mm^"^ , G 3/^^ GoipglitW . corauGHT DEPOSm NO PLAYS EXCHANGED. B7\HER'5 Edition or Pl7\y:5 1 HER PICTURE m COPVRIfiHT, 1fift9. BV WALTER H. BAKER A CO. BAKER'S DARKEY PLAYS Edited cmd arranged for publication from the well-known repertoire o ^HOOLCRAFT AND COES " imth all their origvna/ SCHOOLCRAF *'gags, and "■ stage IniHiness,'* Price BY GiSO. H. GOES. 15 -c^vts «ach. "Luke Schoolcrs^ft'* and "George Goes" are too well known to admirers. #»f Negro Minstrelsy to require comment, and the following selections from their admirable repertory of pieces have no need of other recommendation. Ko one who has seeu these artists iii any of the follo"wi»g list of sketches needs assijr- ance ^^ 1894 y^ CHARACTERS John Remington, aft artist. Tom Dalton, in love with Marjorie. Mrs. Mallorv, a widow. Marjorie, /ohn^s sister. Time^ afternoon. Costumes, modern. Copyright, 1894, by Rachel E. Baker. HER PICTURE Scene. — A studio in John Remington's house. Entrances, l. c. and L. ill flat. Fireplace, R. in flat. Mantel with glass above it. Fire upon hearth. White fiir rug on floor before it. Tea- table by fire. Chair by table. Chair for model upon platform in R. corner. Couch covered with fur rug and sofa-pillows in L. flat. Table with lamp, L. c. Window, R. c. Fahn upon table at window. Between door and window, i7t alcove, a la?ge fra77ie upon draped easel — a cu7'tain hangs before it. Lamp with reflector at side of curtain. Sketches upo7i walls a7id easels. (^Curtai7i raised, discovers Marjorie i7i 77iodeT's chair, sitting for portrait. Should wear a light, effective gow7i. Jack standi7ig before ca7ivas up07i easel i7i c. of stage, pai7iti7ig. Back of ca7i- vas see7i by audie7tce.) Marjorie {sighs). Oh, dear ! This is so tiresome, Jack. I have been sitting here more than an hour, I know. You have worked long enough. Jack. Only a few moments more, my dear. Do try and look interested. You wouldn't like to have me hand you down to pos- cerity as a cross-grained specimen of humanity. Marj. I should much prefer to have you hand me down from this chair. I defy any one to help looking bored, with only an old bachelor brother to gaze upon. Now, if it were only — Jack. Tom. That reminds me — Marj. {interested). Well? J ack ( worki7ig) . I saw — Marj. Yes. Jack {deliberately). I saw — let me see — chrome yellow. {Looks ill paint-box for the color.) Ah ! I have it. Marj. O Jack ! you are so provoking. Jack. I met a young man in the park to-day — Marj. Yes, yes: go on. Jack. Pie — he looked like Tom Dalton. Marj. {deligiitcil ). \ knew it was he. What was he doing? Where was he going? And did he ask for me? Jack. My dear girl ! give me time. I can't answer all those questions at once. In answer to your first inquiry, I would say 3 4 HER PICTURE. that Mr. Dalton was having a fine ride in the park. To the second, he seemed to be going — Marj. Yes, Jack. Jack (working fast) . Toward his destination. Marj. {disgusted) . You are such a briUiant man, I am proud to know you. Jack. He spoke of you. Marj. {interested). Well.^ Jack. And hoped to call very soon. Marj. {clasps hands very aniniated). Dear Tom ! Did he say just when. Jack? Jack. Don^t move. You are just as I want you now. Marj. Do answer my question. When is he coming ? (Jack, absorbed in his work, does not answer.) Jack. Jack. Wait a moment. There, I have it! Marj. Well, I haven't my answer. Jack {throws down brushes, stands iii front of Marjorie lauoh- ing, hands in his pockets) . He is coming — some time, my dear. Marj. {rises, indignant ; Jack helps her fro7?i platfor))i). You are just as hateful as you can be. Jack Remington. {Goes to fire- place ; Jack moves easel to back of stage.) Jack {la^ighing, crosses stage to Marjorie). All is fair in love and art, Marjorie. {Raises her face.) There was only one way to make this tired little sister of mine look interested, and that was to talk abo"ut Tom. But come, light the kettle. {T^crns 7ip lamp on large table.) And while we are waiting, I will have a smoke. {Takes pipe fro})i mantel.) And you can tell me all about Tom, Marj. {lights lainp nnder kettle upoii tea-table; sits in chair by table). You don't deserve to hear anything. Jack {throws himself upon, rug). Yes, I do. I have ren- dered you immortal. Give me a light, sister mine. {Rests head npo7i Marjorie's k7iee, holds pipe in mo7ith ; Marjorie lights it.) There ! isn't this solid comfort? My day's work done, a jolly fire to look into, and a dear little sister, only two months home