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 AN ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 For Churches, Sunday Schools and 
 
 Societies connected with 
 
 the Church 
 
 
 BY 
 
 LILLIE M. WALKER 
 
 Arthur Radcliffe Publishing Co. 
 
 MILLVILLE, NEW JERSEY 
 
n %mWt 
 
 AN ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 For Churches, Sunday Schools and 
 
 Societies connected with 
 
 the Church 
 
 BY 
 
 LILLIE M. WALKER 
 
 PRICES: 
 
 
 Single Copy without right of production 
 
 $1.00, postpaid 
 
 One Dozen Copies, with right of two per- 
 
 
 formances 
 
 $4.00, postpaid 
 
 License for additional performance in the 
 
 
 same city a* books are purchased 
 
 $2.50 
 
 License for performance in any city other 
 
 - 
 
 than which books are purchased 
 
 $4.00 
 
 The Right of Public Performance Reserved 
 
 Copytiahf. 1917 by LillieM. Walker 
 Copyrisht. 1921 by Arthur RadcUffe Publiihing Co. 
 
 Arthur Radciiffe Publishing GOi 
 
 MILLVILLE, NEW JERSEY 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS / .^,' 
 
 ■h^..?^ 
 '\^' 
 
 /^^^V'' 
 
 Helen Emerson 
 
 Happy 
 
 Verna . A Very young girl 
 
 Mr. Bard 
 
 Mrs. Smith 
 
 Mr. Roe 
 
 Mrs. Roe 
 
 Dorothy Clark 
 
 Ralph Hurd 
 
 *Amanda Washington 
 
 *Dr. Davis 
 
 *Edith Davis 
 
 Time— June 
 
 Place— Kansas City, Mo. 
 
 Time of Performance — About one hour and three quarters. 
 
 Scene — Poorly furnished bed room in cheap boarding house. 
 
 Costumes— Ordinary attire as suggested by characters. 
 
 Stage Directions — All through the playlet. 
 
 Exits— Right, rear and left, if possible. 
 
 Caution — This composition is fully copyrighted und'^r the 
 existing laws of the United States, and no one is al'owed 
 to publicly perform the same without first obtaining per- 
 mission of the publishers. 
 
 Requirements— Permission to produce will be granted only 
 on the purchase of One Dozen or more copies of 
 the book. 
 
 We have had so many calls for a book of this character, we 
 take pleasure in presenting this littie playlet to the pub- 
 lic, and hope it will teach many the great lesson of 
 sacrifice. 
 
 THE PUBLISHERS 
 
 *May be ommitted if desired 
 
 ^ ©CI.D 58848 
 TMP92-007568 
 
 OCT ■ .; 1921 '"'^ ^ 
 
HER SACRIFICE 
 
 Especial notice should be taken that the pos- 
 sessi(,n of this book without a valid contract for 
 proiu lion first having been obtained from the 
 publishers, confers no right or license to profes- 
 sions or amateur to produce the play publicly or 
 in private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to 
 the reading public only, and no performance of 
 it may be given except by special 
 arrangement with the 
 
 ARTHUR RADCLIFFE PUB. CO. 
 
 See requirements on Page 2 
 
 Happy: Bless her heart — ironing away like a little 
 woman. Here let me finish that, 
 
 Verna: No, thank you, I always finish what I begin. 
 Have you mended all those clothes so soon? 
 
 Happy: Certainly — I, too, always finish what I begin 
 (whistles). Never was so happy in my life, dearie! Just 
 think, Helen is really going away to rest — going to have 
 more to eat — going to do just nothing for a whole month 
 but sit on the grass — wade in the streams— listen to the 
 birds and eat and sleep (whistles). Gee, it's hard to be- 
 lieve! (whistles). 
 
 Verna: I'm so glad she is going that I want to cry: 
 but what shall we do without her? 
 
 Happy (kisses her: We'll stick closer together than 
 ever (swings her about). Think of the things she'll have 
 to tell us when she returns. How's your arm, dearie? 
 
 V. (showing arm) : Better — but it hurts yet. She 
 hit so hard, Happy! 
 
 Hap, (dresses arm then kisses it) : That will cool it 
 dearie. We'll not tell Helen it hurts. Well here is a 
 place I forgot to mend (picks up dress) — 
 
 V. (laughing) : "Certainly, I always finish what I be- 
 gin ! " 
 
 Hap.: Say, dearie, when Helen comes in she's going 
 to be very tired and tremendously blue about leaving us; 
 so it's up to us to be unusually gay and dispel the darkness 
 
and gloom that naturally exists when life-long friends like 
 us are on the eve of separation. Certainly! So vie must 
 start something the moment she arrives so she won't 
 think we're sad. See? 
 
 v.: Certainly. What shall we start? 
 
 Hap.: I'll depend upon inspiration. 
 
 v.: Do you think that's safe? 
 
 Hap.: Certainly (whistles). 
 
 v.: You certainly do seem happy. I am trying to 
 act happy but I feel awful queer inside. 
 
 Hap.: Certainly — I do to. My heart is going this 
 way — my head is going this way, and my stomach is go- 
 ing this way. Bat I'll drov/n all my feelings if it kills me. 
 
 v.: Happy, will you never tell if I tell you a secret? 
 
 Hap.: Certainly. 
 
 v.: Certainly what? 
 
 Hap.: Certainly not. 
 
 v.: I know where Helen keeps her money, so I slip- 
 ped in a quarter— that will give her more to eat. 
 
 Hap.: Where did you get a quarter? 
 
 v.: Earned it cleaning shoes for the man upstairs. 
 
 Hap.: Good for you! Now can you keep a secret? 
 
 v.: Certainly. 
 
 Hap.: Certainly what? 
 
 v.: Certainly yes. 
 
 Hap.: Well, I slipped in two dollars (whistles and 
 dances about with Verna). 
 
 v.: I know another secret. Won't you never tell it? 
 
 Hap.: No. 
 
 v.: I heard Helen tell Mrs. Smith that the only rea- 
 son she was going away was to get well and strong so she 
 could do something for us. 
 
 Hap.: I knew it (whistles). Listen! There she comes 
 now. Remember we are frightfully happy. (Helen en- 
 ters with bundles, looking pale and tired). 
 
 Helen: You here girls! How long have you been 
 here? Verna, give me that iron this minute. You shall 
 not iron another bit. Happy, put up that mending — I'll 
 have oodles of time while I'm gone to do that. Come 
 here and see what I've bought. You'll think it dreadfully 
 extravagant; but I figured it all out this way — if I eat 
 a light lunch every day, I could have it (displays dress). 
 Isn't it beautiful, girls? 
 
 4 
 
Hap.: Certainly you can have it — money goes a long 
 way in Colorado. 
 
 Verna: Certainly it does. 
 
 Helen: Try it on, Happy, so I can see how it looks. 
 Hap. (whistles): Certainly, but it will look like a 
 mosquito on the pyra mids, (Puts on dress.) 
 
 Helen: Isn't it lovely, girls? Even if it doesn't reach, 
 it looks fine where it does. 
 
 Hap. (walking about): How does it look behind? 
 
 Verna: Nothing there. 
 
 Helen: Put on my hat, too, Happy. 
 
 Hap.: Isn't it a wonderful creation? 
 
 Helen: Now my shoes, dear. 
 
 Hap.: Certainly not — I still have eyes to see and 
 corns to feel. My big toe wouldn't even go in. 
 
 Helen: Oh, try it. A little squeeze won't hurt you. 
 (Hap. tries.) 
 
 v.: Let me, just to show you how they look at a 
 distance, Helen. 
 
 Hap.: Perspective, you mean. 
 
 v.: What's that? Your big words do worry me so. 
 
 Helen: They look fine, dearie — just a we bit large. 
 
 Let's dress Verna up too. Here, dear, put on this dress 
 and skirt. Hold this new umbrella, Happy. 
 
