T.-6.DENiS0N 6c COMPANY CHICACO DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS Partial List of Successful and Popular Plays. Laree Catalogue Freo. Price ISc each. Postpaid, Unless Different Price Is Given DRAMAS, COMEDIES, , ENTERTAINMENTS, Etc. M. F. Aaron Boggs, Freshman, 3 acts, ZYi hrs (2Sc) 8 8 After the- Game, 2 acts, \% hrs (25c) 1 9 All a Mistake, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 4 4 American Hustler, 4 acts, 2J4 hrs (25c) 7 4 Arabian Nights, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 4 5 As a Woman Thinketh, 3 acts, 2V2 hrs (25c) 9 7 At the End of the Rainbow, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs (25c) 6 14 Bank Cashier, 4 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 8 4 Black Heifer, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 9 3 Brookdale Farm, 4 acts, 2^ - hrs (25c) 7 3 Brother Josiah, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 7 4 Burns Rebellion, 1 hr (25c) 8 5 Busy Liar, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. (25c) 7 4 College Town, 3 acts, 254 hrs (25c) 9 8 Corner Drug Store, 1 hr. (2Sc) 17 14 Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs. . 7 4 Daughter of the Desert, 4 acts, ZYa, hrs (25c) 6 4 Down in Dixie, 4 acts, IV2 hrs (25c) 8 4 Dream That Came True, 3 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 6 13 Editor-in-Chief, 1 hr....(25c) 10 Enchanted Wood, IJ^ h.(35c).Optnl. Everyyouth, 3 acts, IJ^ hrs. (25c) 7 6 Face at the Window, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 4 4 Fascinators, 40 min (25c) 1 3 Fun on the Podunk Limited, IVz hrs (25c) 9 14 Heiress of Hoetown, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 8 4 High School Freshman, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 12 Honor of a Cowboy, 4 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 13 4 Indian Dayfe, 1 hr (50c) 5 2 In Plum Valley, 4 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 6 4 Iron Hand, 4 acts, 2 hrs. , (25c) 5 4 Tayville Junction, Xy^ hrs. (25c) 14 17 Kingdom of Heart's Content, 3 acts. \2V^ hrs (25c) 6 12 Lexington, 4 acts, 2J4 h..(25c) 9 4 M. F. Light Brigade, 40 min.... (25c) 10 Little Buckshot, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. (25c) 7 4 Lodge of Kye Tyes, 1 hr.(25c)13 , Lonelyville Social Club, 3 acts, \y-z hrs (25c) 10 Man from Borneo, 3 acts, 2 , hrs (2Sc) 5 2 Man from Nevada, 4 acts, 2'^ hrs (25c) 9 5 Mirarfdy's Minstrels. ... (25c) Optnl. New Woman, 3 acts,! hr 3 6 Old Maid's Club, 1J4 hrs. (25c) 2 16 Old Oaken Bucket, 4 acts. 2 hrs (25c) 8 6 Old School at Hick'ry Holler, Wa. hrs (25c) 12 9 On the Little Big Horn, 4 acts, ZVz hrs (25c) 10 4 Out in the Streets, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 Prairie Rose, 4 acts, 2j4 hrs. (25c) 7 4 Rustic Romeo, 2 acts, 2J4 hrs (25c) 10 12 School Ma'am, 4 acts, 1^ hrs. 6 5 Scrap of Paper, 3 acts, 2 hrs.. 6 6 Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2^^ h. 8 3 Southern Cinderella, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 7 Third Degree, 40 min (25c) 12 Those Dreadful Twins, 3 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 6 4" Tony, The Convict, 5 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 7 4 Topp's Twins, 4 acts, 2 h.(25c) 6 4 Town Marshal, 4 acts, 2^ hrs (25c) 6 3 Trip to Storyland, \V^ hrs. (25c) 17 23 Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 2% hrs. (25c) 8 3 Under Blue Skies, 4 acts, 2 hrs (25c) 7 10 Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 6 4 When the Circus Came to Town, 3 acts, 2J4 hrs. (25c) 5 3 Women Who Did, 1 hr...(25c) 17 Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs, 8 3 FARCES, COMEDIETAS. Etc. April Fools, 30 min 3 Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 Bad Job, 30 min 3 2 Betsy Baker, 45 min 2 2 Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 Box and Cox, 35 min 2 I Case Against Casey, 40 min... 23 Convention of Papas, 25 min.. 7 Country Justice, 15 min 8 Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers,1S4W. Randolph St The Thread of Destiny A COMKDY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS LINDSEV HARBEE AUTHOR OV Iftcr the Came," "■.-it the End of the Rainbow," "The Dream That Came True/' "The Tiftcenth of January" "The Kingdom of Heart's Content." "A Trial of Hearts," "In the College Days, a Grou{> of Monologues," lite. TO MV KENTICKY GRANDMOTHER WHO WAS IN HER VOUTH "THE TOAST OF THE COLNTY." CHICAGO T. S. DENISOX & COMPANY Publishers ? THE THREAD OF DESTINY CHARACTERS. ' (Named in order of their appearance.) Fanny A Slave on the Montgomery Plantation George Washington Johnson A Slave on the Montgomery Plantation Betty Montgomery The ''Little Coloner Edith Sherman The Northern Cousin Mrs. Montgomery A True Virginian Colonel Montgomery...^ Gentleman of the Old School Virginia Montgomery. ...... .The Toast of the County Beverly Montgomery A Confederate Scout Sally Ann | j-,^^ ^^.^y:„_^ 7^^,.„^ Laura Lee. j ■' Tom Randolph A Southern Gallant Martha ) Susan . . ?• Southern Girls Jane. . . ) John Merivale Morton ' Of the North Marcella I Southern Girls Marion. . J Mammy Dinah A Faith fid Servitor Peyton Bailey Of the United States Army Uncle Billy The Colonel's Body-servant Louise Lawton In Federal Employ Ralph Francis Who did not go to War Madge Young . . . ., A Thoroughbred A Union Scout.-.- . '. Who is Detained Miss Melissy . . . ..." : Of an Inquisitive Nature COPYRXGHT, 1914, BY EBEN H. NORRIS. §)CLD 36889 ^^ f . 1 THE TllkliAD Ul- DESTLW ScLM.- / 'injniia. Time— rite Ci:il War Time uf Tlavinc; — About 7\co Hours and 'fhirtx Minutes Act I — Garden of Asluirst, tlic Montgomery home, near Richmond, April, ISol. Act II — Hall at Ashurst, May, 1864. Act III — Grounds of Ashurst, six weeks later. First produced by the Gamma Phi Beta Sorority of Den- ver University, on April 4, 1913, at the Woman's Club Building. 4 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. Act I — Fanny and George Washington have a preHmi- nary skirmish. Betty breaks a looking glass. Edith calms her fears and tells her "the signs of the times." Mrs. Montgomery weaves together "the threads of happiness and sorrow." Betty longs for a lover. "Virginia has se- ceded.'