from her schooling across the water, to keep me company. Now for Tom. Marj. I beg you will not treat Tom in such an off-hand manner. You say ' ' Now for Tom ! " in very much the same tone as I have heard you exclaim " Now for dinner!" Tom is not an inanimate object, sir. Jack. Decidedly not. When I made my appearance in the studio the other day, I cauoht him upon the point of kissing you. Quite alive, IVIarjorie — ha, ha! Marj. Do be serious. I met Tom last summer in Switzerland when I travelled with Aunt Fanny. When we returned to Brus- sels, aunt opened her house for the winter. She used to invite me to dine with her once a week, and sometimes Mr. Dalton would be there. Jack. Oh, yes! I see. Marj. School was so tiresome, it was a delightful change. HER PICTURE. 5 Jack. To see Tom ? Marj. {ptills his hair). No, you stupid ! To dine out. We all came home together. Jack. '^All?^' MarJ;, After the graduation Aunt Fanny travelled with me through Italy. Tom was with us. Mrs. Mallory, Tom's sister, was on her w^ay from India; and when the steamer touched Naples, we took passage on the same ship. It was glorious. I wasn't ill a moment. Poor Mrs. Mallory was, and couldn't promenade with her brother. Jack. But j/^;/ did. Marj. The poor fellow was so Ion. ly. I couldn't be disagree- able, you know. Jack. Of course not. Marj. Now, Jack, if you try to torment me, I won't say another word. Jack. I am mum. Go on. Marj. He was so pleasant to walk and talk with, and so nice to look at, I — I rather liked it. Jack. Certainly. Marj. You know what steamer life is. When you have seen the same person for ten days, why it is natural to like them very much — or not at all. Jack {takes si/ting positioii). The most natural thing in the world. And you like Tom ? Marj. Yes ; very much. There 1 Jack {rises). Good I I admire your frankness. {Crosses stage.) Marj. {rises ^ and follows Jiiin j takes his ar77t j tJiey walk back and forth]. And, Jack — I think that Tom will have something in particular to say to you to-day. He will be so embarrassed. You won't make fun of him ? Jack. Never! I like Tom. If he proves himself the right sort of chap, I shall smile upon him with brotherly approval. ( They stand in centre of stage ; Jack has his arm about Marjorie.) The man who wins Marjorie Remington must have a heart as good and honest as hers. {Kisses her.) Marj. {arm about his neck). You are such a dear brother! Why don't you marry some sweet little woman? Jack {arjn about Marjorie: they cross to fireplace ; Jack takes a piece of bronze front mantel). Do you see this piece of bronze ? Marj. Yes ; I have often wondered what it was. Is it valuable? Jack. In a way. Valuable for the lesson it teaches. {Speaks bitterly.) Whenever I see a pretty woman, and think that I would like to fall in love wdth her, I look at this. Marj. Why, Jack ! your tone is bitter. What is it ? Jack. Nothing, dear. It is an old story now. It was given me by a woman whose heart seemed as honest as yours {Leads her to frame, draws aside curtain.) This frame once held her picture. 6 HER PICTURE. Us emptiness is but the reflection of my own heart. {Drops cur- t.iiii ; turns away.) Never trifle with an honest man's love, Mar- jorie. {Touches leaf of palm.) Like this delicate plant, give it warmth and loving care, it grows and spreads its leaves, and by its beauty returns a hundred-fold the thought lavished upon it. Tri- fle with it, treat it with neglect, it soon loses its beauty, and be- comes but a shadow of its former self. {Co7nes down stage.) But enough of this. Give me my tea, and we will talk of something pleasant. {Laughs.) Shall we have more of Tom? By Jove I I have just thought of a letter which I must have in by to-night's post. {Makes for door, L.) Marj. Won't you have a cup of tea first ? Jack. Business first, pleasure afterwards. I won't be long. Keep the fire burning. {Laughs.) Tom may appear at any mo- ment. {Exit R.) Marj. I wish that he would. I haven't seen him since morning. {Looks out of window.) He is not in sight, anywhere. {Cojnes down stage; goes to mantel, takes up bronze.) Poor Jack ! Some one must have had a very wicked heart to .have made him so unhappy. I donH see how a piece of bronze could remind him of a pretty woman. I- feel guilty to be so happy myself. {Sits at table ; pours cup of tea.) I know that Tom will be frightened to death of Jack. {Drinks tea.) Oh, dear! It is such a responsibility to choose a husband. {Sii^hs.) It is a great care to