yes, sir; that is true, but we often find when we knock the doors are so deadened that not a sound can be heard. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Ah, that is only done to test your faith and strength. Knock again, my good woman ; knock and knock until the echo vibrates against the blue dome of heaven, and you will not only be answered, but will be re- paid, as the widow was with her " cruise of oil." Do not be- come discouraged. Mrs. McGuire. Well, sir; it is worth trying. We have a good many mouths to fill. Miss Comstock. How many children have you ? Mrs. McGuire. Five wid us, and two dead. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Do n't say dead, Mrs. McGuire ; they THE SUMMER BOARDER. 17 have only gone before. They are waiting and watching and beckoning for you to come. Mrs. McGuire. I wish I could only think so. They are dead to us. They were the beautifulest childer ye would wish to see. Sure, there was a man passing by one day who took pictures, and he came to the door, and says to me, says he : " Madam, these be the handsomest childer I ever saw, and if yees will let me take their pictures I will give yees one of each, and it will not cost yees a cent." Well, I was foolish enough to let him take them, and in less than a year they were both dead wid scarlet fever, and all we have left of them is the pictures. * Miss Comstock. Oh, do let us see them, Mrs. McGuire. Mrs. McGuire. [Picking up the corner of her apron and wiping her eyes, going and opening the bureau drawer to get them. Mr, McGuire, from under the bed, commencing to snore, startling the guests almost from their seats.] Sure, I think one of the twins is choking, [Then running over to the bed, and whilst pretending to quiet the twins, kicks un- der the bed to wake Mr. McGuire up, and keep him quiet. Mr. McGuire, waking up, stretches his legs out from under the bed. The little boy runs and tries to push them back. He gives a push and knocks him over. He commences to cry, and his mother runs and picks him up, trying to soothe him. Mr. McGuire picks up the valance and looks out. He then crawls out, and while doing so, Mrs. McGuire apologizes, by saying that Mr. McGuire had been out all morning, mend- ing the senator's fences, and, when he came in, had lain down on the childer's bed to rest, as the twins were sleeping in his bed. Rev. Dr. Stanhope [getting up and shaking hands with Mr. McGuire]. So, this is Mr. McGuire. Mr. McGuire. Yis, sir ; Dennis; Dennis McGuire. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, Mr. McGuire, I am very happy to meet you ; I hope I find you well. 18 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Mr. McChdre. Yis, sir; from fair to middling. I can't always be complaining. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. No ; that is true ; it is our duty to always try to cultivate a cheerful, happy disposition, and be reconciled with the benefits bestowed by an unseen hand. There is no cloud that has not a silver lining. But, I pre. surae, Mr. McGuire, you are in active business. 3Ir. McOuire [thinking a moment]. Whin I can git in, your riverence, I am. Eev. Dr. Stanhope. That is the only way to keep the mind and body in a healthy condition. We must keep them em- ployed. Mr. McGuire. A gintleman told me yisterday, if I would go to the mill, at the head of the creek, I would get all the work I -wanted. Mrs. McGuire. And be his own boss. Mr. McGuire. Yis, sir; and be me own boss ; but whin I got to the creek, divil a mill nor creek was there. After such a disappointment it was pretty hard to keep me spirits up [Mrs. McGuire nodding her head, as if she thought he had a very easy way of keeping his spirits up by pouring spirits down]. Mrs. Wycliffe. Did you have to walk all the way? Were there no electric or cable cars near? or even a herdic would have been of some use. Mr. McGuire. Nary a one could I see. Mrs. Wycliffe. Well, that was too bad — that was very dis- couraging. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. How many children did you say you have ? Mrs. McGuire. I say only five ; your riverence says we must say seven. Mr. McGuire. Sure, it is only five that we have, barring two that is dead ; see, there Dennis is one, the twins is two, Johnnie is three, and Jerushy is four — sure, there is five of them ; Johnnie is one, the twins is two, Jerushy is three, and THE SUMMER BOARDER. 