 Hap. (walking about) : When the rain is descend- 
 ing in torrents from the canopy of the heavens, raise it; 
 when it stops, close it (whistles). What's this (picking 
 up a brush) ? 
 
 Helen: A brush. 
 
 Hap.: Certainly; but the bristles are not all alike — 
 
 uniform. One end for your back, I surmise, and the other 
 for your floor. 
 
 Verna: Helen must put on these so we can see how 
 she looks in them. Does'nt she look fine? 
 
 Hap.: If that doctor should meet her out West in 
 these clothes he would certainly lose his heart, (whistles.) 
 
 Verna: What doctor? 
 
 Happy: The doctor who set her arm last year, and 
 whom she cannot forget, (To Helen) You look distingue. 
 
 Helen: Thank you. Where did I lay my supper, 
 girls? I'm famished! Oh, here it is. Come dine with 
 
me, ladies. Had I knov/n you were here, I would have 
 brought more. But scanty fare for one will often make 
 a royal feast for two — yes, for three. 
 
 , Hap.: Thank you, we have dined. 
 (Enter Mrs. Smith.) 
 
 Mrs. S.: How'dy, girls, helping Miss Emerson to 
 pack? 
 
 Hap.: Yes, and looking at her pretty things. 
 
 Mrs. S. (lazily): Let me see, what did I come in 
 here for, anyway? Oh, yes, to see your new clothes. My, 
 ain't they fine, (sniffing.) I do believe I smell my kraut 
 burning; if it ain't burned I'll bring you a taste; if it is 
 I will too, because some body'll have to help eat it up. 
 
 Helen: Thank you. (Mrs. S. starts to leave, then re- 
 turns). 
 
 Mrs, S.: What time do you leave in the morning? 
 Helen: At nine o'clock. 
 
 Mrs. S.: I forget, what road did you say you were 
 going to take? 
 
 Helen: Union Pacific. 
 
 Mrs. S.: Think it's safe? 
 
 Hap.: Of course it is safe. 
 
 Mrs. S.: Didn't ask you. 
 
 Helen: I think it is perfectly safe. 
 
 Mrs. S. (leaving): I doubt it. I feel in my bones 
 there'll be a wreck. I feel like a cemtry. 
 
 Hap.: You look like it, (whistles.) 
 
 (Exit Smith) 
 
 Helen: Girls, please excuse me while I read about 
 the place where I am going. (Eats and reads.) Accord- 
 ing to this, girls, the grass is greener, the pines are larger, 
 the mountains are higher, the sky is bluer, the food is 
 cheaper, the parks are lovelier, the health is better, the 
 people are happier, and the water is wetter out in Colo- 
 rado than anywhere else on earth! How I wish that you 
 were going too! 
 
 Hap.: Let me finish the packing, Helen; you look so 
 tired and I am not. 
 
 Helen: Yes, I am tired; but my heart is singing — 
 singing, (embraces girls.) Forgive me, girls, for being 
 so happy when I'm going to leave you — but — but — every- 
 thing will be so much better when I get back! 
 
 Verna: I don't know what I'm going to do without 
 you. 
 
Happy: You've still got me and my big words and 
 
 the dictionary. 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Smith with kraut.) 
 
 Mrs. Smith: It is burned a little but I don't reckon 
 you'll mind as you have so few hot things to eat. You'll 
 notice there's a weiner in the bottom — that's burned, too. 
 
 Helen: Thank you; it does help a lot. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, I forget — I wanted to ask you some- 
 thing. Oh, yes, are you going to carry a lunch or go in 
 the dining car? 
 
 Helen: I think I'll carry my lunch. 
 
 M rs. S. : My but you eat as if you was starved. What 
 did you have for lunch? 
 
 Helen: I didn't have a big lunch today. 
 
 Mrs. S.: I bet you didtft. I forget, what did you 
 say you had? 
 
 Happy: You didn't forget this time because she didn't 
 say what she had. You blame entirely too much on your 
 forge tter! You're inquisitive. 
 
 Verna: What's that? 
 
 Happy: A v^^ild animal that devours, and is indigen- 
 ous to this house. 
 
 Verna (puzzled): Oh, where's the dictionary? 
 
 Mrs. S.: What did you say you had for lunch? I 
 forget so soon. 
 
 Happy: She had turkey, craberries sauce, olive, cel- 
 ery, oysters, plum pudding and ice cream — it all cost three 
 dollars and fifty cents. 
 
 Helen (reprovingly): Happy, I had an apple, so of 
 course I'm very hungry. Won't you have one of these rolls, 
 Mrs. Smith? They are very nice. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: No; eat 'em yourself. You certainly look 
 hollow from your head to your toes. 
 
 Hap.: You mean emaciated. 
 
 Verna: What's that? 
 
 Hap.: In this case it means slender and beautiful; 
 in that case it would mean (pointing to Mrs. S.) skinny, 
 yellow and raw boned. 
 
 Mrs. S.: Oh, I remember what I came in for — your 
 rent. 
 
Helen: I have it all for you, Mrs. Smith. 
 
 Mrs. S.: I do believe I smell my meat burning; if it 
 
 ain't burned I'll bring you some for your lunch on the 
 train; if it is I'll bring you some any way, because some- 
 body has to help eat it up. 
 
 Hap.: You need not trouble, I am going to fix that 
 lunch myself. I shall see that it includes only such edi- 
 bles as shall be readily taken up by the digestive apparatus 
 of her anatomy and such as shall be easily assimulated 
 and converted into blood bone and sinew. 
 
 Helen: Oh, Happy, you are such a freak and such a 
 joy! 
 
 Verna: What's a freak? 
 Hap.: I'm it and I'll prove it. 
 
 (Exit Happy.) 
 Helen: What is she going to do now? 
 
 v.: Prove that she is a freak. 
 
 Helen: Come on, Verna, and help me count the 
 money — I'll tell you what I'm going to do with every cent 
 of it. You put all the dimes and quarters in a pile and I'll 
 count the half dollars and dollars. 
 
 (They count.) 
 
 v.: Ten dimes and twelve quarters. 
 
 Helen: Why, dearie, I have two dollars and twenty- 
 five cents more than I thought I had. How could I have 
 made such a mistake. It cannot be. Let's count it over again 
 (counts). No sir, that's right. Two-twenty-five extra. 
 Think of it! That's like the widow's oil. 
 
 v.: And like the manna in the wilderness. 
 
 Helen: Only better because the manna came for just 
 a day at a time and this extra will feed me for a long 
 time. Do you know what I shall do with it? Listen, 
 dear (reads from folder) : "Excursion parties are formed 
 every day to climb and explore wonderful undiscoverea 
 glories of the Rockies. Automobiles, ponies and burros are 
 used for these excursions — the cost being small." 
 
 I have heard that a burro is only twenty-five cents an 
 hour; two hours, fifty. Fifty into two and a quarter, four 
 trips and twenty-five cents left. Think of it, when i 
 thought I should have to walk everywhere. 
 
 Now if someone would only come in answer to my 
 ad I should be almost to happy to live! You see this is 
 the way it is done, dear: The real traveler (I would be 
 the companion) puts up the money for the expenses and I 
 put up with the traveler. I mean that I would take care of 
 
 8 
 
her on the journey and put up with her disposition if she 
 were not agreeable. Then I would have all this left to 
 do something else with. 
 
 I shall buy you and Happy some clothes and books 
 which you need so much. I shall pray very hard about 
 that traveler tonight. Since my money has increased, 
 nothing seems impossible! 
 
 (Whistling is heard.) 
 (Happy enters with a man's hat and coat on.) 
 
 Happy (laughing) : Well, how do I look? 
 
 Helen: GREAT; Where did you get those clothes? 
 
 Hap.: The dude's upstairs — he is out of town. 
 
 Verna: Where's the rest of them? 
 
 Hap. (whistling): He has them on. Whom do I look 
 
 like? 
 