be in love. {Knock at door.) There he is now. I must not be too glad to see him. {Places cup on table.) The proper thing is to aflect indifference. {Kiieels before fire j adds log of wood ; is very busy with fire when Tom enters.) {Enter Tom Dalton, l.) Tom. May I come in ? (Marjorie does not answer.) No one here. {Sees Marjorie.) There she is now. {Places hat on chair by door ; crosses to fireplace and einbraces Marjorie.) May I come in? Marj. No, you may not, if this is your usual way of announcing yourself to a lady. Tom. It would be my only mode of entrance \i you were the fair one, Marjorie. {She tur?is away.) Do smile upon me. Ah ! you would not turn away like that if you only knew. Marj. {turns). What? Tom. That I approached this house with fear and trembling. My very blood chilled in my veins. Marj. Did you meet with an accident? Tom. No ; I was afraid I should meet your brother. Marj. {relents; laughs). No need to be afraid of Jack. He is the dearest brother in the world. 1 have something to tell you, Tom. {Sits upon couch.) Tom {alarmed). Break it to me gently, Marjorie. Does he object ? {Seated beside Marjorie.) HER PICTURE, - 7 Marj. No ; he likes you. Tom. Three cheers for brother Jack ! I admire his taste. He is the sort of man I hke. Ah, Marjorie, your words have sent the aforesaid blood leaping and surging upon its onward course. Thomas, whose surname is Dalton, is himself again. Marj. {crosses to tea-table). Shall I serve you a cup of tea ? Tom. What ! and miss the opportunity of waiting upon you 1 Never ! {Seats Marjorie i7i cJiah' ; business of hunting for footstool. ) Marj. What are you looking for ? Tom {takes cusJiio)i from coucJi). I have it. {Places it at MARjORiE^sy^t'/.) There! if your imagination is up to standard, and if we only had a stiff breeze blowing, you could fancy yourself upon the briny deep. {Pours cup of tea; sings.) '* Sailing, sailing, over the ocean blue." {Brings tea /€on. Jack. And the result was that this little sister of mine lost her heart somewhere about mid-ocean. Tom. Yes, sir. It floated to me, and if you are willing, I — I should like to anchor it in a safe harbor. Jack {offers hand). Well said, Tom. I don^t see as there is any other way for me to do but to allow you to adopt me as your elder brother: but this is such a practical world, we must not lose sight of it in the glamour of a moon-lit voyage. Marjorie, leave us for a few moments. Marj. Dear me ! Business, of course. I won't give you but five minutes. Don't waste it in smoking. {Exit.) Jack {motions for Tom to be seated). Sit down. (Tom sits. Jack offers hi/n cigarettes. Tom takes one. Jack offers light ] both seated smoking.) Now tell me all about yourself, Tom. Tom. I am all right financially, Mr. Remington. I have just been admitted junior partner of the banking firm of Dalton & Gregory. You know the house, sir? Jack. Only by reputation. Their standing is very high. Tom. I have seen a bit of the world, and have travelled quite a little. I shall be very glad to settle down in London. Jack. Has this been your home? Tom. Only recently. My father formerly lived in India. Jack. India ? Tom. Yes ; though 1 was away at college at the time. Jack. What is your father's name? Tom. Robert Dalton. Jack. Robert Dalton ! Tom. Do you know my father? Jack. Yes ; I was an artist in India eight years ago. Tom {rises). Not the Remington who painted my sister's por- trait? Jack {rises). The very same. Tom. My father never forgot the grand old fellow who made such a hero of himself in the service. ( Takes him by both hands. ) Why all India was agog with it. And Marjorie is your sister. What luck! Jack. And yours? Tom {crosses to mantel). Ruth married one of my father's friends, Richard Mallory. He is dead now. Well, I am pleased ! My cigarette has trone out. Where do you keep your matches? Jack. You will find them in a box at your right. Tom {takes piece of bronze f}-om mantel). Hallo! Where did you get this? lO HER PICTURE. Jack. Your sister gave it to me. It is supposed to bring the possessor good luck. I am afraid it has missed its vocation. {Speaks bitteily.) Tom {aside). I wonder if he loved Ruth. {Aloud.) Never knew it to fail. Sooner or later fortune will smile upon you. It is a useful thing, too. Valuable for sending private messages. Now, to look at it one would never think that it could contain anything. You press a spring so. {Box opens and discloses paper.) By Jove ! here is one now. Jack {agitated; takes it