* Beverly enlists. The Fairfax twins bewilder Tom. Tom is presented with useful and appropriate articles. Edith declares her colors. John Merivale Morton finds Sally Ann worthy to wear his frat pin. Mammy Dinah tells Tom's fortune. Peyton breaks the news to Virginia. "A Virginia woman does not even recognize an acquaint- ance among the enemies of Virginia." Act II — Uncle Billy voices General Sherman's opinion of war. "My friend, Billy, my friend." Betty receives or- ders. Louise pays a friendly call and has an eye to details. "I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud." Ralph Francis ofifers his help — and claims a reward. "To a Vir- ginia woman there are some things more precious than money, than jewels." Madge proves a thoroughbred and iftcidentally gives Virginia a bit of news. "Does your father know that Grant is marching toward Richmond?" Mrs. Montgomery and the Colonel watch the sunset together. "Death cannot conquer love — nor eternity." Laura Lee wishes for a man — and John Merivale Morton appears. She is mistaken for Sally Ann, and complications arise. Sally Ann proves equal to the emergency and renews acquaint- ance with John Merivale Morton. "Some day there will be no North, no South, but the Union." Beverly arrives unex- pectedly and asks Edith to help him, even at the sacrifice of her own principles. The Union scout falls a prey to her fascinations and her cleverness wins the coveted dis- patch. Virginia opens the door — to Peyton. Mrs. Mont- gomery gives permission to search the house. Beverly is discovered. Friendship proves stronger than duty. Vir- ginia brings Peyton his reward. Ralph Francis proves an unwelcome intruder and holds Virginia in his power. "Marse John, he done got de furlough." APR 30 1914 THE TllRl'.Ai) Ol" DKSTIW. 5 Act tit — Three years work a p^reat clianp^e in Tom. He and Betty drink to "the pipinj^ times of peace." Mammy Dinah and Mi^s MeH.^sy liave a hvely conversational bout anil Miss Melissy fails to extract nuich informatif)n. Louise and Ralph Francis come to an understanding^. John Mcri- vale Morton anil Sally Ann argue for the last time and L'ncle r>illy shouts "Ilallerluyer !" George Washington contemi)lates matrimony. Peyton pleads in vain with Vir- ginia for an exi)lanation of Ralph Frimcis' power over her. Madge promises help. I'amiy also contemplates matrimony. "The North gladly and humhly surrenders to the South." (jeorge Washington and Fanny "take de road to de Ian' o* happiness." Beverly interrupts Ralph Francis' interview with Louise. Madge throws light on certain transactions. "In our little circle the stars and bars are floating high." \ irginia gives Fey ton another rose and together they trace against the background of blue and gray "the golden thread of destiny." STORY OF TIIF PLAY. \'irginia Montgomery, a beautiful southern girl, has an- nounced her engagement to Peyton P>ailey, owner of the adjoining plantation and her lifelong friend. To celebrate the event, a merrymaking is in progress at Ashurst, the Montgomery home, and on the same afternoon Colonel Montgomery brings the news of \'irginia's secession, while Beverly announces that he has enlisted. Later on, Peyton tells Virginia that he, too, is planning to go to war, but that he will join the ranks of the I'nion army. Unable to under- stand his viewpoint, grieved to the heart over the seeming desertion of his own people, loyal in every fiber of her being to her state and to her section of the country, she de- clares that he must choose between her and his mistaken duty. Equally firm in his conception of right, Peyton declares that he must obey the dictates of his conscience, and so \'irginia sends him away. The war brings many changes into the lives of the Mont- gomerys. The Colonel is engaged in active service. Beverly 6 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. is off on dangerous scout duty, the plantation goes to waste and only a few faithful negroes remain with the women. Ralph Francis, a wealthy resident of the place, who has refused t6 go to war and who is consequently held in much scorn by the loyal Virginians about him, offers help to the family in their time of need, and upon Virginia's courteous refusal to accept his assistance, he forgets himself and declares his love for her. He is indignantly repulsed and predicts that some day privation and want will drive her to him. Madge, a neighbor, learns of his threat to Vir- ginia and tells of her own grievance, namely, the loss of the family homestead through the trickery of this man. She vows to bring him to justice if it be in her power. Dark days follow for the Montgomerys. The Colonel, on a brief visit to his family, is called to Richmond and is subsequently killed. Beverly, pursued and watched by the Union men, succeeds in reaching home, in a state of physical collapse. He begs Edith, the northern cousin, who makes her home with the Montgomerys and with whom he is in love, to obtain important dispatches from a Union scout who is on his way to headquarters. Edith promises and obtains the desired papers. Close upon the departure of the scout comes Peyton who, at the head of a detach- ment, has been ordered to search the house for a Confed- erate officer, reported to be in hiding there. Beverly is discovered, but Peyton, moved by the ties of friendship, ignores his military duty and allows him to escape. Vir- ginia's pride is gone; she realizes that her love for Peyton is too vital a thing to be overcome,and she forgets the past in the joy of reunion. Ralph Francis overhears their con- versation, learns that Peyton has aided Beverly to escape, and when he finds Virginia alone he threatens to reveal the breach of military discipline which would result in Pey- ton's disgrace and death, unless she promises to marry him. In desperation she consents, and naturally is unable to offer a satisfactory explanation of her conduct to Peyton or to her family. In the meantime Louise Lawton, supposedly a visitor in the neighborhood but in reality a spy in the em- ploy of the Federal government, who has been instru- TIIK TIIKKAD OF DKSTIXV. 7 mental in shadowing the Montp^omcry liomc, approaches Ralph Francis with the proposition that he sell to the gov- cnnncnt liis knowledj^c of the resources and conchtion of the Confederate army in X'irj^inia and of tlie defences of I'etershurg. He consents, and Madge, ever on tlie alert, suspects from the frequent meetings of the two that mis- chief is afoot. From an examination of Francis' papers she discovers his treachery and, in the presence of Beverly, Virgina and Louise, confronts him with the accusation, Louise and Ralph are forced to withdraw, the difficulties are settled and "the thread of destiny" brings V^irginia back to Peyton. As another struggle of North against South, comes John Merivale Morton's stormy courtship of Sally Ann Fairfax. Meeting her for the tirst time, when on his way to w^ar — a runaway college lad — he leaves his. heart in Dixie; and when fate brings him back to Virginia he captures the heart of the fiery little rebel, after a long and persistent siege. The love affairs of Beverly and Edith, the faithful atten- tions of George Washington to the ever belligerent Fanny, the flirtations of Tom, and the devotion of Uncle Billy and Aunt Dinah in