 Helen (laughing): Exactly like the minister at Trin- 
 ity Church! 
 
 Hap. (proudly looking into mirror): Certainly my 
 mirror tells me that I am the born image of him. 
 
 Helen: Whatever made you think of doing this, 
 Happy? You do look so funny. 
 
 Hap.: I believe that I was predestined to be a preach- 
 er or someone who likes to talk; so I was desirious of 
 seeing if I could look the part. WHY was I not a BOY. 
 
 Verna: It is too bad! You are a swell boy! 
 
 Happy: Now observe that I have not only the dis- 
 tinguished appearance of the aforesaid preacher, but also 
 a similar vocabulary and mannerisms. (Steps out proudly.) 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen: It certainly affords me great 
 pleasure to stand before you this evening and consider 
 with you in the short time alloted to me some of the ques- 
 tions, vital questions, that must deeply interest every in- 
 telligent, public spirited citizen. 
 
 (Aside to girls) How is it going, girls? 
 
 Helen (applaudingly): Great! Go on. 
 
 Hap. (clearing throat); The theme for our consider- 
 ation this evening is Evolution; Progression; Advance- 
 ment; Development. 
 
 They are one and the same thing. 
 
 I had in my church in Hoboken a man who took issue 
 with me on this subject one day when I kad him out in my 
 little Ford. I am telling you they are one and the same 
 thing. Hear me — they are one and the same thing! I 
 care not from what premise you start — take your fore- 
 father for instance — the monkey. Hear m^, I am telling 
 you! 
 
Follow out the logical deductions: Evolution is de- 
 velopment; development is advancement and progression; 
 progression is evolution. Proof you demand? Certainly: 
 Man is a bigger monkey today than he has ever been in the 
 history of the world! 
 
 (Laughing): How did I do it? 
 
 Verna: Great! You are a born orator. 
 
 Happy (dolefully) : Of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
 the saddest are these, "What might have been." 
 (Whistles and walks about proudly ) 
 
 I should love to be a preacher and hold thousands 
 spellbound — for hours — or put them to sleep, (laughs.) 
 
 One of the dearest men, a pillar in the church, goes 
 to sleep every Sunday at Trinity. You should see him 
 wake up with a start and look around to see if anyone 
 noticed if he were sleeping. 
 
 Well, I must go and take off my ministerial garb and 
 help you pack. It is a wonderful feeling to imagine for 
 a few brief moments that you are a preacher! "Of all 
 sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'What 
 might have been'." (Starts to leave room.) 
 
 Verna: Good-night, Happy; I'll be gone when you get 
 back. It is time to put the twins to bed. 
 Hap. (kisses her) : Good-night, dear. 
 
 (Exit Happy.) 
 
 Verna (embracing Helen: Kiss me, precious — it will 
 be so lonely when you are gone. But this is not the last 
 kiss, for I shall see you a minute in the morning. Mrs. 
 Wells said if the twins were not cross I could run over 
 for five minutes. Oh, those twins! I must go. One more 
 kiss, dearie. 
 
 (Exit Verna.) 
 (Happy returns and begins packing.) 
 
 Helen: Please do not do that; I can easily finish that 
 in the morning. I am too tired tonight, and besides I want 
 to talk to you — it will be our last chance. 
 
 Hap.: Let me put this away for you then I will 
 come. 
 
 Helen: It breaks my heart to leave dear little Verna. 
 When I think of how she works in that house caring for 
 those cross heavy twins, I could cry my eyes out. 
 
 Hap.: So ctald I, Helen. 
 
 Helen: Dearie, the reason I am so happy about going 
 is that I shall return well and strong; then we will study 
 hard to fit ourselves for better positions so we can rent 
 a little flat together and have Verna with us. Oh, Happy, 
 
 10 
 
that is why I am going! My heart leaps and throbs at 
 the thought of what we shall do when I return. 
 
 Happy: I could get a better position now if it were 
 not for those old fractions. I think any woman who wants 
 one and two-thirds yards of silk at one dollar and sixty- 
 nine cents a yard should be electrocu — ostracized, or — or — 
 oslerized. Such freaks as that keep me out of a better 
 job. 
 
 Helen: We will keep on studying. The opportunity 
 for something better will surely come; it is our part to 
 be ready when it comes. 
 
 Happy: I don't suppose I shall ever win the Nobel 
 prize for literature, but I certainly do love to talk and 
 write. 
 
 Helen: You may. Who knows? I believe there are 
 wonderful possibilities in each one of us. (Long pause.) 
 
 Happy: You are an angel to us both, Helen. 
 
 Helen: But I want to take Verna from that terrible 
 environment. Come, dear, you should not stay another 
 minute. You have to go to work so early that you should 
 be in bed this minute. Come on. I'll walk to the corner 
 with you for a breath of air. 
 
 (Happy marches about with hat and umbrella as she 
 sings, "You're going to the mountains, yes, you are, &c." 
 Toward the end of song she tosses aside Helen's clothes 
 and dons her own hat as she swings Helen gayly off the 
 stage with last words.) 
 
 (They exit.) 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Same as before, Next morning. 
 
 (Helen, singing, putting on hat before mirror. 
 (Enter Mrs. Smith.) 
 
 Mrs. Smith (yawning): Nearly ready? 
 
 Helen: Almost. Isn't this the most glorious morning 
 you ever saw? 
 
 Mrs. S.: I guess so; but I'm too sleepy to see. My 
 soul, but you look pert. 
 
 Helen (proudly) : Do I really look well dressed? Do 
 I look like a real tourist? 
 
 Mrs. S.: Well, I reckon you do. What did I come in 
 here for anyway? 
 
 Helen: To see if I were ready? 
 
 11 
 
Mrs. S.: No, something more than that. Oh, yes, to 
 tell you that I saw Romeo and Juliet last night. It's an 
 awful play — didn't end good. 
 
 Helen: I have never seen the play, but I have studied 
 it. It is a truly great play. 
 
 Mrs. S.: Well I don't think so. I don't care for 
 Shakespeare no how. Someone gave me a comp. so I went; 
 but all I could think about while I was there was that if 
 you did not get a rest soon you would be where Juliet 
 was. 
 
 Helen: Where Juliet was? 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Yes, where Juliet was — in the TOMB. 
 My, but you do look sick! 
 
 Helen: But I am not so sick, and, besides, Juliet was 
 neither sick nor dead — at first. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Dead at last — so what's the difference? 
 
 Helen: Cheer up, Mrs. Smith; you cannot make me 
 gloomy. I am going to have a wonderful trip, and a good 
 rest, and be stronger than I've even been in my life. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: It is good that you can be so cheerful 
 when you reallj-- are sick. Some folks don't know enough 
 to worry. Let me see, did I leave anything on the stove 
 to burn? Yes, I did — some water. If it's not burned I'll 
 bring you some; if it is, I'll bring you some anyway, be- 
 cause somebody has to help eat it up. Yes, I smell it. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 (Helen still singing and preparing for journey. Mrs. 
 Smith shows in woman.) 
 
 Helen (to woman) : Good morning? 
 
 Woman (taking out advertisement) : Are you the 
 person who put in this advertisement? 
 
 Helen (joyously): Yes, that is mine. Do you want a 
 companion to the mountains? 
 
 Woman (eagerly): Yes; when can you go? 
 
 Helen (sitting near her) : Isn't it splendid that you 
 should get here before I left? Nearly missed each other. 
 What if we had? 
 
 (Woman stares vacantly at Helen.) 
 
 We have time to talk it over a little if you are ready 
 to. You see I am quite worn out and the doctor says I 
 must have complete rest and a change for at least a 
 month; so I am going where I have longed to go all my 
 life — to the mountains! Everybody says that Manitou — 
 that's where I am going — is wonderful! 
 