19 Deunis four — well, did ye'es ever see the likes of that ! Johnnie is one — Mrs. McQuire [tapping the side of her head and looking anxiously at her husband and then at her guests]. Ah, sure, he has never been right since he got into them politics. Mr. MaGuire [brightening up]. Ah! and thim was the ilegant times intirely. Mrs. McGuire. And how much did you see of them? [Then turning to her guests.] You see, they came to me and said they wanted Dennis to come and help them make this man Tompkins mayor ; and if he were elected, he would put Dennis on the perlice. It came pretty hard on us to part wid all the little bit of money we had saved up, as they told us they would need it to buy up some votes for Dennis to get on the force. Well, when he was starting out to the first night's meeting, he came back to the door and says he to me, says he: "And Betty, won't ye'es be proud of your Dennis whin ye'es sees him coming home wid his pockets full of rocks and his coat covered wid gold stars f" [Mr. McGuire straighten- ing up and rubbing his hands over his breast.] Yes, Dennis, says I, its meself that will be proud of ye'es. Well, after I had got me chores done up and the twins to sleep, I thought I would just step over to Mrs. McGroity's for a few minutes, and just give her an inkling of what 1 intended to do when Mr. McGuire ivas on the peiiice. Well, I had hardly gotten through telling her when the people on the street came run- ning in, screaming at the top of their voices: "Oh, Mrs. McGuire ! they are bringing Dennis home on a shutter ; he is kilt intirely !" And sure enough, there he was, laid out as dead as a mackerel. Well, we nursed him through, and as soon as he was better they were after him again ; they said as how he was a hustler and they must have him. Mr. McGuire. You see, what they meant by that is, ye knows that I have been raised on the shipping-boats and me father before me ; so they just wanted me to be down on the wharf on election day, and invite the men on all the vessels 20 THE SUMMER BOARDER. that would stop there that day to come up to the polls and vote, and to be sure and not slight any of the men on any strange vessel that would come into port for coal or provisions, but just to invite and hustle them up, and the men at the voting place would make it very pleasant for them ; and that's why they called me an hustler. Mrs. McGuire. Well, I do n't think he was out at the next meeting more than an hour, when they came running in, calling to me: "Oh! oh! Mrs. McGuire, they are bringing Dennis home again on a shutter !" And there he was, sure enough, the two eyes of him looking like peeled onions, and the best half of his nose in the doctor's hand. 31rs. Wydiffe. How did you get such an awful blow ? Mr. McGuire. I don't know, ma'am. I think it came from a nor'-nor'-easternly direction. Mrs. McGuire. The man Tompkins, who was running for mayor, got beaten ; and that was not all — a big mortgage was placed on his little home to help pay his debts ; and sure, all the roclcs and gold stars Dennis ever saw was the pile he fell over. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, my good man ; no doubt it was the best thing that ever happened to you that you were de- feated. There are a great many dangers and pit-falls to guard against in the life of a policeman. It is not always sunshine and slumbers with them. Mr. McGuire. That's so, your rivirence; but then that would n't frighten me. Miss Comstock. Now come, we must be going, as we want to make one or two more calls, and itMs getting quite late. So, Mrs. McGuire, I have brought you a shoe-bag, to hang up on the wall, and have the children keep their slippers in it (the children having no shoes). When they come in from their walk, and take their walking-boots off, it is so convenient for them to have a place for their slippers ; it teaches them to be methodical and orderly. Mrs. Wydiffe. And I have brought you a very pretty lamp THE SUMMER BOARDER. 21 shade. You will find it very useful, particularly, when you are all sitting reading around the table, it will not only shade your eyes from the strong glare of light, but also throw a soft, pleasant light all around. I got the brightest colors I could find, as I thought that would please the children. Jerushy. We hain't got no lamp. [An old tin candle- stick, with half burnt candle, on mantel.] Mrs. Wydiffe. Oh my ; that is unfortunate. Well, then, you will have to get one ; and, be sure in getting it and the frame, to get the largest size, as you see, this is quite a large lamp shade. You will find it very useful as well as ornamental. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Before starting from home, by request of some of my, in fact all of my parishioners, I had some of my sermons printed, and brought them with me, with the intention of distributing them around amongst the worthy people, whom I should meet during my summer vacation ; and, in that way, I could spread the gospel amongst God's chosen people, without money and without price, to them. Mr. McGuire, when you have come in from your daily labors, you will find not only strength and rest for the mind in taking up one of these tracts and reading it, but rest and strength for the body also. It will put new life into you. I sincerely hope the contents will strike in and take root, and result in a good and full harvest. Mr. McGuire [looking disappointed, and holding the tracts upside down, as he can not read]. Well, I hope they will, your rivirence. [Jerushy, standing beside her father, turns the tracts the right way.] Jerushy. That's the way to hold them, father. Jfrs. McGuire [pretendiug to understand]. Yis, so it is. Miss Comstock. Mrs. McGuire, where does Mrs. McGroity live? we promised her children, when they brought the water- lilies to the hotel this morning, that we would call upon them also. Mrs. McGuire. Well, I will just put on me bonnet [put- 22 THE SUMMER BOARDER. ting on a sun-bonnet] and go wid ye'es. She sometimes for- gets herself, and imagines she is a step above buttermilk. And as we have known the bog-trotters for generation after generation of them, I'll be able to keep her in her place. [_Exit all.] Mr. McGuire. [Examining the presents.] Jerushy. Father, where are my slippers ? See if you can find them. Mr. McGuire. I don't see them. Jerushy. Feel way down in the bag — mab-by they got stuck. Mr. McGuire. That's good ; that's it ; yes. I guess they got sluch — got stuck to the last — and they hav n't pulled them off yet. Yes, yes ; they got stuck. [Under a sudden impulse, Mr. McGuire picks up the pres- ents, and, running to the stove, throws them into the fire; then hits the stove-pipe, knocking it down, and commences playing havoc with every thing.] Jerushy. Run, Johnnie, for mother; and tell her father has another of his spells. [Just then Mrs. McCarty passes the window, looks in, and goes and tells Mrs. McGuire.] {Return of Mrs. McGuire.) Mrs. McGuire. Its a pretty fool ye'es making of ye-self. Mrs. McCarty stopped, and, before the whole company, called out to me that ye'es were either getting religion or breaking up housekeeping, and that I would be a great deal better at home looking after me house and childer than setting meself up wid the grand folks at the hotel. Mr. McGuire [dancing around]. His riVrence said he hoped it would strike in; but it is striking out — hop-tra-la ; it is strik- ing out ! [Just then Mr. McGuire sees Mrs. McCarty passing the window again. He runs over and shuts the door in her face. THE SUMMER BOAEDER. 23 Mrs. McCarty goes to the window and commences grinning and laughing at him.] Mr. McGuire to Mrs. McCarty. If ye's will act civil, and pass the compliments of the day, I'll open the door and let ye's come in. (^Tableau.') [Mr. McGuire bowing and scraping to Mrs. McCarty ; Mrs. McGuire sinks into a chair and puts her apron to her face ; little Johnnie leans his head on his mother's shoulder, and Jerusha stands looking wistfully at the stove and the burnt presents.] End of Act II. 24 THE SUMMER BOARDER. ACT III. Evening Scene. [Full moon upon the water ; the vessels anchored in the harbor lighted up with colored lights ; the guests of the hotel flitting about through the parlor and out on the piazza ; the ladies in their cool pink, white, blue, lavender and lace dresses, and the yachtsmen from the yachts lounging on the piazza, dressed in their uniforms.] {Enter Miss Comstock, going over to the table in the center of the parlor, and removing the books and papers from it.) Kate Comstock. Now, come ; who all are going to play cards — six handed euchre ? Dot Montague. I would love to play, if I knew how. Papa said he hoped whilst I was away some smart Northener would make a martyr of himself and try and see if he could teach me ; he has given it up as an impossibility. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Permit me to be that martyr, Miss Montague ; I shall take great pleasure in trying to teach you. Perhaps your father is too impatient with you. Kate Comstock. We had better give the task to Mr. Liv- ingston. Perhaps it will be punishment enough for his in- discretions and misrepresentations of this morning. Frank Livingston. It would certainly be a very pleasant punishment, and one much easier to bear than Miss Comstock's stabs and reminders of my shortcomings. [After they are all seated around the table, and the dealer has commenced to deal the cards around, Kate Comstock says: Now please wait just a moment until I see if my dear invalid mamma is in need of any attention.] Rev. Dr. Stanhope [throwing himself back in his chair, aud throwing his cards down]. If there is any thing that upsets my nervous system it is these chronic grumblers; they lead such THE SUMMER BOARDER. 25 au idle life physically that their brains are over-taxed, and of course the result is all kinds of hallucinations. They can not breathe God's fresh air ; they can not partake of mother- earth's generosity ; in her abundance of fruits and vegetables, the treasures of the seas, they shudder at as indigestible [jerk- ing himself around]. If I had my way with them, to show them how well off they were, I would sample, label and ship them direct to — Hades. Frank Livingston. You will have to enter them, then, at Oiicago ; all roads center there. Miss Gomstock [returning]. What's trumps ? Clubs ? All right. ■; Mrs. Wyeliffe. Continuing our conversation about the treas- ures of the sea, Dr., I was compelled to tell the landlord that I was not quite ready to be turned into a mermaid. I told him I was very fond of fish sixty or seventy times in succes- sion, but I did not like it as a steady diet. If he expects Flossie and me to remain, we must have our beefsteak and roast-beef daily. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Well, that is singular. I informed him yesterday that I had not traveled over a thousand miles to the sea-shore to be fed on meat, both fresh and dried ; I had come for salt-water fish, and I expect to be daily supplied with it. Kate Comstock. Why did you play that ace ? Dot Montague. Papa always said an ace was as good as a trump any day. Mrs. Wyeliffe. But your partner took that trick with his right bower. Dot Montague. Bowers ; what are bowers ? Kate Comstock. Why, that is a bower — the right bower of clubs — it will take all the cards in the pack. Dot Montague. Well, I will try to remember that. Frank Livingston. Speaking of our rations ; the only thing I hanker after is a good old-fashioned cup of coffee. I am very tired of sampling beans. 26 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Kate Comstoclc. Mamma was saying to-day that she was bo glad we were going to-morrow, as she is so heartily tired of canned fruit and vegetables. I wonder why we have so much of it. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. That is very easily explained. The manufacturers unload their surplus winter stock of canned fruit and vegetables on the summer hotel keepers at a very great discount. So, you see, we poor mortals have to be the sufferers ; we have to take the refuse. Every thing is done nowadays to gouge the people, and give them as little as pos- sible for their money ; and also a way for the manufacturers to get rid of their stale goods. Dot Montague. I believe even the chickens have caught the fever, for there is n't an old hen along the coast that has laid a fresh egg this summer ; or, if so, it has not been my lot to get it. Mrs. Wycliffe. Why did you play that card when the trick belongs to your partner ? Dot Afontague. Because I have heard papa say, when you are in doubt, always to trump, and I am most assuredly in doubt now. Kate Comstoclc [to her young sister]. Dearie, wont you run up stairs and see if mamma is comfortable. Daisy Comstoclc [ill-naturedly]. Always the way; just when I get to the most interesting part of the story I am ordered to do something. Kate Comstoclc. Oh, no, dearie ; I did not order you, I bnly asked you if you would see if mamma were comfortable. I left her sitting in her easy chair in the hall, at the head of the stairs. She may be tired, and wishes to retire. Will you go, or shall I ? Daisy Comstoclc [ill-naturedly]. Oh, I shall go, of course. Dot Montague. There, that is my trick. Mrs. Wycliffe. Why no ; you played the jach of clubs, and hearts are trumps. Dot Montague. A few moments ago you told me that was a THE SUMMER BOARDER. 