their service to the Montgomery family, are incidents that lead to a happy ending of the story. CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. Virginia — Aristocratic in bearing, charming in manner and personality, strong in her opinions, sincere in her con- ception of right, proud in her birth and breeding, loyal to those she loves. In the scene with Peyton she is strong in her denouncement. In the second act her pride is at first predominant, but when she realizes Peyton's generosity and her love for him, she yields unhesitatingly. In the first act she wears an elaborate white gown ; in the second, a simpler one; in the third, a simple while gown with a black lace fishu. [All the gowns are made in the style of 1B61 — full skirts, many ruffles, low-necked, etc. White stockings are worn and 8 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. black slippers with ankle straps. The hair is worn in the style of that time — in a single* curl over the shoulder or clusters of short curls.] Mrs. Montgomery — Typically southern in every way ; gracious, sweet, simple and tender in her scenes with the Colonel ; calm and resigned in misfortune. In the first act she wears a white gown and a black lace scarf ; in the second and third acts, her simple gown is black with white fichu, and her hair is touched with gray. Edith — Reserved, thoughtful and serious throughout, though tender in her scenes with her aunt and uncle ; she is firm with Beverly and yet very yielding and gentle at the last. In the second act she changes her character, be- comes coquettish with the scout, cleverly wins his interest and then effectively holds him at bay. She wears dainty light gowns throughout the play. Betty — Placid and childish in first act ; afterward seri- ous and oppressed with care and responsibility, though in the third act she comes back to a trace of her former gaiety. In the first act she wears a short girlish gown with ruffies to the waist, white stockings and old-fashioned black slip- pers, while her hair is arranged in long corkscrew curls. In the other acts she wears simple summer gowns, made longer by several inches, while her hair is worn in a single curl. Sally Ann and Laura Lee — As similar as possible in appearance, dress, gesture and mannerisms. Independent, coquettish, full of life and fun, very loyal to the southern cause. In the first act they wear dresses of pink, each ruffle edged with black, and big, flower-laden hats. Sally Ann, on her second appearance in this act, does not wear her hat. In the second act they appear in fluft'y white gowns with black velvet girdles, and narrow black velvet ribbon tied about their necks and wrists ; also large black hats trimmed with roses which they subsequently remove. In the third act Sally Ann wears a simple print gown with white sun- bonnet. Martha^ Susan and Jane — Sweet and serious in the THE Til READ OE DESTINY. 9 scene with Tom and very earnest in their plans for liis comfort. Makcklla AM) Marion — Gayer and more flirtatious than Martha, Susan and Jane. All five wear pretty HufTy frocks, with or without hats. LouiSK — Always alert, clever in (|uestioninj(s, gracious in manner yet cool and business-like in her transactions with Ralph Francis. Wears plain summer ^own with large hat lied under the chin, in the lirst act; dark gown and hat in the second. Madck — Energetic in her efforts to right wrong, proud in misfortune, far-sighted in her deductions, loyal to her South. She wears a light gown in each act, with hat. Miss Melissv — Prim and old maidish, affected, inquisi- tive, showing a vindictive spirit in her remarks concerning the Montgomery family. Wears a full skirt with hoops, black silk mantle, small hat and carries small parasol. Mammy Dinah — Whole-souled, always displaying her loyalty to the family she serves and her devotion to their cause ; jolly and a bit bantering in her scenes with Tom and the girls ; serious in her conversation with Uncle Billy ; always cheerful in the midst of misfortune. In her conver- sation with Miss Melissy she is at first merely independent, then on the defensive and finally uncontrolled in her wrath. She wears the conventional servant costume — calico dress, white apron and red bandannas around neck and head. Fanny — Pert, impressed with her own importance, talk- ative and quarrelsome with George W^ishington though secretly approving of him. Wears bright-colored calico dress in first act with ribbon for hair ; dark dress and apron in second act and same in third until she changes to a much beruffled gown with large, flopping hat. Pkyton — Unswerving in his loyalty to the cause he has chosen yet true to his own southern people ; tender toward Virginia, even when she sends him away; faithful to the ties of friendship ; determined and manly in all that he does. In the first act he wears light trousers, dark frock 10 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. coat, high stock, with colored vest; in the other acts he appears in United States unifowii. Colonel Montgomery — Typical southern gentleman, loyal to his country, courtly in bearing, deferential to women, tender and loving to his own family. In the first act he wears a black suit, frock coat, stock, broad-brimmed hat; in second act he wears the Confederate uniform, slouch hat, etc. Beverly — Reckless, impulsive, daring, carried away by enthusiasm in the first act, heedless of the future. Hag- gard, worn out, much older-grown in second act; quiet and manly, showing deep feeling in his scene with Peyton. In the first act he wears light trousers, frock coat, high stock, colored vest, broad-brimmed hat. In the second act he appears in a shabby Confederate suit, gray shirt open at the neck, slouch hat, worn-out dusty shoes, arm in bloody sling; in the third, a Confederate uniform. Tom — Absolutely gay, flirtatious and light-hearted in first act; serious and settled in third. Wears dandyish suit of light trousers, frock coat, high stock, bright vest in first act; Confederate uniform in last act. John Merivale Morton — Enthusiastic college lad in first act — of an argumentative nature. More serious and earnest in the other acts, persistent in his wooing of Sally Ann. Wears dusty civilian suit in first act; Federal uni- form in second and third. Ralph Francis — Cold and calculating in nature, entirely lacking in the chivalry, finer feeling and patriotism which animates the other men. Dogged in the persistency of his suit to Virginia, boastful of his attainments, unscrupulous in all dealings. He wears regular civilian suit with broad- brimmed hat and colored vest. Scout — Impressed with his own importance, easily flat- tered, and quickly yielding to Edith's fascinations. He wears a Union scouting rig. Uncle Billy — Characterized by absolute devotion to his master and his master's family ; unselfish in his service to them; cheerful in his hope of reconciliation. He wears THE TllKllAl) ()!