 12 
 
 1 
 
Woman (eagerly): Yes, everything is wonderful in 
 
 the mountains — that's why I want to go, too. I can see 
 the great rugged peak now beneath whose shade my sis- 
 ter and I used to play; I can hear the little brook trick- 
 ling down over the rocks in the canyon where we built 
 houses for our dolls; I can smell the pines and feel the 
 soft wind on my cheeks (passionately), I see, I hear, I feel 
 it all, girl! Could I but see it all again the pain in my 
 head would leave me— the longing that has broken my 
 heart would cease. The cloud— the cloud— it seems that a 
 cloud is over my mind and shuts out my memory, (grop- 
 ingly.) I cannot remember anything — I only know that 
 I must go to my mountain home. Something whispers to 
 me that there I shall find rest — rest — and — and — the pain 
 will go. (holds head.) (rising.) When can we go? Let 
 us go now while the pain is not so bad. 
 
 Helen (puzzled and solicitous: Have you been ill? 
 Where are your friends or family? 
 
 Woman (slowly) : No, not ill; but my head— my 
 head — pain, (holds head.) 
 
 Helen: Where are your friends? Where have you 
 been living? 
 
 Woman (hopelessly) : No friends. 
 
 Helen: Why have you not gone before? 
 Woman: No money! 
 
 Helen: No money! But you do not understand: I 
 advertised that I might be companion to someone — to take 
 care of on the journey — that my expenses might be paid, 
 then I could have that money for something else. Do you 
 understand? 
 
 Woman (piteously) : You have not money for me, 
 too — I must stay? 
 
 Helen (desperately): Please try to think of your 
 friends here — where you live — your name. Please try to 
 think. 
 
 Woman : I can't think — that's the trouble. Last 
 night the cloud seemed to be lifted for awhile. I saw this 
 advertisement — it gave me life and memory — I found you! 
 I only know that my home and mountains will restore me. 
 (imploringly.) If I could go now — now, my health, my 
 memory would come back to me. I know it — I feel it. 
 
 Take me with you, girl, take me with you. (passion- 
 ately.) 
 
 Helen: I cannot take you with me. I have not enough 
 money for both. Think; have you no money anywhere? 
 
 13 
 
Think; you must have some where you are living? Where 
 have you been living? 
 
 Woman: I've not been living — I've been searching 
 
 Helen: Searching for what? 
 
 Woman (shaking head) : I do not remember. Take 
 me with you, girl; take me with you, girl. Then I'll re 
 member — take me home to my mountains. 
 
 Helen: I cannot take you — but — but — I could sena 
 you. What should you do when you get there if you 
 could not remember? Where is your home? 
 
 (Woman points to red mark on time table.) 
 
 Helen: That is much farther than I was going. 
 
 Woman: Somebody would remember me and help 
 me — (hesitatingly) yes, help me to remember. Send me. 
 girl — send me. (pleadingly.) 
 
 Helen (deflectively) : How can you go now — you have 
 no baggage — nothing to use on the long journey? 
 
 Woman: I need nothing but home and my mountains. 
 Send me, girl; send me! (very dramatic.) 
 
 Helen: Listen, please. Try hard to understand. I 
 will send you. The train that I was going to take leaves 
 in one-half hour — it is a through train to where you are 
 going. I will put you on it and pray that God will lead 
 someone to iBnd you and help you to remember. 
 
 Woman: YOU are going to send me now? 
 
 Helen: Yes, I am going to send you. Sit down a mo 
 ment, please; you will need a few things for the jour- 
 ney. 
 
 (Gives her the small traveling bag.) 
 
 Come now; we shall have to hurry. 
 
 Woman (dazed) : I'm going— I'm going. Then I'll 
 remember — I'll remember. 
 
 Helen: Yes; the station is not far, but we must 
 hurry. 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Smith.) 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Going out with her and it's nearly train 
 time! (looking about.) Helen and Woman Exit 
 
 What has happened? Half unpacked — left half the 
 stuff behind. Well, I'll help a bit here or she'll miss that 
 train as sure as Sampson lost his hair or that a Demo- 
 cratic President was elected to a second term of office. 
 
 I'll sub-rent this room while she's gone. She'll never 
 
 14 
 
know it. Let's see, what did I come in here for anyway? 
 Did I leave anything on the stove to burn? Well, if I 
 did it will just have to burn, for I'm certainly needed here. 
 Let me see what was I thinking about before I thought of 
 something on the stove that might burn? Oh, yes; sub- 
 renting this room. I know of a man right this minute that 
 I'll call up about it, middle-aged man with iron-grey hair, 
 a youthful face and such fetching ways. No doubt he 
 would appreciate a home like this for awhile where bright 
 and congenial company would make up for the lack of 
 many modern conveniences. 
 
 I should like to keep romance alive and flourishing in 
 my heart. He may become steady, too, for I don't believe 
 Miss Emerson will ever get well, (sniffing.) I do be- 
 lieve I smell something burning. 
 
 I guess it is that — 
 
 (Helen enters.) 
 
 Mrs. S.: What's happened? You've missed your 
 train ? 
 
 Helen: I am not going away. 
 
 Mrs. S.: Not going away? (amazed.) 
 
 Helen: I have changed my mind. 
 
 Mrs. S.: You've changed your mind? (incredulous.) 
 
 Helen: PLEASE leave me — I wish to be alone. 
 
 (Mrs. Smith goes'but muttering.) 
 
 (Helen removes hat and gloves listlessly. Begins to 
 unpack.) 
 
 Helen: (imploringly): Show me the way. Father! 
 Show me the way! "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
 of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
 me." 
 
 (Continues unpacking.) 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Smith with Mr. Bard.) 
 
 Mrs. S.: Here's a man to see you, Miss Emerson. 
 
 Helen (surprised) : Good morning, Mr. Bard. 
 
 Mr. Bard: Good morning. Miss Emerson. I know that 
 you are surprised to see me, but I was in the office a few 
 minutes ago when you called over the 'phone and said 
 that you would report for work in the morning. I — I — 
 wondered if some misfortune had overtaken you. I — I — 
 thought that perhaps I might be of some assistance to you, 
 knowing how much you needed a change and a rest. 
 
 Helen: I — I — ^no, thank you. 
 
 16 
 
Bard: May I inquire why you changed your mind? 
 
 Helen: I met someone who needed the money more 
 than I needed the vacation. 
 
 Bard: You mean to tell me that you gave away the 
 money that you have been saving for your vacation? 
 
 Helen: Just passed it on. 
 
 Bard: To save a friend? 
 
 Helen: A woman came here this morning just as 1 
 was leaving. She had in her hand an advertisement of 
 mine. Her mind and health were evidently much im- 
 paired by some great trouble, and despite her clouded 
 mental condition, She convinced me that her need was 
 greater than mine. I put her on the train and sent her to 
 her home. 
 
 Bard: Will she return the money? 
 
 Helen: I don't think — 
 
 Bard: Didn't you take her name and address, or give 
 her yours? 
 
 Helen: No; I did't think of that — we had to hurry 
 so. 
 
 Bard: Great business, I must say. Nothing in a deal 
 like that. 
 
 Helen: Oh, yes, there is. There is great compensa- 
 tion as I think of the look of joy that dispelled the look of 
 longing and despair on her face. I thank God that He 
 gave me a heart to feel her longing, (pause.) 
 
 Bard: What are you going to do now? 
 
 Helen: Go back to work in the morning. 
 
 Bard (drawing nearer) : Miss Emerson, I have no- 
 ticed your failing health for some time, and I insist that 
 you take an indefinite rest. You must not report for work 
 in the morning — it would be a crime. 
 
 Helen: "Take an indefinite rest!" What do you 
 mean? Where in the world could I get the money for an 
 indefinite rest? 
 
 Bard: I will give you a few months' off with pay — 
 pay in advance at an increase of salary. I will advance 
 you now enough for your first expenses. You can take the 
 evening train and no one need know anything of your 
 changed plans — this little arrangement is just between us. 
 