front hi7n). Yes; I use it for priv^itc papers. Tom. I beg ten thousand pardons. I did not mean to intrude. Jack {returns bronze to mantel), I forgive you. Tom {aside), I believe that he was in love with Ruth. {Enter Marjorie.) Marj. Your time is up. Everything settled? Jack. Yes ; very satisfactorily. I find that 1 knew Tom's father in India. Marj. Then we can all be such good friends. I want you to know Tom^s sister, Mrs. Mallory. (Jack turns away; Tom watches him.) She is so sweet and lovely. I know you would like her; and {langhi/ig), who knows, perhaps you will fall in love. Tom. Your brother and I have agreed that you must obey me to the letter. Marj. Indeed, I have not signed any such contract. Tom. Come with me, and we will sign it now. (Tom ^;/<^ Mar- jorie exennt, R. Jack follows them to the door ; stands looking,) Jack. The old, old story. They love one another. The very sun shines more brightly for them. I hope Marjorie will not be disappointed. Tom is a lucky fellow. If every woman had as true a heart, there would be less of bitterness in the world. {Crosses to 7nantel.) And I too once loved, and was happy in the knowl- edge. {Takes tip bronze.) To think that so small a piece of bronze could hold hidden within itself a man's fate. {Takes paper from bron.ze ; re. ids.) "My answer is no." Ah, Ruth Dalton ! why did you lead me to paint upon my heart as well as upon the canvas the image of your face and beauty? {Turns down la?np tip07i table ; sits before fire,) The light from the fire is sufficient. 1 like to sit here and think ; to picture in the flames what might have been. Oh, those happy days in India ! I can see her now, dressed in a soft, clim^^im^: crown, as she sat before me. We chatted Upon the current news of the day, ne'er dreamed of love at first. At last, with every stroke of the brush, love guided my hand, and the words I had not tlie courage to utter breathed softly from the work upon the canvas. Not until the portrait was finished did I dare to speak ; with" what anxiety I awaited the answer to my letter. At last it came, enclosed in this bit of bronze. Those few words HER PICTURE. I I changed my whole life. But what nonsense, Remington. Shake yourself together, old man, and don't sit before a fire sighing for a pretty woman. So I am to lose Marjorie, and she will be Mrs. Tom Dalton. (^Laughs.) Bless her sweet heart ! I hope she will be happy. She deserves it. {Yawns. ^ I must be growing lazy in my old age. I feel inclined to take a nap before the fire. i^Yawns.) Mrs. Tom Dalton. My Marjorie to be married. Mrs. Tom — {Falls asleep.^ {Enter Marjorie.) Mar J. Jack ! {No answer.) Jack ! {Crosses to fireplace.') Here he is, asleep. Now that I am settled for life, he thinks that he can take a nap. Dear old Jack! He is so-alone. I wonder if he is comfortable. Let me see. {Places sofa-pi I lozv on floor, raises Jack's feet gently, places them npon pillow.) There, that is better ! I want him to see Mrs. Mallory. He can't help falling in love with her. Tom {calls.) Marjorie ! Marj. Dear me, what trials men are ! I can't move out of Tom's sight but I hear him calling me. I wonder if it will be so after we are married. I may be the one who will call. {Exit l.) {Enter Mrs. Mallory.) Mrs. Mallory {speaks brightly). May I come in ? May I come in? No one here. '* Silence gives consent," so I suppose I may. This must be the studio. Yes ; there are sketches upon the walls and upon the easels. I must be right. {Takes up hat from chair ; looks inside.) Tom's hat. He must be here. Dear fellow ! he is so madly in love, he's Miss Marjorie's shadow. {Crosses to fireplace.) Why, here he is asleep! Well, upon my word ! Calling upon a pretty woman, and taking a nap. This will never do. I must teach him better manners. {Behi?id chair ; places hafids over Jack's eyes.) Tom, Tom, dear! Jack {awakens, catches Mrs. Mallory's hands, holds them, and draws her to him) . Is that you, Marjorie? {They recognize one another.) Mrs. M. Jack Remington ! Jack {rises), Ruth Dalton ! Mrs. M. I — I beg your pardon. I thought you were Tom. Jack {brushes Jiands across eyes). Am I dreaming? {Turns up light on table.) No, no ; it is all real. Ruth, Ruth, how came you here ? Mrs. M. I came to see Marjorie's picture. I was not aware that the brother of the young girl whom 1 had grown to love so dearly was the Mr. Remington whom I met in India. Jack {offers chai?) . Won't you be seated ? Your sudden ap- pearance made me forget my manners. Mrs. M. {sits by table). Thank you. You have left India? 