27 bower, and would take every thing in the pack, and that is the identical card, too. Mrs. WycUffe. That was when clubs were trumps, but now that is one of the lowest-faced cards in the pack ; it is simply • the jack of clubs. Dot Montague. Well, there are turn-coats in cards, as well as in religion and politics. A little while ago that was a rosy- hued bower, but now it has degenerated ioto a plain, simple, unadorned "Jack without the Jill," at the bottom of the pack. I am very glad I never took to gambling ; I do n't think it is my vocation. Frank Livingston. You do not seem to take to it naturally ; it has to be hammered in, as it were ; and sometimes a clvh is found that can not do that. Flossie WycUffe. Speaking of clubs, there was a lady on the piazza yesterday morning wishing for a club that she could club the clerk of the weather with. She had two unfinished sunshine pictures, and she was going home on the noon train, and you all know the rain was just pouring down in torrents at that time. We all felt so sorry for her. Some one tried to cheer her up by saying they thought it was a very good day for water-colors. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Why didn't she work in a little oil on the troubled waters ? Flossie WycUffe. She could n't ; she was working in pastels. Daisy Comstock [returning]. Mamma was not comfortable, and has retired. She says she got tired listening to the click of the cards, and what Mr. Stanhope would do with "chronic grumblers;" but she wants to have some music, she says. Miss Peninkton's singing soothes her nerves and puts her to sleep. Dot Montague. Well, let's please ourselves by pleasing the dear old lady. I am heartily tired of this stupid, up-hill work. Let's have some music; it will soothe my nerves, too. Daisy Comstock [going to the outside door and returning]. Oh, Doctor! there is a "runaway couple" at the door, who 28 THE SUMMER BOARDER. want to know if there is a minister here who will marry them. They are awfully green-looking. I know he has his grand- father's coat on. Kate Gomstock. Oh, yes; do bring them in here. We will clear away every thing, and be the witnesses, too. Flossie Wycliffe. I will get the bucket of rice, and Dot will loan us her old shoe. Dot Montague [gathering up the cloth and cards]. And what part of the work are you going to do ? Frank Livingston. I ? I am going to kiss the bride — if she is good-looking. Dot Montague. I wish I were the bride. Frank Livingston. You do, do you ? [chasing her out]. Rev. Dr. Stanhope [going out and bringing the bridal party in]. Step this way, if you please. Now join hands. [The groom, in his awkwardness, dropping one of his gloves.] What is your name ? The Bride [a fast talker]. Just now, my name is Mariar Sophiar Pearson Stebbins. I am named after my two grand- mothers, Mariar Pearson and Sophiar Stebbins. Just before the minister baptized me, mother got in the Pearson. It just struck her that I would have two names of my grandmother on my father's side and only one on hern, so she just slipped the name in. Oh, father was tearing mad when he got home from church. He said he hoped she would n't have as tight a squeeze as that to get into heaven; and she said "she hoped she woiddn't." Rev. Dr. Stanhope. One name is sufficieait. And what is your name? Groom. Adonis. Bride. Donny isn't named afternobody bat hisself; that's what galls mother so. She says it seems as if he never had any grandfathers — just growed up, like that nigger. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Now, if you please, repeat after me, " I, Adonis, take thee, Maria." Qroom. I, Adonis, take thee, Mariar. THE SUMMER BOARDER. 29 Bev. Dr. Stanhope. To be my wedded wife. Groom. To be my wedded wife. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. To " have and to hold " — [The bride commencing to snicker, and the groom, when the idea strikes him, commencing to snicker, too.] Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Why, my young friends, what do you mean by this levity ? You do not seem to realize the great responsibility you are taking upon yourselves this evening. What is the cause of all this laughter ? Bride. Wh}^, parson, he has been " a'having and alwlding" of me all winter. Bev. Dr. Stanhope [impatiently]. I pronounce you "hus- band and wife." Bride [looking surprised]. Why! are we married a'ready? Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Yes, yes. Bride. It took three times as long as that to marry Jonah Blatson and Polly Tompkins ; but Jonah always was a slip- pery fellow ; and I suppose Parson Simpson wanted to tie the knot as hard as he could ; and that did n't hold but three months, for he fell from the rigging of his ship — and I guess he is a Jonah now, for sure. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. I believe I have the privilege of claim- ing a kiss. [Kisses the bride.] Bride. Dounie, you had better take one now, for when we get home, that's not the kind of a salute we'll get from mother ; we will have any thing from the potato-masher to pap's Sunday -beaver shied at us. Even the old cat won't escape, if she comes in her way ; then's when pap says she is making the fur fly. [The groom kisses the bride, and in his awkwardness and confusion wipes the kiss off on his coat-sleeve.] Bride [ill-naturedly, pulling him by the coat-sleeve on their way out, and exclaiming]. You didn't wipe them off that way at home. You swallowed them down as fast as you could scoop them off, and looked hungry for more. Frank Livingston [as they are going out, lifts his hands, as 30 OUR SUMMER BOARDER. if blessing them]. And in the language of our old friend, Rip, " May they live long and prosper." And may all their cares be little ones [from the gouty old gentleman at the ^vhist table]. Dot Montague. I thought you were going to kiss the bride ? Frank Livingston. Not after seeing it so gracefully done by two such Eomeos as the doctor and groom. I have made the discovery that Jam still a mere novice at that business. [Rev. Dr. Stanhope returns from seeing the bridal party to the door.] Mrs. Wycliffe. There, doctor [pointing to the glove left on the floor], I suppose that is your marriage fee. Bev. Dr. Stanhope. Do n't disturb it, just let it lie there ; as soon as he misses it he will be back ; there is no danger, in a chap of his caliber, leaving such a handful of a fee as that; he expects that whole suit to do service for two or three gen- erations yet to come. He is under the impre — Groom [returning, his boots covered with dust]. I was skeert ; I feer'd I had lost it. [Hurrying out.] Kate Comstock. Now, do let us have some music ; mamma will be so impatient. Mrs. Wycliffe [rising]. Flossie and I have not finished our packing, so I will have to bid you all good night. [Rev. Dr. Stanhope starting to leave the room, too.] Kate Comstock. Oh, doctor, Mrs. Wycliffe was saying to- day, that they intended visiting the museum when they arrived at New York, and as there will be no train going West until evening it would be so delightful for us all to go together. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Much as I would enjoy such an oppor- tunity, still, my time is so limited, that it would be utterly out of the question for me to accept your kind invitation. Kate Comstock,. But just think how you would enjoy your- self with such nice company — and we all separate to-morrow ; perhaps forever. Now, won't you promise me you wnll try and arrange to be with us ; it will afford us so much pleasure. OUR SUMMER BOARDER. 31 Rev. Dr. Stanhope. The pleasure it would afford you is not to be compared to the pleasure and instruction it would be to me. Kate Comstock. Well, you will see us to the museum, any how ? Eev. Dr. Stanhope. I hope my time will not be so limited that I can not do that. In this case it must be bicsiness before pleasure. Good night. Daisy Comstock. Like a drowning man, hanging to the last straw, the doctor is too smart a man to go dragging around at a museum, with five or six women, and all their boxes, band-boxes, parrots and poodles. Kate Comstock. Well, he didn't say he wouldn't go. If I can get him to go to the door with us, it is all I ask. I can then say he went to the museum with us ; it is nobody's busi- ness how long he staid. Daisy Comstock [rising to go]. Are you going to bed now ? You know we have some packing to do. Kate Comstock. I shall be up presently ; don't wait for me. Kate Comstock [soliloquizing]. I must have something of that summer boarder to take home with me as a remembrance, she may be some noted person ; she looks wise enough to be almost any thing. An empty spool would be something. Here, I