 Helen (thoughtfully): Thank you; you are very kind, 
 but it is impossible. I could never pay you back. It has 
 
 16 
 
taken me two years to save enough, barely enough, for a 
 month's rest. 
 
 I have gone without lunches and sometimes breakfast, 
 and walked home, and sewed evenings, and — and — gonp 
 v/ithout so many things that I really needed. So you 
 see I could nevej- pay you back. 
 
 Bard: I do not expect you to return it. I shall be 
 very glad to do this small favor for you. I have been 
 thinking for some time of raising your wages — we wi^^ 
 consider this a bonus for faithful services. 
 
 Helen (eagerly) : If you are going to give me morr 
 wages, I shall soon be able to save a little. Even a do' 
 lar a week would be wonderful! You have no idea. Mi 
 Bard, how much a dollar a week would mean to a work- 
 mg girl. It would mean — it would mean — it would mean 
 so much! (More eagerly, approaching him.) Then you 
 will increase Happy's wages, too, won't you? Then we 
 can do something that we want to do so much. 
 
 Bard: What is that you wish to do? 
 
 Helen: We want to take a little flat so that we can 
 have Verna with us and send her to school. Then I should 
 be perfectly happy. 
 
 Bard: Your expenses would be much greater, and-^ 
 
 Helen: We have figured it all out carefully: if each 
 of us had a dollar a week more we could do it and we 
 would be so much happier and have much more to eat, 
 too — hot things. One does grow very tired of cold lunches, 
 (joyfully.) I have always believed there would be a way; 
 so if you are going to increase our wages, I am sure that 
 I can get along without a vacation. I would much rather 
 have two or three little rooms that we could call home 
 and have Verna with us. 
 
 Thank you, Mr. Bard; you have made me so glad! 
 
 Bard: I didn't say that I would do anything for 
 Happy— in fact, I am not interested in Happy. I will in- 
 crease yours only on the condition that you go away for 
 a long rest. I will pay the expenses. 
 
 Helen (surprised and perplexed): Why should you 
 do this for me? 
 
 Bard: Because I'm interested in you. (drawing 
 nearer) Miss Emerson, you are a most attractive girl. 
 You certainly have not failed to notice my admiration 
 for you. Any unusual favors shown j^ou at the store have 
 been at my command, although you have always repulsed 
 me. I am your friend and want to help you. Do as I ask 
 you to do, then when the roses have returned to your 
 
 17 
 
cheeks and the luster to your eyes you will be the most 
 beautiful girl I know. You don't know how much I want to 
 help you. Rest and health and beautiful clothes would 
 make a wonder of you, girl! 
 
 Helen: "Beautiful clothes!" 
 
 Bard: Yes; you shall have beautiful clothes and 
 books and flowers and music and everything that an ex- 
 quisite creature like you should have. Take this needed 
 rest for a few months. Then I will send you to the country 
 home of my cousin where you may live in luxurious ease 
 as long as you like. She would enjoy a rare companion 
 like you. 
 
 I could see you often; we could read together, walk 
 and ride — be such good chums. 
 
 No more cheap boarding houses, cold meals, plain 
 clothes, low funds. You would be LIVING! 
 
 If you will do this, I will give your friend a much 
 better position and send your Verna to school. 
 
 Helen (surprised and dazed): This picture dazzles 
 me! But I could never pay you back — never pay for all 
 of this. I cannot do as you wish but if you are so anxious 
 and willing to do so much for me, won't you please do 
 just a little for Happy? She sews from morning till night 
 for six dollars a week. She never has but one meal a 
 day — what you would call a meal. She washes and irons 
 and mends at night when she is so tired that she cannot 
 see. She's so brave — she whistles and smiles all the time. 
 I know it is to hide her hopelessness and to help me. 
 She is so splendid! 
 
 "It's easy enough to be pleasant when life goes along 
 like a song; but the man that's worth while is the man that 
 can smile when everything goes dead wrong." That's 
 Happy ! 
 
 Couldn't you help her in some way? I know there will 
 be a way for me. 
 
 (Pleadingly.) She is well and strong now, but after a 
 while the long, hard strain of work and the lack of suf- 
 ficient good food will begin to sap her strength just as it 
 has mine. 
 
 Then will follow weary nights when she cannot sleep 
 because she is so tired. Then the long wearier days when 
 she'll almost faint at her task. Then when her hands re- 
 fuse to perform their required amount of work — there is 
 no place for her! 
 
 (imploringly.) Oh, Mr. Bard, please save Happy from 
 this! Increase her wages — that would mean more food, 
 
 18 
 
less strain. Even a dollar a week more would mean so 
 much! 
 
 Bard: You plead well for your friends. I will do any- 
 thing for them you ask if you will do as I wish. 
 
 Put on your hat— my car is outside. We will take a 
 little spin, then have lunch. Then I'll put you on the 
 train and send you to find health and happiness. Here is 
 the money — take happiness, girl — it is yours. 
 
 Come, I want you; I have set my heart upon doing 
 this thing for you. (approaches her— she repulses him.) 
 
 I'll do everything and anything you ask and more for 
 your friends if you will accept my assistance— if not I'll 
 no NOTHING. 
 
 Helen: Honest love does not express itself as you 
 have done. Go, tempter, GO, and take your money with 
 you! 
 
 Bard: Listen to me, girl: you are ill! Go to work 
 again, and in a short time you will be in the hospital— 
 the COUNTY hospital, your friends unable to help you' 
 What will you do then? 
 
 Helen: I'll die if need be: but with my soul unsullied 
 and my faith unshaken in HIM who said, "Fear not I 
 will never forsake thee." 
 
 Bard (laughs) : You'll come to me yet. 
 
 (Exit Bard.) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Scene— Same as before. Six months later. 
 (Helen ill — sewing.) 
 
 [Laundress enters.) 
 Amanda: Howdy, Honey, how is yo' all today? 
 Helen: Better, thank you, Amanda. 
 
 Amanda: I do declare to goodness, I done do believe 
 yo' all do look a lettle better. I'se mighty sorry. Honey 
 but I can't do yo' all wash no more, fo yo' clothes am a 
 getting dat tin dat ris here nigger am a feared to touch 
 em fear I'll busticate em. (holds up garment.) 
 
 Look-a hear, Honey, dis am darned and darned till I'm 
 scared to look at it. Beside, I got to get something to do 
 what 11 take my mine off'n my domestical difflcults! 
 
 Helen: Are you having trouble at home, Amanda? 
 
 Amanda: Law yes, chile. It's nothing but money, 
 
 19 
 
money, money! Last Monday my ole man done ax me fo a 
 quata: Tuesdav he axed me fo fifty cents; Thursday fo 
 ONE DOLLAR, and Friday fo TWO DOLLARS! 
 
 Helen: What does he do with it? 
 
 A. (hesitates) : I dunno; I done nebber give him none 
 
 yit. 
 
 Helen: Won't he work at anything? 
 
 A.: Nothin, cept fittin. Law me, chile, he done cum 
 home the odder day wid his lip cut, one eye out, and his 
 nose a bleedin. He was a sight! He sed that when dat 
 odder colored gentleman done got fro wid im, a breakin im 
 all to peces, he jist trowed im on de flo an tromped all over 
 im. He lowed he nebber was so sick of a nigger befo 
 in all ob his life. 
 
 Helen: Too bad, Amanda. 
 
 A.: Yassum. Husbands is awful troublesome critters, 
 nohow. I jist tole dat ole colored gentleman ob mine dat 
 befo I maryied im I knowed a fool nigger dat wuz sho 
 crazy bout me. He lowed he wisht I'd a maryied inn. 
 (laughs.) I done tole im I DID. 
 
 Wall, mus be gwine along. I sho am sorry you' all 
 am so pooly, Honey. 
 