12 HER PICTURE. Jack. Yes ; and have become wedded to my art. I was wounded during the service. I drifted back to my own country. Mrs. M. Your friends in India were very proud of you. They called you the hero of the hour. Jack. It was very kind of my friends ; but there was more of foolhardiness than bravery. {Looks at her with ?neani7ig.) There are some things that only the shot and shell of battle can erase from one's memory. Mrs. M. {returns his look). And those who cannot take their wrongs to battle, who have no means of winning golden laurels, must bury their sorrows deep within their hearts. Jack. You have left India? Mrs. M. I returned two months ago. We have been living in London. You left your friends in India without bidding them good- by. Jack {coldly). I paid my respects to all who wished them. We are upon dangerous ground, Mrs. Mallory. {Rises.) I will speak to Marjorie. Mrs. M. {coldly). If you will, please. (Jack bows coldly and exit.) Mrs. M. {rises). What strange workings of fate have led me to these doors. "Dangerous ground!" Yes, he speaks truly. And my brother loves his sister. {Crosses to fireplace.) O Jack, Jack! What was it that came into our lives eight years ago and made me so desolate? {Eftter Marjorie, r.) Marj. My dear Mrs. Mallory, how good of you to come! Mrs. M. I could not possibly have stayed away. I am so anxious to see your picture. Marj. {leads her to easel). There are to be a few more touches, I believe. Mrs. M. It is beautiful. Your brother has a master touch. His work reminds me of an artist — whom I once met in India. Marj. India! Why, Jack was there several years ago. Mrs. M. Indeed ! {Looks at curtain.) What treasure lies hidden there. Marj. Only an empty frame. {Leads her to couch; both seated.) It once held the portrait of the woman whom my brother loved very dearly. Mrs. M. {agitated). Tell me about Tom. Marj. Everything is perfectly lovely. Tom spoke to Jack to-day. Mrs. M. And he is willing? Marj. Oh, yes. You see, he likes Tom, and then he knew your father in India Isn^t that funny? So strange that you and Jack have never met. Mrs. M. Oh, I spent most of my time travelHng. Marj. Dear old Jack! I want you to know him. He is so sad HER PICTURE. 13 and lonely sometimes. I shall never forgive that horrid woman for breaking his heart. {Ar^n about Mrs. Mallory.) Wouldn't it be just too lovely for anything if you two would fall in love with one another. Mrs. M. {assuines gayely). Nonsense, my dear girl! Because you are in love with Tom you think that every one should follov/ your example. Marj. {laughs). That is just it. I wish every one to be as happy as I am. {Rises.) You must have a cup of tea. I know you are fond of it. {Crosses to tea-table.) Mrs. M. I never refuse it. {Follows her.) Your brother seems to have a fondness for Indian curios. Marj. Yes. One or two lumps ? Mrs. M. One, dear. {Takes up bronze j starts ; aside.) The talisman that I gave him. Marj. {brings her a ctip of tea). Isn't that a curious old bronze? It seems to have very valuable associations for Jack. Mrs. M. Valuable? Marj. Yes ; Jack says that it is valuable because it is a constant reminder that he must not fall in love with a pretty woman. {Laughing.) See what an ugly face it has. That is the strange part of it. Why, how pale you look ! {Seats her in chair.) There ! do sit down. I am so thoughtless. Mrs. M. It must be the heat of the fire. I am better now. {Drinks tea.) Your tea is refreshing. Marj. I am so glad. I will speak to Tom. May I bring my brother Jack? Mrs. M. Not now, dear, if you do not mind. I still feel faint. Marj. Then it shall only be Tom this time. {Exit.) Mrs. M. It isn't the fire, little Marjorie. A flood of bitter memories lias overpowered me. {Rises; takes bronze.) Eight years ago you loved me. Jack Remington. I sent my answer in this talisman. It was "Yes; "my heart full of love for him. I waited for his coming, but in vain. He entered the army, and went out of my life completely. What could it have meant? And why this bitterness when we meet again? I wonder if the message is still here? It will do no harm to look. {Opens bronze ; reads.) " My answer is no." What does this mean? My message was in- tercepted. W^ho could have been so cruel? I did not know that I had an enemy in the world. This, then, explains his sudden depar- ture. O Jack ! how you have misjudged me all these years ! {Enter Marjorie andTo^, r.) Marj. Here