Irene Ashton or The Stolen Child Drama in Five Acts By HELEN BEATRICE LOCHLAN Copyright, igii, by Helen B. Lochlan Price, 25 Cents Address H. W. SMITH or THE AUTHOR SMITHS. MASS. IRENE ASHTON OR THE STOLEN CHILD Drama in Five Jlcts BY HELEN BEATRICE LOCHLAN BOSTON S. J. PARKHILL & CO.. PRINTERS 1911 T^ \ «> CHARACTERS ^ Mr. Copeley, owner of Copeley Castle. J^ i\\^ Mrs. Hovey, Mr. Copeley' s sister. 'y \ John West, Mr. Copeley' s head man. Kate Sefton, Irish servant. Constance Hovey, Mr. Copeley^s niece. Beatrice Warren, Constance's friend. Karl Webber, chief of gypsy tribe. Jane Webber, chiefs wife. Waldo Webber, their son. Irene Ashton, a waif. Annie "^'Hixaz.x^^ fortune teller. Mrs. Wallace, a young widow. Clare, her daughter. Alice Winthrop, Mrs. Wallace'' s friend. Millie Stearns, a school-girl. Jack Irving, a strolling gypsy. Policeman^ Band of Gypsies^ Strollers into Gypsy Camp, School Children. Time — About one and a half hours. COSTUMES AND SCENERY Ordinary costumes are used by all except the gypsies, who should be attired grotesquely. The stage represents a gentleman's study in the first and fourth acts, a lady's parlor in the second and third acts, and a gypsy camp with gypsies in the fifth act. Notes The success of the play dep^^nds largely on each player adapting himself or herself to his or her paytfcular part. Do not act stiff, but all should have a certain dignity e'xcepting the gypsies, who should be interested in their own work of telling fortunes, making baskets, etc. Music must be appropriate and can also be introduced between the acts. ©CID 23760 Irene Ashton, or The Stolen Child SCENE I SCENE. — Mr. Copeley's home. Mr. Copeley is sitting in deep meditation^ a loud rap on the door causes him, to start. Enter Kate Sefton, makes a courtesy. Kate. Your honor, and it's meself that wouldn't be after troubling ye, but it's a vicious looking man that's been round here inquiring to see the gintleman of the place, and it's meself that towld him to be off with himself for a dirty thramp, but John, he says to me, says he, " Kate, will you spake to the master about letting some gypsies camp on the primises ? " Gypsies, says I, bad luck to thim for a set of vagabonds ! a dirty, thaving, lying lot, saving your presence, yer honor ! {Makes a courtesy.) Mr. Copeley {laughing). Well, Kate, my good woman, don't be too hard on the poor gypsies. Kate. Hard is it, yer honer .? Me hard .^ Faith, there is not a softer hearted person than meself living, and I'd turn meself inside out for a dacent, poor person, but the likes of thim thaving gyp- sies, the Lord save us from thim ! {Crossing herself.) Enter John. Mr. C. Well, John, what is it about these gypsies? John. Well, sir, I thought, sir, as you always have so much sympathy for the poor and unfortunate that perhaps you might find it in your heart to let a wandering tribe of gypsies camp on the outskirts of your land, and I will see to it, sir, that they do not abuse the privilege. Mr. C. Well, John, why should I not ? are they not all children of one father? A race to be pitied rather than despised. A strange class of people, to be sure, but you and I should not per- secute them.' Yes, John, we will let them come and see if there be not some good even in the poor gpysies. John. All right, sir, thank you, sir. 4 IRENE ASHTON Kate {to John). And indade, is it yourself that's thrying to introduce those blackguards of gypsies onto the place ? and faith, I hope they'll stale the clothes off your back before your through wid thim. John {laughing). Oh, not so bad as that, Kate, I hope. \^Exit John and Kate Mr. C. Well, this may seem weak and foolish in me to allow these gypsies to camp on my grounds, and there may be no end to the trouble they may make me, and still it is a simple request, to give a resting-place for a while to a wandering tribe of people ; they are but living out their life, as we are living out our lives. But where were my thoughts before this interruption? Ah, I remember ! can I ever forget my child, my long-lost child, my little Violet, lost in her early childhood ? Memory is upon me to-night with all its power. Would to Heaven, that