 Amanda: Yassum, it am awful. But I reckon I'll hab 
 it till de trumpit sounds, becayse laziness and CUSSID- 
 NUSS ain't nebber killed no nigger yit. Goodbye, Honey. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 (Whistling is heard. Happy enters.) 
 
 Happy: How have you been today, dear? (kisses 
 her.) 
 
 Helen: Better, I think, (holds up little dress.) Isn't 
 this pretty. I didn't think I could get such a sweet little 
 dress out of that old one of mine. Won't Verna be pleased? 
 
 Happy: She will be delighted, (displays slippers and 
 stockings.) Look what I brought her. I am going to take 
 them to her after while. 
 
 Helen: Take the dress, too dear. 
 
 Happy: I met Mildred down town, and what do you 
 
 imnk has happened? 
 
 Helen: Engaged? 
 
 Happy: Worse than that. 
 
 Helen: Not married? 
 
 Happy: . .Married and to Jack Roe! 
 
 20 
 
Helen: Jack Roe! Poor Mildred! 
 
 K 'I'^PP^; o'^'®^' P^°^' Mildred. Won't he make her step 
 about lively? He is such a boss-lawyers always are. 
 (displays fruit.) 
 
 Helen: Oh, Happy, you are always bringing me some- 
 thing nice to eat; but you should not— fruit is so expen- 
 sive. It tastes so good that I cannot scold you this time. 
 
 I do hope Mildred will be happy. She is so kind and 
 generous. Wasn't it splendid of her to give me this negli- 
 gee? It is much easier to be sick in pretty things than in 
 homely ones. 
 
 T u "?f P/i ^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^i^® you when I'm indisposed, 
 I should feign illness frequently, (whistles.) 
 
 Helen: How long have they been married? 
 
 Happy: . .One month. Oh, I forgot to tell vou that they 
 are coming over tonight. I invited them. I thought you 
 had rather have them come before you move upstairs into 
 that dinky room, four by six. 
 
 Helen: Happy, do not speak with so much asperity- 
 it IS unworthy of my happy Happy. 
 
 Hapy: I hate the thought of your going into it just 
 the same. 
 
 Helen (listening): There they are now! Do I look 
 all right. 
 
 Happy: Beautiful. 
 
 (Enter Roes.) 
 
 Happy: Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Roe. So glad to see 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Roe (rushing up to Helen) : This is Jack dearie 
 My husband! Isn't he lovely? 
 
 Helen: I am so glad to meet you again Mr. Roe You 
 are to be congratulated upon winning such a bride. 
 
 Mr. Roe: Thank you I— 
 
 Mrs. Roe: We are so happy— so congenial— so con- 
 siderate of each other (leads Mr. Roe to chair). You may 
 read, dear, while we talk over old times, (to girls.) It 
 IS wonderful how you can train a man in a month if you 
 begin right. 
 
 Helen: I suppose so. 
 
 Mrs. Roe: How are you, dearie? 
 
 Helen: Pretty well, thank you. 
 
 Mr. R.: What a prevarication! I heard that you had 
 
 21 
 
not done a day's work for a month. 
 
 Helen (smiling): I'm taking a little vacation. 
 
 Mrs. R.: Yes, you look as if you were having an im- 
 mense time! 
 
 Mr. R. (turning to girls): Well, you see, she is not— 
 
 Mrs. R. (motioning him to resume reading): Yes, I 
 see dear, (to girls.) I do wish that you could meet some- 
 one like Jack and fall in love with him and marry him. 
 We are so happy! 
 
 Mr. R. (eagerly): You know, dear, that there is — 
 
 Mrs. R.: — not another man in the world like you. But 
 all tastes are not alike — 
 
 Mr. R. (smiling): If they were, every — 
 
 Mrs. R. every girl would want you. 
 
 Happy (laughing): Not I. I love tall men. 
 
 Mrs. R.: You never were appreciative. Although 
 Jack is not much to look at, he is very intellectual — law- 
 yers have to be. And he loves to impart information. 
 
 Helen: Isn't that splendid? 
 
 Mr. R.: You see, Miss Emerson, it — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Yes, she sees, dear; go on reading, darling, 
 so you can tell me all the news when we get home, (to 
 girls.) That makes him feel that he is imparting informa- 
 tion. If there is one thing above another that delights 
 the modern man, especially a lawyer, it is the satisfaction 
 derived from the consciousness of having imparted in- 
 formation. 
 
 Helen: I suppose if every wife would only learn this 
 fact early in her married life, many a home would be saved 
 from shipwreck. 
 
 Happy: What do you know about it? 
 
 Helen: I've observed. 
 
 Mr. R.: I've an idea, dear — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Keep it. Go on reading, dear heart. 
 
 Helen: Tell me the secret of the perfect training of 
 your husband, Mildred. 
 
 Mr. R.: Mildred is very — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Yes, I am. I will tell her about it, dear. 
 Never for a moment let your husband suspect that you 
 are training him — that would be fatal. Let him think he 
 is IT — listen to his information — defer to him seemingly; 
 
 22 
 
but tightly, tho' lovingly and with smiles hold the reins of 
 control in your delicate fingers. 
 
 Mr. R.: I think, dear — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Don't do it, dear — thinking is too wearing — 
 save your strength for reading. You see, girls, that I 
 anticipated his every wish. 
 
 Happy: Yes; I notice — and his words, too. 
 
 Mr. R.: I see by this paper that that man — 
 
 Mrs. R.: No you do not, precious, for it is upside 
 down. He is so crazy about me that there is still a mist 
 of happiness over his eyes. He is so wonderful! (Caresses 
 him and turns his paper right. He rubs his face and 
 frowns.) Does that hurt again, precious? 
 
 Mr. R.: Yes. My mother always taught me to — 
 (Continues to caress him.) 
 
 Mrs. R.: Hold your face, darling, and I will tell her 
 Jack's mother taught him to count 100 before he began 
 to fight; but the other man's mother told him to count 
 ten, so while — 
 
 Mr. R: — So while I was still counting — 
 
 Mrs. R.: — the other man handed him one — 
 
 Mr. R.: — right here. 
 
 Mrs. R.: The next time, dear, count less and act 
 quicker. 
 
 Mr. R.: You see. Miss Emerson, I — 
 
 Mrs. R.: No she can't see; you've worn her out with 
 so much talking. 
 
 Mr. R. (desperately): I was a stranger and — 
 
 Mrs. R.: — and of course somebody took him in just 
 because he is small. But he is tremendous when he pleads 
 a case! The darling! 
 
 Mr. R.: It made me — 
 
 Mrs. R.: — sore. Of course it did! Go on reading, 
 dear; and don't fidget so while wifey is talking. 
 
 Happy: Isn't it cruel to compel hubby to sit per- 
 fectly still for such a long time? 
 
 Mrs. R. (disdaintfully) : Talk is cheap. 
 
 Happy (laughing) : Except when you talk on the long 
 distance 'phone. Please may I ask Mr. Roe a question? 
 
 Mrs. R.: Certainly; Jack loves to impart information. 
 
 23 
 
Happy: If it be true that we are made of dust, why 
 do we not get muddy when we drink? (whistles.) 
 
 Mr. R. (perplexedly): I'm a lawyer not a — Mrs. R. 
 
 Mrs. R.:— not a thinker. Don't worry or think — go on 
 reading, darling. It was Jack's birthday yesterday. 
 
 Helen: What did you give him? 
 
 Mrs. R.: A beautiful dinner that I cooked myself. 
 
 Helen: What else did you get Mr. Roe? 
 (Rubs his stomach.) 
 
 Mr. R. (dolefully): I got sick, (examines cuff close 
 
 ly.) 
 
 Mrs. R. What are you doing there, dear? 
 Mrs. R.: Trying to read what's on this — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Heavens! I have the plot of a great novel 
 on that. Don't even look at it. Come, dear, we must go. 
 (to Helen.) Poor little dear, he's worn you quite out 
 with so much talk. But I must indulge him occasionally — 
 he does so love to impart information. 
 