he is, Mrs. Mallory. Tom. You have found your way at last to the enchanted castle where my princess dwells, (/^/^^^i- Marjorie's ar^n in his.) Not a bad-lookino- couple, are we? Marjorie has promised to obey me in everything. Marj. Indeed 1 have not! 14 HER PICTURE. Tom. Then we must sign that contract again. {Attempts to kiss her.) Marj. {preventing him). Once is enough — for the present. You are feeling better, Mrs. Mallory? Mrs. M. Oh, yes! It was only a h'ttle faintness. Your cup of tea has refreshed me wonderfully. {Rises.) I am quite myself again. Marj. Then you will surely see Jack. Mrs. M. Not now, dear. Some other time. I have an appoint- ment later. {Stands between them, hafid npon arm of each.) It is a pleasure to see you both so happy. Guard your love from doubts and petty jealousies. Love is too rich a blessing to be tri- fled with. {Speaks lightly.) There! I have preached you a little sermon, and hope you will treat me with proper respect and dignity for such wise sayings. Marj. {arm about her). I shall love you dearly, and shall be so glad to have you for a sister. And I know Jack will be too. Mrs. M. {embarrassed). Thank you, dear. But I must go. Tom, wdll you be my escort ? Tom. Certainly, Ruth. {Takes gloves frojn pocket.) Oh, this reminds me. {Takes letter from pocket.) Here is a letter for you from India. Mrs. M. From India? Oh, yes ! my solicitors. Tom. Open it. It may be something important, Mrs. M. 1 think it can wait. Tom. But I can't. You will excuse us, won't you, Marjorie ? Marj. Certainly. {Busies herself at tea-table ; finally exit.) Mrs. M. Children should be amused. {Takes froin envelope two letters ; reads.) Mrs. Mallory, Dear Madam. — Your aunt, Mrs. Gardner, died two months ago. Enclosed you will find a letter, which she desired should be sent you. Respectfully yours, Richard Creighton. {Speaks.) Aunt Rebecca dead ! Tom. I hope she has left you a handsome legacy. She did all she could w^iile living to make your life miserable. Mrs. M. {lays hand npon Tom's arm; speaks gently). No matter now, Tom. She is dead. {Opens letter] reads. Becomes agitated.) O Tom ! am I dreaming ? (Tom reads letter alond.) My dkar NirxK. — ! have a confession to nake. When you read this try not to think too unkindly of me, for I shall be counted amongst those whose earthly life is ended. Eight years ago, Mr. Remington, the artist, loved ycu. Your Cousin Richard, my son. was nlso an ardent suitor, and begged me to help him win you. I saw you give the Indian curio to a messenger, intercepted it, and — forgive me — changed the answer. Tom {speaks). A devil in petticoats. Mrs. M. {sinks into chaii'). O Tom, I am so happy! {Bursts iiito tears.') HER PICTURE. I 5 Tom. {hands in his pocizets ; %uliistles). The deuce you are I Then you loved Marjorie\s brother? Mrs. M. Yes; I always have. Tom. {hand upon he?' shonlde)). We will have it O.K. in five minutes, Ruth. I will go and find him. Mrs. M. {rises ; detains Jiiin.). You will do nothing of the kind. He probably does not love me now. Tom. Gad ! that's so. I never thought of that. {Enter Marjorie.) Marj. Did you have good news in your letter ? Tom. Yes ; just immense. It is as good as a fairy story. Let me tell it you. Mrs. M. No, Tom; I will. {Leads Marjorie to couch; both seated.^ Once upon a time a young woman, while living in India, met an artist, who desired to paint her portrait. He was so manly, seemed to possess so much strength of character, that the girl soon lost her heart. Marj. He must have been something like Jack. Mrs. M. He returned her love, and they were very happy to- gether. He sent her a letter asking her to be his wife ; and she, wishing tliat her love should bring him good fortune, sent an ac- ceptance in an old Indian curio, a talisman for whomsoever should possess it. Then a wicked fairy came along, disguised as an old aunt, who wished the young lady to marry some one else, and changed the answer. Marj. The horrid old wom'an. Mrs. M. Believing that his love was not returned, the young man entered the army, and was so brave and courageous upon the field of battle that all India sang his praises. After waiting and hoping for three years that her lover would return, she consented to marry one of her father's friends, still loving the artist. Eight years passed — meanwhile the husband died ; and the woman, now a v/idow, received upon the death of the wicked fairy, the aunt, a written confession of the unkind act wliich she had committed. Marj. Did the artist marry? Mrs. M. No; lie became wedded to his art. {Rises.) Mar- jorie, I have been telling you my own story. Marj. Oh, I am so glad it came out all right ! You have only to find the young man. Mrs. M. And if that man should be your brother? Marj What, reallv ' my brother Jack? Mrs. M. Yes. Marj. {embraces her). Oh, I am perfectly delighted! Jack will be so glad. {Makes for door, L.) Mrs. M. {detains he' ). Where are vou going, Marjorie? Marj. To tell Jack. Mrs. M. But Jack may not love me now. Marj.