■ iJhSll.W. 11 baj^<^y trousers, oUl frock coal aiul colored vest ; carries red baiulaiina. Georgk \\'asiiin(;t()N — Boastful of Me liailey planta- tion," ea^er to circumvent Fanny, yet always yielding to her. In the first and third act he wears a gala attire of checked trousers, black coat, bright tie and handkerchief, straw hat. In the second act he appears in dark working clothes. PROPERTIES. Act I — Set trees, rosebush, tree with encircling scat, two rustic chairs, one rustic seat, one small table. Tray with l)()U([ucts of flowers for Fanny. Scarf and knitting for Mrs. Montgomery. Slippers on each end of a ribbon for Martha ; basket for Susan ; package containing small clock for Jane. Plate of refreshments for Sally Ann. Fraternity pin for John. Teacup for Marcella. Rose for \^irginia's hair. Fiddle for Uncle Billy. Act II — Flower boxes for long window, one small and one large. Confederate flag. ( )l(l-fashioned sofa hassock and three chairs with crochet tidies. Round table with lamp, books, table cover, decanter of wine and glasses. Short muslin curtains for windows. (Ornaments for man- tels, old-fashioned pictures, rugs, etc. Hat for Colonel. Pin and glass of water for Betty. Basket for George Washington. Small United States flag and handkerchief for John. Work baskets containing bandages for Virginia, lulith and P>etty. Dispatch and revolver for the Union scout. Revolver for Beverly. Sword for Uncle Billy. Act III — Set trees, tree stumps, rustic bench, swing. Pan of peas for Betty. Flowers for Miss Melissy. Wheeled chair for John. Book for Uncle Billy. Basket containing cup of custard with spoon and napkin. Bomiet and hand- kerchief for Sally Ann. Papers and sealed package for Ralph Francis. Revolver for Beverly. Rose for Virginia's hair. 12 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. STAGE SEfTTING. Act I. _f^^^^ ChairO Q^a^le Landscape Drop D Rustic Chair Treel witli Shrubbery \_ Seat Rustic Seat Act II. LandscapeDj:op_^^,^^^^ , St_ep_ I I , Door Sofa / Qjai^^e Chair n "^ ° Chair Window Hassock D The stairway and landing will add to the effect of this scene but are not necessary to the action of the play and can be eliminated. Act III Landscape Drop & T O I I Swine Tree Stump Bench STAGE DIRECTIONS. R. means right of the stage ; C, center ; R. C, right cen- ter; L., left; 1 E., first entrance; U . E., upper entrance; R. 3 E., right entrance, up-stage, etc.; R. D., right door; L. D., left door, etc. ; D. P., door in fiat or scene running across the back of the stage ; up-stage, away from foot- lights, down stage, near footlights ; 1 G., first groove, etc. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience. "Pcsliny has "rju^n: me back to yuu, acar . ju^. u.s ; • uld: THE THREAD OF DESTINY Act I. Scene : Garden of Montgomery home. Full stage. Landscape and zvood backing. Entrances at R. U. E., L. U . E. and L. 2 E. Tree zvith encircling seat, L. U. E. Rustic seat, L. 2 E. Rustic chair, C. Small table, R. 2 E. Chair R. of table. Shrubbery at L. U. E., R. U . E. and dozvn stage, R. Rose bush back of rustic seat, L. 2 E. At rise, stage is zvell illumined, since it is afternoon. Discovered, Fanny seated at table, R. 2 E., zvith tray of cut flozjuers, busily engaged in making buttonhole bouquets. Fanny. Dar now, dey's done — all fitten to gib Miss Jinny's young men when dey comes to wish dey good wishes to she and Marse Peyton, Le's see. FU gib Marse Peyton dis bridey one — all white and sweet widout de thorns, for all de world lak' Miss Jinny ; an' dis mignonette fuh de Colonel. E|en de' gayest an' han'somes' of all fuh Marse Beve'ly. De bachelor's buttons, fuh dat fool young Marse Tom ; an' as fuh de udder 'spirin' suitors fuh Miss Jinny's han', Fd lak to gib 'um bleedin' hearts! {Scorn- fidly.) As if Miss Jinny 'd look at any pusson what isn't de quality. (Rising and speaking zvith dignity.) "No, suh," she say to ebery one of dese harf strainers what want to join dey selves to de Montgomery blue blood. Enter George Washington^ L. 2 E. Fanny. "No, suh, I 'preciate de honah, Fse grieved to disapp'int yuh, but I does not hanker atter de holy bonds of matermony an' I spurn yo' lub." George. Fo' de Lawd, Fanny, what's ailin' yuh? Is you jes' ackin de fool or is de moon's rays tetched yo' min'? Fanny. Gwan, Gawge Washin'ton, yuh good-fuh- nothin' nigger. What fuh yuh hangin' roun' hyar? George (sadly shaking his head). It's de moon's rays, Fanny — de moon's rays. (Crosses to C.) 14 THI-: TIIRKAU Oi- DESTINY. 15 Fannv. An' if ii is, I'sc miglity glad dal i'-sc a Diiiid lo be tctclicd ; iiiun .sumo udder iiiggcrs can say. (JKoKUE. CJl) all dc sa>sy, up.siarty niggers 1 ebl^er seen. When yuli git to be boss ob dis byar plantation ? Fannv {lunujhtily). 1 blongs to de M(jnlgoine'ys, / lioes. GiioKGi:. lluli! Ain't I Marse I'eylon's own pussonal body sarvant ? Uwait, you say? W'al 1 reekon not. VA it warn't full my side ob de bouse dar wouldn't be nu pa'ty today. {Struts to bench at L. 2 E.) F.\NNY. Vo' side ob de bouse! lis' listen to dat fool stracted nigger! Vo' side ob de house! Doan yuh know dat Miss Jinny eould-a-had any side ob dc house in dis whole state ob Ferginny jes by nuddin' her pretty head? {Crosses back of tabic C.) di:oRC.E. Doan yuh know dat ebery gal in dis hyar county plum crazy 'bout Marse Peyton? Vo' Miss Jinny, too; jis' lak as not she's agged him on lak all de udders. Fannv. Aygcd him on! Land knows he didn't need no aggin' on! Jes' buzzin' roun' huh all de time lak a bee after de honey. {Statu f>s foot.) Gr:uRGK. Miss Jinny is sho' a lucky gal to be marryin* into de Bailey fambly. Dey all high steppers. (Cotncs to ('.. laiKjhmy and stepping very Jiiyh.) 1-annv (an/(ir/(//v ). 1 don't know of anythinj:^ you all could teach n<. hut we'd he i^lad to help you ont in any way wc could. FniTH. \"ou asked nie about sij^ns, Hetty, and I told you I |)laced no faith in them. Hut there arc sij^ns in which 1 must believe, whether I will or not. The sij^^ns of the times, Betty — the signs of the times. Bkttv. The signs of the times! You mean — Edith. That the sky is overcast with the cloud of dis- aster ; that the sun of peace and serenity is hidden : that the far-olT thunder is not that of the elements, but the rattle of musketry. Hr.TTV. Why, Cousin Edith. I don't understand. You frighten me, and — Edith (laiighitK/). Nonsense, dear. See, I'm laughing. (Turns.) Look, here comes your mother. Til race you to her. Enter Mrs. Montgomery. R. U. E. They rush to her. Edith. Hands up, wayfarer! (As they seize her she drops knitting ball and searf.) Mrs. M. Such a pair of brigands! There goes my knit- ting; there goes my scarf, and, alas, there goes my dignity. What a loss for an old lady! (They bring her to chair at C. where she seats herself.) Edith (picking up the scarf). Old lady! Listen to that, Betty. Yesterday, Aunt Charlotte, when you and Virginia were standing together I heard someone ask which was mother' and which daughter. (Edith sits on right ar)n of chair. Hktty on left. ) Mrs. ^L The tongue of flattery. Edith. Hase flattery. Edith (laughing). Then such a gift must have been ac- quired from the Southern side of my house. 