 He's not so much to look at, but he is truly wonder- 
 ful in conversation — lawyers always are. 
 
 Helen: Sorry you have to go so soon. Do you know 
 of a cheap room I could get near here? I could get 
 along without heat if the room were on the sunny side 
 of the house. 
 
 Mr. R.: I know of one in the — 
 
 Mrs. R.: No you don't, angel face. That wouldn't 
 do at all. I'll think about it Helen, and drop in again 
 soon. 
 
 Helen: I'm enjoying my negligee so much. 
 
 Mr. R.: It fits you so — 
 
 Mrs. R.: It does not fit — it should not fit. 
 
 Mr. R.: I've been thinking — 
 
 Mrs. R.: Please don't, dear — it will ruin you — it is un- 
 professional. Good-night, Helen. I do hope you will soon 
 be well so you can visit us in our own darling, cosy 
 apartments. We are so happy. Do come to see us soon. 
 Ta ta, girls. We are going to have fudge for breakfast 
 
 Helen and Happy: Come again soon. 
 
 (Exeunt the Roes.) 
 Happy (whistles) : I can see the sun of his happiness 
 slowly setting. "Poor Mildred!" — this time we misplaced 
 
 24 
 
our sympathy; it should have been "Poor Jack!" (Ca- 
 resses Helen.) So tired, dearie? Lie back and rest awhile 
 for somebody is coming to sing for you. 
 
 Helen: Dorothy? 
 
 Happy: Yes, Dorothy and John are going to stop 
 on their way to an entertainment. I told them that you 
 were starving for some music. I'll tidy up a little before 
 they come. Rest, so you can enjoy them. (Silence for 
 a while.) There they are now. 
 
 (Enter John and Dorothy.) 
 
 Helen: So glad to see you both. Bring your chairs 
 close to me. How fine you are looking! 
 
 Dorothy: Can't stay but a minute, dearie — got such 
 a late start. 
 
 Helen: But you are going to sing for me? I am 
 starving for music. Please sing the Rosary. 
 
 Dorothy: That is so solemn! 
 
 Helen: It is so beautiful, and is just what I want to- 
 night. 
 
 Happy: She is going to move upstairs tomorrow into 
 a room no one else would have, so she wants to kiss the 
 cross. 
 
 Helen (reprovingly): Happy. 
 
 Helen: Stand over there, dear, and remove your 
 cloak and act as if you were singing before thousands, 
 (girl sings — optional.) 
 
 Helen (applauding): Beautiful, beautiful! Won't 
 you sing another? 
 
 Dorothy: Have we time, John? (John looks at 
 watch.) 
 
 John: No; we shall have to hurry now to get there 
 on time. 
 
 Dorothy: Too bad, dearie; but we'll come back soon 
 and spend the evening. 
 
 Helen: I shall live in expectation. Thank you both 
 so much. Don't forget that you are coming back soon. 
 Good-night. 
 
 (Exeunt friends.) 
 
 Helen: Come here, dear; you are sad tonight. What 
 has dispelled your wonted brightness? 
 
 Happy: I am rebellious — right down rebellious. The 
 sight of those girls has made me so. Look at them — not 
 
 25 
 
half as good as you — well and strong and enjoying life 
 to the fuii, and here you are, the sweetest, dearest, kind- 
 est girl in the world, sick and penniless and no one to 
 help. 
 
 Why should you be worn out physically and well nigh 
 mentally before your time? Why should you be tortured in 
 mind and soul because of the necessity of getting together 
 enough to pay room rent? 
 
 Why should you by dint of struggle eke out a bare 
 existence witli self denial as an ever present monitor? 
 Why, Helen, why must these things be? 
 
 Sometimes it looks as if truth were on the scaffold 
 and wrong were on the throne. 
 
 Helen: I don't know, dear — I do not see my way, but 
 I know my guide. And "I'd rather walk with Him in the 
 dark, than walk alone in the light." "He is nearer than 
 breathing and closer than hands and feet." Happy, learn 
 to trust. There will be a way. Put on the Lord Jesus. 
 
 Happy: "Put on the Lord Jesus?" (pause.) 
 
 Helen: Do you remember the morning we watched 
 the sunrise together? 
 
 Happy: The morning you were so ill? 
 
 Helen: Yes. Do you remember how grey and dark 
 the sky was when we first looked out? Then how the 
 yellow and the pink began to come; how the yellow melted 
 into gold and the pink into crimson? 
 
 The glory reached and widened and grew as a blos- 
 soming tree, richer and richer, higher and higher, brighter 
 and brighter it grew until the golden sun saluted the morn, 
 and the dark night retired before his conquering rays. 
 
 So the Christ comes to our life — fills it as the light 
 fills the earth. Just a little changing from the old to the 
 new. A little tenderness budding into kindness; a little 
 compassion prompting one to sacrifice; a little love grow- 
 ing into faith; a little faith that puts on the Lord Jesus. 
 
 Oh, tiappy, learn to trust. Do not be discouraged — 
 there will be a way. 
 
 Happy: You think I'm not trusting, dear; but I am. 
 I went to God the other day and put up the whole situation 
 to Him. I went to Him as man to man and asked for a 
 square deal. 
 
 I said, "Lord, thou hast told us to ask" and "seek" and 
 "abide" that we might have our desires. Now, here is 
 Helen who has asked and sought and abided; who has 
 divided her food, her money, her time and strength with 
 other people; who has cast her bread upon the waters; 
 
 26 
 
now she is in need, verify thy promises unto her. Help 
 her! And I believe He will, Helen. On the surface I may 
 be rebellious, but way down underneath I'm trusting. He 
 will give us a square deal, (a longe silence.) 
 
 Happy: Shall we read our promises? 
 
 Helen: Yes, please. 
 
 "If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye 
 shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you." 
 
 "He maketh me to lie dov/n in green pastures, He 
 leadeth me beside the still waters." 
 
 "Fear not I am thy God; I will not forsake thee." 
 
 "He shall give his angels charge over thee." 
 
 Helen: Wonderful promises! How can we doubt 
 them? "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the 
 Lord loveth them that fear Him." 
 
 (A lady and gentleman enter with Mrs. Smith.) 
 
 Mrs. S.: Miss Emerson, here's some folks what wants 
 to see you. I told them that you were sick, but they just 
 would come anyway. 
 
 (Exit Smith.) 
 
 Miss Davis (approaching Helen): Brother it is she — 
 it is she! We've found you- — we've found you! 
 
 (Helen attempts to rise in her surprise.) 
 
 Mr. Davis: Pray be seated — you are ill, and we have 
 luch to explain. 
 
 so much to explain 
 
 Helen (eagerly to Miss Davis): Did you get home 
 all right? Did someone meet you who knew you? I know 
 it must be so, because you are well. 
 
 Miss Davis: Yes, I am well — restored in body and 
 mind through your generosity and, I fear, sacrifice. . . . 
 1 thought and thought of that day, and all that I could re- 
 member was that your eyes seemed to pierce my very 
 soul: they seemed like a great searchlight flooding my in- 
 nermost being, seeking to know the truth — to uncover the 
 hidden springs of my life and motives. 
 
 Then they suddenly became soft and tender and sad 
 as you put your arm about me and said in a voice strange- 
 ly full of tears and pain, : : You shall go today to your 
 mountain and your home." I remembered nothing more 
 for weeks. 
 
 Dr. Davis: Let me finish the story, Edith, for Miss 
 Emerson has a right to know it all. I will try to make 
 it short. 
 
 About a year ago I went to Europe on business rela- 
 
 27 
 
live to my hospital work in New York. I was detained 
 there month after month. 
 
 I left our sister in our home with a trusty old house- 
 keeper and a companion. The companion was called away 
 to the bedside of her mother and the housekeeper grew 
 ill and was taken to her daughter's. 
 