I could find thee ! Art thou at rest on yon blissful shore, where dwells my sainted mother? or can it be that thou art a wanderer on the earth, without shelter or a home? Answer me, ye glittering orbs of night, that shine forth from out yon ether blue, is she with you, my little Violet? The stars shine on, they answer not, they stop not in their course to speak to mortals. All, all is Law. Eternal Law. Enter Mrs. Hovey. Mr. Copeley starts. Mrs. H. Paul, my brother, I overheard part of your soliloquy and my heart went out, as it always does, to comfort you in your trouble. You speak of Law, all, all is Law. And what is Law but God. Are not the earth, sky and air full of Him ? In Him is life, and if He pervades all things, what, then, is Death? Mr. C. O sister ! had I your faith I should be most happy. To me all things work by Law — this wondrous universe in which we live, the stars that shine, the planets in their order, the myriad forms of life upon the globe, all live by one great Power, the uni- versal Law of cause and effect, and what are you and I but atoms in the scale ? Mrs. H. But, Paul, you forget the soul. God is Spirit, Spirit is life ; since Spirit pervades all life, there is no room for Death. If, as I believe, Violet be dead, — no, not dead, but living in another form — then she is not separated from you, but comes to you, even as the fragrance of this flower {holds a bufich of violets in her hand) is wafted to you by some invisible force. You see the body of the flower, its form, and coloring, but not its spirit, you inhale IRENE ASHTON 5 its fragrance but cannot tell from whence it cometh, so it is with Spirit. Mr. C. Oh, could I believe that Violet lived, even in another sphere ! and yet there are moments when a strange peace takes possession of my soul, and then I could almost believe I saw my sainted mother's face. Mrs. H. O Paul! believe it, and find sweet comfort in the thought, our dead still live, were it not for this faith, which to me has become a knowledge, I should have fainted by the wayside long ere this, but thank God who unsealed my eyes, that I could see and know my own can and do come to me. But I came to bring you these httle flowers, they bear the name our darling bore. Let them be to you a token that she lives and loves you still. But, Paul, I had almost forgotten to tell you that my dear little Constance has just arrived to-night with her friend and school- mate, Beatrice Warren, to spend the holidays. They are waiting to see you ; let us try, my dear brother, and forget the past, with all its sorrows, and try and make these young people happy. Let us sing some of the old songs to-night. {Exit both.) Close of Scene I SCENE II SCENE. — Mrs. Wallace's sitting-room. Mrs. Wallace and Alice Winthrop sit sewing. Mrs. W. How the old days come back to me to-day ! Once more I seem to see myself] a bride leaving my father's home, and though sad the parting, yet the joy of going away with my young husband on our wedding trip gave a rosy hue to it all. How we enjoyed that trip on the Continent! and then how happy our jour- ney home — all comes before me so vividly to-day. And then the sad ending to it all, my noble husband shot by brigands ! Oh ! it is too terrible ! {She bows her head and weeps.) {In the distance is heard singing " Let the Dead and Beautiful Rest:') Alice. O Maude ! I beg you not to weep so. Oh ! why will you always remember those dreadful scenes ? you know you have little Clare to live for and give you comfort. Enter Little Clare with her doll. Clare. Why, what is the matter with my darling mama ? Don't cry so, mama, you'll break my heart. Mrs. W. Well, darling, I will try and forget, for your sake, all the sorrows of my life, and live to make my little girl happy. Clare {kissing her). That's a good mama, now I'll sing to you. (Clare sings.