20 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Mrs. M. And the Southern side of your house has been missing you all these years, honey. It's mighty nice to claim you now — forever. Edith. And to take the homeless girl to your heart is a very beautiful thing to do. {Puts left arm around Mrs. M.'s shoulder.) Mrs. M. I'm thinking that providence sent you my way, Edith, to take Virginia's place. Now that she is going, my courage fails me a little, and — I'll need you and Betty all the more. {Begins to knit.) Edith {glancing at Betty). We'll do our best, won't we, Betty? (Betty nods.) Mrs. M. Then begin your career of usefulness by find- ing my ball for me. (Betty picks up hall and hands it to her mother, then stands back of chair.) When I'm par- ticularly troubled, Edith, or particularly happy, or when my emotions get the better of me, I begin to knit. While I was waiting for the Colonel to propose I did yards and yards ; when Beverly's baby curls were cut it was the only thing that kept back the tears ; and when Virginia put on long dresses — well — Edith {thoughtfully). So you weave together the threads of happiness and of sorrow. I never thought of that before. Then the pretty things that your hands have fashioned are not lifeless and meaningless — they are biog- raphies of love, faith, smiles, tears and romance. Mrs. M. Oh, Edith, each of us is knitting her own pat- tern of life, and as the needles of Fate click steadily on she weaves stitch by stitch the dreams, the aspirations and the tender thoughts that are too deep for utterance. {Pause.) Betty. That's all very well, mother, but why should you choose this particular time when the party is about to start ? {Crosses to bench, L. 2 E.) Mrs. M. Honey, didn't you hear me say that my knit- ting is a vent for my emotions? And don't you think my emotions have a right to be stirred over losing Virginia? Why, I'll feel just the same about you when the time comes to give you up. Betty {mournfully) . It doesn't look as if you'd have a THE THREAD 01" DESTINY. 21 chance; and if \'ir^inia should chanjjc her mind, I don i know uiicre I would l)C. ( )li, I wish 1 had a luvei ! {Fetches Jeji'ctcdly on arm of bench.) Enrrii {Uini/hinelter keep it as a dangerous secret. Sally. Kccf^ it! A secret's no fun unless you tell it. John {crossing to tabic). Fair lady, I return to you your plate — scraped, cleaned and polished! You have today clone a great service to the North, in that you have fed and re- vived one of her most loyal supporters. (Puts plate on tabic.) Sally. Don't put it that way or you'll make me sorry I've done it. John. To X'irginia cooking and Virginia cooks I yield the palm of glory. Isn't that nice of me? Now, where's the recruiting station? Sally (pertly). For Yanks? How should I know? Ask the niggers or some of the poor white trash. John (bozcing). Thanks for telling me in such a cour- teous manner. In the North, you know, we are accus- tomed to ladies. With your permission, I'll say good-day. ( Turns and starts to7card L. U. E.) Sally. Oh, stop, John Merivale Morton. I didn't mean what I said, and I apologize. (Pleadingly.) Please stay. (John turns and looks at her.) John. Heavens, are all Southern girls like you? What I've been missing all these years. (Comes slozcly back to chair at C.) Sally. Aren't there any girls up North ? John. Yes, but they're up North. And you haven't even told me your name. (Sally comes up to him.) Sally. Sally Ann Fairfax. Will you remember it? John. Will I remember? Listen, Sally Ann Fairfax. 34 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Here's my frat pin. {Takes off pin.) It's the only thing I can give you and it means mote' to me than anything else in the world. Will you let me put it on you and forget that I am a Yank? (Sally dmzvs away.) Sally. Wait. Are all other members Yanks — North- erners John. Only a few. Most of them are your loyal Vir- ginians. Sally. Then I'll wear it. (Suddenly.) Anyway, I'd wear it for you ; for, even if you are a Yank, I like you. Goodbye, John Merivale Morton. (Holds out both hands.) John (taking her hands). Goodbye, Sally Ann Fairfax. Some day I'm coming back to you.- It may be in the midst of war, but the war clouds will pass away; it may be in times of bitterness and hatred, but peace will conquer. Wherever I go, whatever I do — even when I'm fighting for Uncle Sam — I'll think of you just as I see you now. And some day I'm coming back to Dixie, Sally Ann. Some day I'm coming back to you. (Exit John, L. U. E. Sally stands looking after him. She waves her hand, goes slozvly to table,, then takes the plate and slozvly leaves the stage at R. U. E.) Enter Marcella, Mammy Dinah, Marion and Tom. L. 2 E. Marcella pulling the reluctant Mammy, who sinks heavily into chair at C. Marcella sits on right arm of chair; Marion stands behind; Tom sits on bench at L. 2 E.). Mammy. Law, Miss Marion an' Miss Ma'cella, who you reckon gwine cut de cake fuh Miss Charlotte up at de big house ? Who gwine make de cherry bounce ? Gwan now. I ain't got no time to fool wid you. Marcella. Oh, Mammy, just a minute. And they are such splendid tea grounds. (Holds out tea cup.) Marion. And Tom's just dying to have his fortune told. Tom (gloomily). I have no fortune — only misfortune. Marcella. Of course, Tom, we know that there would be a miss something in it. (Puts cup in Mammy's hand.) THE THREAD OE DESTINY. 35 Marion. And it's only llic (lucstion oi wliich miss it is that's botlicrinjj us. Tom. To hear you people talk anyone would think that I'm a flirt. Makii-.lla. Flirt/ \\ hy. Tom, you are as constant a the Northern star. Tom. Not much. If I can't be the ."