will look at her music. Let me see : The compliments of C. B. — that's near enough for summer boarder ; I'll take this; it didn't cost her any thing. So, ta-ta, my mocking-bird, ta-ta. [Summer boarder entering from the other side of the room to gather up the music hears Miss Comstock soliloquizing.] End of Act ILL 32 THE SUMMER BOARDER. ACT IV. Morning Scene. [All dressed in their traveling suits, with satchels, umbrellas, etc. J etc.] (Enter Mrs. Wycliffe.') Kate Comstock. Oh, Mrs. "Wycliffe, Dr. Stanhope told me last evening he would be perfectly delighted to go with us to the Museum when we arrive in New York. He also said he would be the greatest loser, not only in pleasure, but by in- struction, if any unforeseen accident should happen to pre- vent him from joining us. Mrs. Wyclife. Oh, that will be charming ; that will be an unexpected pleasure, indeed. I have just been in Mrs. Smith's room asking her to go down with some little present to Mrs. McGuire's this afternoon. (Enter Dr. Stanhope.') Flossie Wycliffe. What did you give them yesterday, mamma ? Mrs. Wycliffe. I gave them a very beautiful lamp-shade. Flossie Wycliffe. The one father's Aunt Sarah made and sent you ? Mrs. Wycliffe. Yes, my dear. Flossie Wycliffe. Well, that was a very charitable way of getting rid of it. 31rs. Wycliffe. I was not trying to get rid of it, my dear. I placed it where I thought it would do the most good. Flossie Wycliffe. I remember hearing you tell father there could be a superabundance of generosity even in the size of a lamp-shade. Father's excuse to you was, that Aunt Sarah's heart was so large that it would be impossible for her to stint any thing she had undertaken. Well, what did you give them, Miss Comstock? THE SUMMER BOARDER. 33 Kate Gomstoek. I gave them a very useful shoe-bag, and I wish you could have seen how delighted they were, particu- larly the little girl. She, at a glance, seemed to take in its usefulness. I have spent most of this morning going around to the different ladies, asking them to go down and visit these poor people, and quite a number have promised to go this afternoon. I told Mrs. McGuire I would invite them. Franlc Livingston. And what will these poor people do with shoe-bag and lamp-shades, and illuminated calendars? Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Mr. McGuire seemed very much af- fected when I gave him my sermons, and hardly took his eyes from them during the remainder of our visit. Frank Livingston. Perhaps he was near-sighted, or could not read. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Oh, no ; that could not be. He struck me as a man who had seen better days, but had met with so many misfortunes that he had become discouraged. (Enter Jerushy AfcGkiire.) Jerushy McGuire [going up to Miss Comstock]. Mother says, will you please tell the ladies not to come down to our house to-day, as one of the twins has caught the malaria, and she thinks the other has the hy-dro-pho-bia, the way he harked all night. Kate Comstock. Tell your mother the ladies will be very much disappointed, as quite a number were going down. Jenishy McGuire [going out]. Yes, ma'am ; mother will be disappointed too. Kate Comstock. Well, they certainly do have their troubles. Mrs. Wycliffe. Miss Montague, do you intend to go directly home after leaving New York ? Dot Montague. I shall take in Baltimore and Washington on my way. Mrs. Wycliffe. I suppose a good old-fashioned welcome is awaiting you in your Southern home — a barbecue, I believe, they call it there 34 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Dot Montague. As warm as any welcome can be in a home without a mother. I presume it will be a repetition of last year, after being up North four years to school. Papa's wel- come was: "Well, Dot, are you glad to get home again? I am glad to see you. We have named a young colt after you — ' Dot Montague ' — and it ts a beauty." But, dear old Black Mammy, the only mother I ever knew, and a creat- ure who has never been far enough from home to see a rail- road train. As she always said, " Dem Yankee soldiers told her if dey ever kotched her outside the plantation dey would kidnap and send her up North, and have gum-shoes made out of her." They told her that was the way they got all their gum from the South. The day of my arrival, what an event it was for her. She mussed up three or four of her choice turbans telling