^ and while she sings, enter Milly Stearns with a bouquet ofjlowers.) Milly. Oh, excuse me, but I came over to play with Clare a little while, and mama sent you some flowers. (Mrs W. takes powers and smells of them.) Mrs. W. How lovely they are, and how very kind of your mother to send them to me ! Milly. Oh ! a flower is a little thing, but mama says it carries a message of love to sorrowing hearts. I often wish I was a flower. Clare. Oh, I think you are nicer than a flower, 'cause a IRENE ASHTON J flower couldn't play with me. I think it is nicer to be a little girl. MiLLY. What a funny little girl you are, Clare! Mrs. Wal- lace, did you know that the gypsies have come to town? Mrs. W. and Alice {together). The gypsies! How dreadful! {Both rise) MiLLY. Why, I thought it was just lovely. All the school children are just crazy about them ; and, what do you think, we have all planned to go and visit their camp after school to-morrow. They are in the Copeley woods. Clare. Mama, may I go with Milly.? Mrs. W. Oh no, my dear! the very thought makes me shudder. Mrs. W. {to Alice). I do believe it was their coming to town that affected me so a little while ago. Alice. I have a perfect horror of them. Mrs. W. So have I, they are birds of ill omen. MiLLY. Oh ! I almost forgot my errand. May Clare go to school with me to-morrow afternoon .? I will see that she comes home all right. Clare. May I, mama ? Mrs. W. Yes, if you wish to. CURTAIN Close of Scene II. PRELUDE TO SCENE III SCENE. — A group of children on their way to the gypsy camp. MiLLY {kissing Clare). Now, Clare, you must go right straight home. We are going to the gypsy camp. {They stop and sing. Clare s^oes out. Music in the distance. They stop and listen.) MiLLY. What lovely music ! But we must go or we shan't get home before dark. {All go out.) SCENE III SCENE. — Mrs. Wallace's sitting-room. Mrs. W. {nervously). Alice, see how dark it is growing, and Clare does not come, you don't suppose anything could have happened to her ? Alice. Oh, nonsense ! what could have happened ? but if you would feel any easier in your mind, I will run over to Milly's and see. But, hark ! I hear the bell. Enter Milly, all out of breath. MiLLY. O Mrs. Wallace ! has Clare come ? Mrs. W. Clare ! why where is she .'* {faints.) (Alice runs to catch her and restores her.) {Servants rush in.) Alice {to Milly). Call a policeman. ^ {MiiSLY goes out and returns with a Policeman.) Policeman. What is the matter, madam } Alice and Mrs. W. Clare is lost, we think she has been stolen. 8 IRENE ASHTON 9 Mrs. W. Oh, find her ! in the name of Heaven. Policeman. We will, as soon as you give us a clue. MiLLY. I think she went to see the gypsies, she talked of nothing else. Mrs. W. Oh, I knew it! I knew it. They'll kill her. O merciful P^ather ! Alice. Don't, dear, this officer will find her. Policeman. That I will. Where did you say the gypsies were? Alice. In Mr. Copeley's woods. (Policeman takes notes and leaves^ saying, We will report.) Mrs. W. Wait : I will go with you. Alice. Well, if you go, I will follow. O those horrid gypsies ! CURTAIN Close of Scene III SCENE IV SCENE. — Mr. Copeley in his study. A sharp ring at the door, enter Kate, excitedly. Kate. Mr. Copeley, a lady to see you, sir. Mr. C. To see me ? show her in, Kate. Enter Mrs. Wallace. Mrs. W. O sir! my child, my only one, is lost. We have traced her to your grounds, where camp the gypsies. {She falls into the arms of Mrs. Hovey, who enters in time to catch her.) (Kate is wringing her hands and calling on the saints to de- liver her from the thaving, lying gypsies.) Mr. C. {to Kate). Call John. Enter John. Mr. C. John, I hear grave charges concerning this band of gypsies camping on my lands. John. What, sir ? Mr. C. I hear that a child has been abducted : investigate at once and send me word. (John goes out.) CURTAIN Close of Scene IV lO SCENE V SCENE. — The ^ypsy camp. Karl Webber is playing the banjo. Irene Ashton, the waif, is sinking and dancing to a group of people. Annie Walton, a pretty gypsy, is telling fortunes. Jane Webber is peeri7ig cautiously into the face of every newcomer. Irene is the gayest of the gay. In the midst of the scene she goes out and encounters Jack Irving in hunting suit. Irene. Why, here comes Jack ! any luck to-day, Jack? Jack. No, the birds were too shy. no luck for me, everything goes against me. Irene. Blue, Jack, as usual. Well; I know how to pity you, but there is luck in store for you, sure. (Irene ^