^uuliiern one, I won't play. Mamm\ . Stop dat nonsense, Marse Tom, and conic hyah. chile, if yuh want me to read dem tea j^rounds ; for it won't take lon^ to settle dis hyah chile's hash. { Looks closely at tea f/ronmis.) Law, honey, you gwine on a loni^ journey. I spec' you gwine to war. Tom ( f^ctulatttly). I don't know whether I am or not Things look different now. I reckon I'll stay at home. Marion (tcasiugly). Mercy, Tom! Think of that mar- tial music you were to hear : the brigadier general you were to be ; the honorable wounds you were to receive. Marcella. Wounds? Cupid's arrows have alrearly pierced you so many times, that if we'd hold you u\) to the light you'd look like open work embroidery ! Tom. You girls make me tired. Ilawtrt I a right to change my mind? Mammy. (.s7/7/ studying tea (jroufuis). Oat changin' de min'. honey, belong to. a woman, an' dese hyah tea grounds say dat ef you change et much mo' 'bout de gals, dar won't be no min' 'tall, an' no gals ne'der. Tom (rising and crossing to left of chair C). That's just like you, mammy — taking up for the girls — and not a word about their flirting and their foolishness. If there's any- thing more tickle than the southern girl, 1 haven't found it. Mammy. Law chile, de good Lord gib de woman dese ve'y things, jis kase she got to tight agin de man. Jes so long as she pull de wool ober his eyes and use flatterous words to him — jes as long as she feed him good — she got him jes where she want him. { Rising.) (jo long, Marse Tom — how I gwine to tell yo' fortune till yo* git to be a man? (Exit R. U. E., singing negro song.) 36 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Marion. Alone, Tommy, alone with, you ! A third per- son doesn't matter! • Marcella {rising). Don't go to war, Tom — we need you- here to practice upon. {Coaxingly.) Don't go! {Joining hands, they circle around him.) Enter Peyton, R. U. E. Tom. Help! Help! Peyton {whistling). Tom, surrounded by girls and calling for help ! Is the millenium at hand ? Or is it one proposal too many, my boy? {Leans against table, R. 2 E.) Tom. It's a practical example of too much, of a good thing. Peyton. Look here children— is there any particular rea- son that you should cleave to this particular spot? Can't Tom make love any place else? Marion. All Tom needs is the girl, Peyton. Practice has made any place an enchanted spot. Peyton. Then move on, all of you, Pm to meet my lady love here. Those people up there have succeeded in keep- ing us apart all afternoon. {Pleadingly.) Have mercy, and give us this chance. Tom. I want to stay here and see how you do it, Peyton. Peyton. How I do it — hear the boy. In comparison wuth your efforts, my modest attempts are as Water unto wane. Enter Virginia, R. U. E. Peyton. Now this is where your career of usefulness ends. Get out. Virginia. Oh, Peyton, how inhospitable. And Tom once proppsed to me too! {Crosses to C.) Peyton {standing). Isn't that enough reason for me to eject him? Suppose you'd accepted him ? Virginia {softly). Why, how could I, when there was you! (Peyton starts to her.) Peyton. Virginia — Tom {rushing between them). This is no place for Tom- my. If I ever proposed to you, Virginia Montgomery — < Till' IIIKI-.AIJ Ol- DIlSTINY. 37 and I don'l rcmcnibcr doiii^ it — it was because I didn't want you to foci slij^dited, Makcklla {pullini^ him azcay). Well somebody else is going to feel sligbted if you don't hurry up. I'll break my engagc!iicnt. Marion. I'll break mine loo, tben wbere'll you be? (Virginia crosses to bench, L. 1 li.) Tom. If 1 were to aj)ostropbize the soutbern girl, I'd say — Marcklla. Look Marion, who is that new girl? The one with Ik'verly? (Points.) Tom {suddenly). Where? {Looks out.) By jove, I won- der who she is. Come on. {Iixeunt Marcklla, Marion, Tom, R. U.E.) Peyton. What's the use of being engaged honcy-love, if you're way olY there and — {crosses to her and attempts to embrace her. She i\.'ards him off.) Virginia. Don't, Peyton, don't — somebody might see — Peyton. I don't care, do you? Virginia. No, no! (Hastily as he starts to her). Yes I do, anyway you're going to have years and years in which to make love to me. Peyton. That won't be long enough. Virginia. And you'll have years and years for me to prove — oh lots of things. Peyton. What, for example? X'lRCiMA. I low much I — like you! (lie rushes toward her, she dodi^es, rises and hurriedlx seats herself in chair C.) Hands off, Peyton! Peyton. Virginia, suppose something should haj)pen to test your love. Could it stand the test? (Sits on right arm . / her chair.) Virginia, It wouldn't be love if it couldn't, would it? Peyton. Would you be true to me — through anything, through everything? \'iR<;iNiA. How strangely you talk. True to you ? Why do you ask me? * Peyton. Just to have you answer, dear. Isn't that reason nough? 38 THE^tREAD OF DESTINY. • Virginia (putting her hand in his). Peyton — what is it? Peyton. I've sometliing to tell you. Virginia. Don't, Peyton, don'^ — not today. It was the brightest day of my life until the shadow fell across it. Somehow I feel that the happy days are over. (Rises.) Peyton (rising). The yesterdays have been good to us Virginia. We must not grieve if there is a shadow on the face of tomorow. Virginia. But there won't be a war, there can't be. (Crosses to bench at L. 2 E.) Peyton. But there zvill be a war — a bitter one. We may as well face the question today as tomorrow. Virginia. And you will go? (Seats herself.) Peyton. Would you have me stay? Virginia. No I couldn't, I couldn't; your honor is very dear to me. But if there is a war; to wait, to fear, to suf- fer, oh Peyton, I fear I am a very little girl after all. I've had you all my life and I need you, now. (Holds out her hands.) Peyton (crossing to her). And I need you, dear, more than I ever needed you before. For, Virginia, I'm going into the Union Army. Virginia. I don't understand, I don't understand. (Pulls her hands away.) Peyton. It's hard to repeat it, dear, I'm going into the Union army ! Oh you don't know what it means for me to say this, how I've fought it for weeks, how I've struggled against this conviction of what is right. Outwardly, I've been the happy, carefree boy who seemed to have nothing but good fortime as his heritage; inwardly I've been the man with but two thoughts — love for you and love for my country. Virginia. And you say this' to me, you dare to say it? (Rises.) Peyton. Oh, Virginia, I can't make you understand — - nobody will understand. I hardly understand myself. I only know that I must go. Virginia (scornfully). Oh that I should have given my love to a traitor, that I should live to see you turn against THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 39 your stale, against those wlio arc dearest to you, to wlioin you owe tlie most. Oli Peyton, tell nie that it isn't so. {dns close to him ami lays her hand on his shoulder.) pKVTON. Ihn it is so, Virginia. If 1 lift my hand against the South 1 know that I strike at the heart of all I love the" niDsl ; if 1 turn against the L'niun 1 am false to all that is best in me. V'iRGiM.v. But Beverly, my brother — your best friend. [Turns and 7ealks to L. 2 It.) ri-.VTnx. Ilu^li. X'irginia, I can't speak of that. All that I can do is to pray that we'll never meet. ViKciMA. And your father — oh, 1 am glad that he has not lived to see this day. Pevto.x. Don't make it so hard for me, Virginia. ViRGixi.