the darkies that she was so flustrated she dis- remembered which color missus tole her she liked the best. Many times during the day she would go out on the piazza, and shading her dear old eyes, would say: " Maybe Massa William has made a mistake, and dat train may get in an hour or two sooner ; for she knowed dat young missus war hungry for some of her crullers, and would tell dem men to hurry up." And when I did come, taking me in her arms, and with tears streaming down her furrowed cheeks, thanked the Lord for letting one of her ewe lambs come back to her old arms and yearning heart again ; and, between sobs, told me of her prom- ise to my dear mother, " Yes, honey ; ole missus call me and said : ' Chloe, the summons has come, and I must go; you must take her, and be a mother to her. And when she has been away from home, and returns, hold her close, so close to your heart, for me.' " After I had retired she stole softly into my room, and kneeling by my bed-side, thanked the good Lord that Massa William had only one of her dear misses to lock out to-night. "And honey," said she, "when I would liear the bolts a rasping, and some of them refusing to move, I knowed dey knowed what dey war doing ; and so, when all de house war still and quiet, ole mammy would slip down and unbolt dat THE SUMMER BOARDER. 35 little door dat opens into the jessamine bower, where I took care of old missus and you so many summer days. Well, dat door, honey, war always open for you both. And I knowed ole missus would come in, cause when ole mammy would come back to her lonely room, pears like some one lifted the heavy cross from dese ole shoulders, and putting dere soft warm arms around my neck, whispered in dese ole ears, " Lean upon me, Chloe,-I'se strong now." And when I would sit by your window, dem long, slender fingers of dat honey-suckle vine would come tapping, tapping on the panes, and say, just as plain as if dey war little tongues, "Dot, Dot," and I knowed dey war little love taps, and dey war longing for you, too. And then bidding me good night, and placing the chair with the pillows on it by my bedside, for I am still a child to her, tottered out of the room, mutter- ing to herself, " Old mammy sleep sound dis night, sure." [Enter Miss Peninkton equipped for a journey.] All. "Why ! you are not going to leave to-day, are you ? Grace Peninkton. Yes, it is not necessary for me to remain any longer. I am a reporter for the "Associated Press," and have been collecting material this summer for a play for one of their papers. Kate Comstoch [nervously]. Well, I hope you will find where you are going, all the nice clever people you want, for your characters. • Grace Peninkton. No doubt, I shall. And thanks to the doctor, I shall call it "The Summer Boarder." Good-bye, and pleasant journey to all. Rev. Dr. Stanhope. Perhaps, we shall find, to our sorrow, that the pen is mightier and sharper than the sword or tongue. Dot Montague. If she makes Bassett's dog the hero, Mr. Livingston will have to be the heroine — it. Frank Livingston. I don't think I could stand another tussel with that dog, even in the role of ^^ heroine." Daisy Comstock [hurrying into the parlor]. Come, all; the ferr^s nearly over. And mamma suggests that we ask Mr. 36 THE SUMMER BOARDER. Livingston to assist us with our baggage, as she fears Dr. Stanhope is so enthusiastic over his hobby that he might "sample, label, and check us all off to his warm summer resort for chronic grumblers." NOTES. No. 1. Miss Grace Peninkton always takes her seat by the parlor window with her fancy-work. In that position she can see the parlor, piazza, and beach, and can see every thing that is going on. No. 2. Mr. McGuire is not a confirmed drunkard — he some- times takes a drop too much when he is with friends — and at other times to drown his sorrows. In the play his wife is afraid he will be very drunk, but his friends got most of the whisky. He only got enough to make him feel a little lively. No. 3. Frank Livingston and Dot Montague will make a sorry looking pair as they return in their dilapidated condi- tion from their picnic. Mr. Livingston is hatless, his hand tied up in his handkerchief, and the back of his coat hanging in ribbons from the tussel with the dog. Miss Montague has lost her hat ; she is limping ; on her face and hands are long red scratches from the briar-bush, and her dress is full of burrs and nettles.