 Just about this time my sister heard that our sister 
 Emily who had married ten years before to one unworthy, 
 and who after her marriage had dropped out of our lives 
 so completely that we could not but think her dead, had 
 died a year after her marriage and had left a little child. 
 
 Although we had felt for years that she was dead, 
 yet when the certainty came and with it the knowledge 
 of a child somewhere, it preyed upon my sister's mind un* 
 til lier reason became clouded. 
 
 Because of war conditions, my mail was very irregu- 
 lar, and I knew nothing of tTiis until my return. 
 
 Overcome by grief and longing for this little child, she 
 came to Kansas City for it was here that she was led to 
 believe the child was living. She searched day and night, 
 hopelessly, for she had no clue. 
 
 Then her money gave out — this is mostly conjecture, 
 for she remembers but little of that time. 
 
 At times her mind must have been clear, and in one 
 of those moments saw your advertisement — you know the 
 rest. 
 
 We have searched for you ever since my return. We 
 have given up all hope of finding the child — in fact, I have 
 reason to believe that the story of the child is without 
 foundation. 
 
 I came here twice to find you — to repay in part at 
 least the great debt we owe you. 
 
 Last week I returned home about to despair of ever 
 finding you when Edith met me at the door and ex- 
 claimed as she held a little book before my eyes, "I've 
 found her!" 
 
 "Found whom?" I inquired. 
 
 Edith (exultantly) : The girl that gave up her vaca- 
 tion for me — it all came back to me then — I saw it all! 
 LOOK! Isn't this yours — this book of promises? 
 
 Helen (taking book lovingly): Yes; I wondered what 
 had become of it. Where did you get it? 
 
 Edith: In a slit in the travelling bag you gave me 
 the day you sent me home. I found it three days ago. 
 We hastened to you. 
 
 28 
 
Dr. Davis: Tell her how you happened to find the 
 bag. 
 
 Edith: Because of a strange dream. I dreamed that 
 I saw you with your arms about a little child, pointing 
 her to a verse in that "Book of Promises": "He shall give 
 his angels charge over thee." (Takes book and points to 
 Averse.) 
 
 Suddenly that picture faded, in fact, was completely 
 obliterated by the sudden appearance of a worn satchel 
 lying in our attic. All over this satchel was written in 
 raised letters of gold: "He shall give his angels charge 
 over thee." 
 
 The influence of the dream was so insistent that it 
 sent me to our attic to look for the satchel and the BOOK. 
 This is what .1 found ! 
 
 (Enter Verna with milk.) 
 
 Verna- (to guests who barely look at her) : Please ex- 
 cuse me, Helen must have this milk right now. Mrs. 
 Smith says she hasn't had a thing since morning. 
 
 Helen: Thank you, dear, but I am not hungry — I'll 
 drink it after a while. 
 
 Dr. Davis (taking glass) : I fear that I must use my 
 professional authority and insist upon your drinking the 
 milk, (she drinks.) 
 
 If I am not mistaken, we are not quite strangers to 
 one another. I think that I set a broken arm for you 
 about a year. Have you forgotten? I have not. 
 
 Helen (confused and pleased): I — I — was — not — 
 SURE— but I thought— 
 
 Dr. Davis: Well, I was sure the moment I came in. 
 I have not been able to quite forget the pathetic little way 
 you looked at me as you inquired: "Doctor, how long 
 will it be until I can work again?" (walks about.) Just 
 couldn't forget it — and — often wondered how you were 
 getting on. I left for Europe an hour after I attended 
 you, so of course I could not know. 
 
 (During this conversation Happy is sewing at back of 
 stage. Just as Verna enters with milk. Miss Davis with- 
 out looking at child, approaches Happy and inquires about 
 Helen's health. After the doctor takes the milk from 
 Verna, she goes to a box and takes out a toy with which 
 she plays. Miss Davis returns to front of stage. The 
 child sits on couch with Happy as she plays. Suddenly 
 both become interested in what the Doctor is saying to 
 Helen. As Verna turns her eager face full to the front. 
 Miss Davis watches her intently.) 
 
 29 
 
Dr. (continues) : Now I'll tell you what we are going 
 to do : we are going to pack you up and take you home 
 with us. 
 
 The Autumn is beautiful in California! You shall 
 live in God's out-of-doors for one whole year — yes, ten if 
 necessary. 
 
 You shall see the mountains — and climb them too, 
 in six months. You shall ride and swim and walk and rest 
 until you are tired of resting. Then we'll begin all over 
 again. 
 
 How soon can you be ready to go? 
 
 Helen (amazed): I do not understand. You — mean — 
 mean — for — for me to — 
 
 Edith (excitedly): Miss Emerson, whose child is 
 that? 
 
 Helen (looking at Verna) : She lives with the peo- 
 ple next door. Her name is Verna Wells. 
 
 Verna (putting her arms about Helen): "Wells" is'nt 
 my real name, you know. I'm just 'dopted. I'm really 
 somebody else. 
 
 Edith: Brother, of whom does that child remind 
 you? 
 
 Dr. (walks about muttering) : Striking resemblance. 
 
 Edith (reaching for child) : What is your name, 
 child, if "Wells" is not? What do you know of your 
 mother ? 
 
 Verna: She went to sleep. She said the angels would 
 lake care of me. I'm still waiting for them, but they are 
 awful long, and I'm so tired of taking care of the twins. 
 
 Dr. (aside) : Those angels haven't been on the job, 
 I fear. 
 
 (to Helen.) Do you know anything of this child's 
 parentage? 
 
 (Edith caresses child's hair and eyes and hands as 
 she murmurs: "Emily's hair — Emily's eyes.") 
 
 Helen: Not a thing. But she always wears a little 
 ring about her neck — would that tell you anything? 
 
 (Edith hastily discloses ring. Examines it closely.) 
 
 Edith (exultantly reads): "Emily." I knew it! Emily's 
 own baby ring! (clasping child.) I knew it! This hair — 
 this mouth — the eyes! My precious sister's baby — I've 
 found you! I've found you! You are mine, MINE, MINE! 
 (to Helen) Let me take her with me tonight. 
 
 30 
 
Verna (loyally going quickly to Helen) : I can't leave 
 her — I'm all she has besides Happy! 
 
 Dr. (strongly and nobly) : You shall not leave her— 
 you loyal little child! You shall remain with her until 
 mo.ning, then we will all go away together where there 
 is no work waiting for weary ones, nor heavy twins for 
 lired little backs. 
 
 (Child close to Helen — others step back.) 
 
 Verna (whispers) : Are we really going away with 
 them in the morning? 
 
 Helen: It seems so, dear. 
 
 Verna: Where your mountains are? 
 
 Helen: Yes. 
 
 Verna: And you won't have to work when you're 
 tired and sick? And you'll have plenty to eat, and you 
 won't have to worry when your money is gone? 
 
 Helen: No, dear. 
 
 Verna: And you'll get well? 
 
 Helen: Yes, 
 
 Verna: Are you sure that they will keep me too? 
 
 Helen: Perfectly sure of that. 
 
 Verna: But what about Happy? 
 
 Helen: There will be a way for Happy. 
 
 Verna: I think the angels have come, don't you? 
 Shall I tell God about them? 
 
 Helen: He knov/s, for He sent them. 
 
 Verna: 1 should like to talk about them, anyway, 
 (kneeling.) Dear God, we are so glad that you sent the 
 angels — there are two of them and they got here just m 
 time, for Helen was getting very sick and we had only 
 twenty cents left. But that's enough, God, for we are go- 
 ing away in the moining to stay a year, and it may be 
 TEN! So don't worry about that. 
 
 Now, dear God, if all your angels are not busy, WE 
 KNOW you will send one to help Happy— SHE NEEDS 
 ONE, TOO! 
 
 (As child prays others group about Happy, indicating 
 that she will be cared for, too.) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 31 
 
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