\ (turning). Listen, Peyton, if you do this ter- rible thing — if you are false to my state, my people, my cause, you must choose between this mistaken duty and me! Peyton. I expected this, Virginia, and I can only say that if I knew my choice meant to lose you and your love, forever, I must go on as I have begun. I have ceased to reason. I only know that I must go! ViRGiNi.\ {seornfully). Then go! Peyton {rushing to her and catching her in his arms.) Virginia, you shall not send me away from you in this way. Is this the love that was to stand the test of anything — of everything? Virginia. I had not reckoned on treason. A Virginia woman does not even recognize an acquaintance among the enemies of Virginia. Peyton. You mean it? (Releases her.) Virginia. I mean it, Peyton. The moment you ally yourself with an alien country, an alien people and an alien cause, you place a chasm between us that never can be bridged. (Seats herself on bench, L. 2 E.) Peyton (leaning over back of bench). Virginia, there is an unseen hand that is silently weaving the fabric of our lives. Joy, sorrow, romance, sacrifice — back and forth the shuttle gathers the tangled threads as the pattern is noise- TI?^ 40 THE^THREAD OF DESTINY. lessly and mystically, fashioned. But in and out of the background runs the golden thread of destiny; a destiny that will bring you back to nre as surely as it will evolve from a distracted North and a rebellious South, a sane and steadfast Union. Virginia. I must not listen to you — I must not. Peyton. Long ago two rival factions quarreled. One chose the white rose as its badge, the other bore upon its shield the red. (Picks rose from bush.) Today I pick this crimson bud. I give it to you, Virginia, for it symbolizes my heart's blood. If I do not come back, it will tell you always of my love for you, of my duty as I saw it. (Vir- ginia turns and takes the rose.) It's good-bye, dear — per- haps forever. Before I go give me the white rose that you wear. (Takes rose from hair.) So like you in its purity and sweetness. I'll keep it always, and it will help me to be true to myself — to you — and to what I think is right. (Kisses rose and places it within his coat.) Enter Susan^ R. U. E. Susan (to those off stage). Here, Uncle Billy — this way, everybody, for a Virginia reel. Enter Uncle Billy with fiddle and takes his place C. of F. He is folloived by Beverly, Tom, Colonel, Edith, Sally Ann^ Laura Lee. Peyton and Virginia take the places of head couple. They all dance the Virginia reel to the tune of "Dixie," singing the chorus. Curtain. Act II. Scene: Hall in the home of Colonel Montgomery. Landscape drop seen through door at C. in F. Entrance at C. in F. with double doors opening in; raised step at back of door extending fidl length of entrance. Long zvindozv at R. of C. in F. zvith floiver boxes. Stair of seven or eight steps beginning at L. 2 E., zvith landing at L. U. E.; small window on landing. Practical doors at R. U. E., L. 2 E. THK THREAD OF DESTINY. 41 atid L. U. n. {on Uiudnuj); ohi-fashioucd mantel down R., adorned icit/i a small Confederate fia\^ and some old-fash- ioned ornaments. Sofa under 7i'indo7v R. of C. in I\ Large arm ehair R. of C; chairs at R, 2 li. and L. 2 IS.; hassock by staincay doxi'n L. Large round table dozen R. ti-j/Zi la)np and books: also a decanter of i^'ine and glasses. Large Con- federate flag on staincay. I'urniture. if possible, should be of haircloth adorned 7<'ith crochet tidies; the short 7vindo7u curtains are of muslin. In any aiailable space on the 7calls. family portraits in o:al frames may be hung. Mantel may be omitted, in z^'hich case the small Confederate flag is fastened to the ivall. At rise stage is 7i'ell illumined, since it is afternoon. Dis- corered, Unclf. Hilly standing on step at entrance C. in F. and looking off L. Billy (speaking to Mose off stage). Fust fox out de hole is yer? Well den Mose, you jist move on — step lively too — for ef you j^^wiiie over to de damn ^'allks, thar ain't no use in tarryin' wid us no lonj^cr. Don't you tech dat do^ o' Marse John's — dar your own sniveling stump-tailed yallcr cur down by de pike. Ilurry up. De Yanks am a-waitin^ fur you an' ef day whallop dat black hide ob yourn et sarve you right. Enter M.xmmy Dinah, L. 2 E. Mammy {at door). Law, Billy, what you bawlin* 'bout? Jes' kase dat fool Mose wanter p^o? Let 'em go. Can't much blame him. All de udder niggers am gone an* dis plantation done got nothin' but hawg an' hominy on it. Billy {coming doivn C). You reckon you an* me leave kase thar ain't nothin' but hawg an' hominy? Ma.mmy {at back of chair). Law no, Billy; but den you'se Billy an' I'se Dinah an' dat make all de difference in de world. Billy {at chair R. of C). ALarse John and ^Larse Bev- erly gone — niggers run away — plantation gone to waste — Mis' Charlotte hungry an' — Lawd, Dinah, dis ain't war — it am hell. 42 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Mammy. Hell? Don' you reckon I see Mis' Charlotte growin' mo' peaked ev'y day? Billy. De ol' days, Dinah — •'member? Dem wuz high times. Git up in de mawnin', look out ober de lawn an' see mo'n a dozen ob de fustest quality folks ridin' in at de gates. Mammy. Marse John an' Miss Charlotte both on de po'ch ; all de little pickannnies runnin' from de quarters. Billy. Miss Jinny and Marse Peyton — Mammy. Hush! Dat chile's trouble jes' to think of — not to talk 'bout. (Pause.) Billy, de lights am out, de flowers am faded, de guests am gone. We is all dat's lef of de ol' days — an' de good Lawd willin', we'll stay till de end. Enter Colonel Montgomery, R. U. E. Colonel (coming down R.). Plotting and planning, Di- nah? Or does Billy need a bit of discipline? (Puts hat on table.) Mammy. Law, Marse John, you reckon I got time to fool wid Billy? Ain't I busy gittin' yo' dinner an' ain't dat dar chicken jis' 'bout ready to take off de fire? (Exit L. 2 E.) Billy. Marse John, yo' gwine back to de fightin' ? Colonel. Back to the fighting, Billy — ^back to the sus- pense — ^back to the struggle for a lost cause. (Crosses slozvly to chair, L. 2 E.) Billy. I wish I could help, Marse John. Colonel. Help? Why, Billy, do you suppose I could be satisfied unless I knew that you were here? Helpf Why, you've been my stay in time of trouble — my friend, Billy — my friend. Billy (zuith emotion). Marse John — Colonel. Listen, Billy. Lm your master no longer. The President has made you free — free to go where you wish — to do whatever you may choose. Billy (advancing to him). Marse John, I neber thought you'd say this to me — atter all dese years together — atter — (kneels before Colonel.) Colonel. Billy — man — you don't understand. No mat- THE THREAD 01- DESTIXV. 