# Oh, but I am sure that he does. Do let me tell him. l6 HER PICTURE. Mrs. M. No; I must be sure first. What shall I do? Tom. Let him see aunt\s letter. Marj. Yes ; and while he is reading it, you watch him. You will very soon find out. I know {draws aside curtaiti)^ the empty frame. Let the picture live again. Mrs. M. But how? Marj. With your own dear self. Tom. Marjorie, you are a trump ! Mrs. M. {eagerly). Give me some paper, Marjorie. Marj. {brings writing materials). Do say something nice to him. Think how lonely he has been all these years. Mrs. M. {writes; encloses paper with letter i7i envelope^. It must be placed where he can see it. Tom. Yes ; here by the lamp. Now for it. Mrs. M. My heart is beating so. Tom. I am with you there. Mine is beating a regular military tattoo. I could not feel more frightened if I were to be married. Marj. {turns up light by frame, draws aside curtain). Come, Mrs. Mallory. Mrs. M. Yes. {Goes to portiere at door, c.) Don't leave me, Marjorie. Tom. Oh, a third party would spoil all the fun. Then it is time to sign that contract again. Marj. Now, Tom, send Jack to us. Tom. You won't stay? Marj. Only to speak to Jack. (Tom exit.) Mrs. M. Marjorie. Marj. Yes, dear. Mrs. M. Do you think that Jack will be glad? Marj. Glad? {Clasps her hands.) I know he will be just as happy as I am. {Enter Jack, snioking.) Jack. Tom said that you wished to speak with me. Marj. {leads him to chair before fire). Yes. Sit down ; I want to talk with you. Jack {sits). Of Tom?. Marj. {kneels beside him). No. Tell me about Mrs. Mallory. Jack. Don't talk of it, dear. I try so hard to forget it. The sight of her brought back the old love. It was all a mistake; she never cared for me. Marj. Perhaps there was some misunderstanding. Jack. How could there have been ? I would not believe the answer, anci called twice. {Bitterly.) She would not receive me. Makj. Hut now thai she is so near us, perhaps you could win her love. Jack. No; too late. I will never again dream of such happi- ness, but bask in the warmth of domestic felicity at your fireside. Marj. {rises). Jack, I feel sure that it was the ship q£ fate in HER PICTURE. 1 7 which Tom and I crossed the ocean. It broiiglit happiness to us, and it will come to v^ou. Something tells me that the good days are coming back ai^^iin. Jack. No, no; that is impossible. Marj. {arm about his neck). On that stormy night at sea the simple cry, '* All's well." came to us. bidding us be patient and wait. Perhaps it will come to you, and that from the ashes of your buried hopes a greater happiness may arise. {Kisses Jiivi.) If it comes, no one will rejoice more than your sister Marjorie. {Exit.) Jack. " Buried hopes ! '^ Yes ; so deeply that they have ceased to strive to rise. Strange, after all these years, we should meet again. She shall never know how much I cared. And yet I thought she loved me. We seemed to be so happy in those days. With winning smile and sweet glances she led me on, then threw my love aside, a mere bauble, an empty nothingness. I wish I had not seen her. I had hoped that I had forgotten. Ah, no! in the fitful flames I see the face of the woman I loved. My ears seem to echo with the sound of her voice when she spoke. Mrs. M. {tinabU to control herself, speaks softly)'. Jack. Jack {listens). An odd fancy. I thought some one called. {Rises ; crosses to couch; lounges icpon it ; smokes.) I can see her now, as she sat for her portrait, her eyes so bright and glorious, her lips parted, as though she would say — Mrs. M. {softly). Jack. Jack {rises). No fancy this time. {Goes to door, L.) No, it was not Marjorie, she is busy with Tom. {Crosses to table; sees envelope.) Hallo! what is this ? {Opens letter ; reads.) ''When you have read the enclosed letter, if you sti.ll love me, seek me. Ruth.'" {Sinks into chair.) What can this mean? {Reads letter.) How could any one have been so cruel! Ruth, you have loved me all these years. {Rises.) Seek you? Indeed, I will. Marjorie is right ; the old days are coming back again. ^\3i:Yi {speaks softly). Jack. Jack {turns; notices light by picture). What does this light mean? {Drazus aside curtain; tableau. Ruth stands behind f?'afne; holds out hands to Jack.) 'Ruth ! Mrs. M. Yes. You still love me, then? Jack {takes her hands in his; kisses them). Still love you? My love has been and always will be yours. {Enter Tom a/id Marjorie.) Marj. Have you found her. Jack? Jack. Yes. See ! the picture lives again. The frame no longer is an empty one. Again it holds the face of the w^oman 1 have always loved. Like my heart, it will hold and wear forever her picture. {Tableau. Mrs. Mallory in frame. ]acv. stands in at Ti.. of fra?ne; holds out hands to her. ToM and Marjorie dow7i L,, /^\5 Designed especially for Church, Sohool, and other Amateur Cjrffan- iz at ions. Complete, With all the music and full directions for parformance. Grandpa's Birthday. In One Act. Words by Dexter Smith; music by C. A. White. For one adult (male or female) and three children; chorus, if desired. Piuce, 25 Cents. Jimmy, The Newsboy. In One Act. Written and composed by W. C Pakkeu. For one adult (luale), and one boy. No chorus. Very easy and tuneful. " PiiiCE, 25 Cents, The FouTrleafed Clo.ver. In Three Acts. ByMAiiY B. HoRNE. For children of from six to fifteen years. Seven boys, seven girls, and chorus. Very picturesque. JPkice, 50 Cents. Beans and Buttons. In One Act. Words by Wm. H. Lepere; music by Alfred G. Hobyn. Two mate and two female characters; no chorus. Very comical^ and easy, Pkice, 50 Cents. Hunt the Thimble. In One Act. Words by A. G. Lewis ; music by Leo K. Lewis. Two male, two female characters and small chorus. Simple and pretty. PiiiCE, 50 Cents. Red Riding Hood's Rescue. In Four Scenes. Words by J. E. Estabuook; music by J. Astor Broad. Tliree male, four female ('haracters and chorus. 1*kice, 50 Cents. Golden Hair and the Three Bears. In Five Scenes. By J. Astor .Broad. - Three adults (2 m., i f.), eight children and chorus. Music is -easy, graceful, and pleasing. PiiiCE, 75 Cents. R. B. Porter ; or, The Interviewer and the Fairies. In Three Acts. Words by A. G. Lewis; music by Leo H. Lewis. Six male, six female characters, and chorus. Very picturesque and pretty. Price, 75 Cents. -Gyp,. Junior. In Two Acts. Words by Earl Marble; music hy D. F. Hodges. Two males, one female (adult), three children and chorus. Very successful and easily produced. Price, 75 Cjcnts. AlvinGray; or, The Sailor's Return. In Three Acts. Written and composed by C. A. White. Ten characters, including chorus; can be made more effective by employing a larger number. Price, 75 Cents. Catalogues describing the above and other popular entertain- ments sent free on application to WALTER H. BAKER & CO., THEATRICAL PUBLfSHERS, No- 23 Winter Street, - Boston, Mass. NEW OPER ETTAS FOR CI Odd! Operas FOR Eventide. A Collection of Short and Simple Musical Entertainments for Children. By Mrs. C. N. BORDMAN, AuTiKtR OF "Tin: Kingdom of Mother Goose," ''Motion <5oNo>i i oj? •ww s« unoi- KooM," "The Temperajsce ClarIo^," j . Complete witb all the music ami fiill instructions for perfonnance. This rollection is strongly recoui mended for its simplicity, origiuality of idea, tuuet'ulnesB and perlect prac- ticability. Price 50 cents. A GLIMPSE OF THE BROWNIES. A Musical Sketcli for ( 1 il dren. For any number of boys. JIMMY CROW. A l^ecitation for a.Little Girl. MARKET DAY. .An Operetta for Young People. Seven spekuL ])arts and chorus. QUEEN FLORA'S DAY DREAM. An Operetta tor Children. Six speaking parts and chorus. THE BOATING PARTY. A Musical Sketch ?or Little Children. 1 i i y boys and girls. SIX LITTLE GRANDMAS. A Musical Pantomime for very Little Children. Six very little girls. A HOUSE IN THE MOON. A Recitation for a Little Girl. ROBIN'S SPECIFIC; OR, THE CHANGES OF A NIGHT. A Christmas Of'Kretta in Okk Act, Words by AMELIA SANFORD. EVIusic by ADAM CIEBEL. For one miult and nine cliildren from eight to sixteen years old, with eight very little boys and twelve little girls for Chorus. Three clmnges of scene, very easily arranged, costumes vari««I but sniiple and readily procured. Very eHect.v© and easily gutien up. Price 25 cents. Catalogues describing the above and other j)opula,r entertainments sentjYte on uppi»r^'^ i.^n tt WALTER H. BAKER & CO., THEATRICAL PU3LISHERS, No. 23 Winter Street, - - BOSTON, MASS. immmmmmmmmmmmmmigf^ vH -ii ; mr-'r- >^y. US'! i.