43 ter how iiuicli 1 may wisli you to slay, liow imich you may mean to mc, I must recognize tlic law of the land. {Puts hand on Billy'j shoulder And raises him.) I^iLLV. De law of a Ian' dat brings sufFerin' an* sorrow to de people I luh ? Marsc John, dis nigger recognize no law hut de law of his marstcr. I wan' to stay wid you, Marse John — I wan' to stay wid you! Colon KL {turnimj). And what have I to offer you? Only the remembrance of a man who has drunk deep of the cup of bitterness — who has heard the piteous pulsating 'cry of the stricken South. Ah, Billy, it is memory that stings. {Seats himself.) Billy. No, Marse John — no. It's memory that blesses us. Don* you reckon tie happy times dat have come and gone are mo' to us dan de darksome days? CoLONFx. The darksome days are upon us. Billy. Cker there is a little liand of men who wear the gray. They are fighting grimly, silently, struggling bravely against that which threatens the life and the liberty of the land they love. Billy. Marse John, ol' Billy can't understand it all ; but >omehow he's a thinkin' dat ef de Lawd has tooken care of us all dis time he'll not fergit us in de day of trouble, an* what's gwine to happen, gwine to happen fo' de best. De sun am been in hidin' dis long time, Marse John ; but some day it shine out agin on all of us. CoLONiiL. On all of us. (^h, Billy, if I might be sure of it. It's the thought of the one that may be missing — of those who may be left — that takes the manhood out of me. Bev- erly — my boy — in constant danger — Billy. Pshaw! Marse John ; you think dat de Yanks can ketch dat dere-debbil of a Beverly? Why I lerned him to ride myself — and — (Colonkl bo7^'s his head on his hands) — don't. Marse John ; don't. M'embcr dis. dat whatever hap- pens, I'm here. (Puts hands on Colonel's houlder.) Colonel (rising). T will remember it, Billy. And I know that you'll never break faith. Give ine your hand, old fel- low — we understand each other. (They clasf> hands.) 44 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Enter Mammy Dinah, L. 2 E. Mammy. Law sakes, Billy, lipw you reckon I gwine fix de Colonel's dinner if you stan' dar all day? {Crosses to R. U. E. and opens door and calls to Fanny off stage.) Ain't you sot dat table yet, Fanny — you lazy, no 'count nigger? I ain't gwine to tell you no mo'. (Turning and calls.) Billy? (Exit R. U. E.) Billy (turning head). Comin', Dinah — comin' ! (Wip- ing his eyes on his sleeve.) Dis damp weather do suttinly gib me de sniffles, Marse John. (Exit L. 2 E.) Enter Betty, R. U. E. Betty (coming dozvn C). Father, all by yourself? (Sud- denly.) Oh, you're troubled — you're weary. Colonel (extending his hand). War is a cruel thing, little girl. It has taken away all the gladsomeness of your youth, and has given you fears and responsibilities too heavy for you to bear. The bud has become a blossom be- fore its time. Betty (taking his hand in both of hers). But blossoms are lots more use than buds, father. (Drazvs him to chair R. of C.) Come, sit here — as you used to do — and make believe that the war's all over and you're home again. Colonel (seating himself R. of C.). It is hard to make believe in the face of disaster, dear. Betty (perching on left arm of chair). It's well that we cannot see into the future, isn't it? I don't reckon that many of us would have the courage to face it. Colonel. Courage comes with the dawn of each day; and in some way we are given strength to bear the burden. Betty. I have been thinking today of Virginia's engage- ment party — it seems so many years ago — and I was such a little girl. Colonel (quickly). Oh, you should have had your youth and the beautiful things that go with youth. And instead — Betty (placing right arm about his neck). Hush, father. They are such trivial things, after all ; for now I wish only for one thing, and I wish it so hard that it seems as if it TIIK TlIki:.\D 01' DKSTIXV. 45 must come true. Oli, you know the wish without my iclHuj^ you — that we will all once mure be — together. Colon I :l { sadly). Together. It's the most beautiful word in the world, Betty. i^Piits riylit hand un her left.) Bktty. I try to be brave — really I do — and each morn- ing I say to myself, "The same sun that's shining here is siiining on Beverly — on father. Some day the war will be forgotten. They will he home again, and we shall be happy — hapjn' !" But there is always a choke in my throat and sometimes I cannot see the sunshine — because of the tears. ( Wipes her eyes.) CoLONKL (tenderly). Dear daughter, Virginia did not >end all her bravest soldiers to war — for her women re- mained at home. They have fought their own battles of suspense, of fortitude and of privation. Bkttv. I'm not much of a soldier, am T ? Tears and faint- heartedness do not become your daughter and Beverly's sister. {Rises.) Colonel (rising and putting hands on her shoulders). Little Colonel, I have never found you failing on your duty; that's why I'm leaving the garrison in your charge, for I know that my commander will supply the ammunition of cheer, of smiles and courage. Be brave, little soldier ; be brave, and your father will carry away with him a conso- lation that will hell) him in the days to come. Bettv. I will, father. Oh, I will! Mammy (off stage). Marse John, you reckon dis chicken gwinc wait fuh you all de day ? Colonel. I'm coming, Dinah; I'm coming. (He erosses to R. U. E., turns, eoines back to I^kttv at C, kisses her and leaves the room at R. U. 11.) Enter Louise, C. in E. Louise (coming down C). Evening, Miss Betty. I've just torn my gown on your obstreperous rosebush. May I bother you for a pin ? Bkttv {turning). Surely you may. Miss Lawton. Just come right in. Only you nuistn't call our rosebush obstrej)- 46 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. erous, for it's quite the joy of our household. (Takes pin from dress and hands it to Louise.) Louise. Traditional, I suppose. Like so many other things in this adorable Virginia. {Pins her dress.) Betty. Quite traditional. Mother and father planted it on their wedding day, and it has bloomed every year since then. You're visting here, aren't you. Miss Lawton? (Stands with back to table and hands on it.) Louise. Hardly that. Rather, recuperating. I've been teaching school in Kentucky. (Crosses to chair at L. 2 E.) Betty. I reckon that does wear one out, but I've always thought it would be fun to teach the young idea to shoot — Louise. Gracious! Nobody in Kentucky needs to be taught to shoot — that knowledge is born with him. (Seats herself.) Betty. And this is your first visit to Virginia? Louise. My first. And I'm finding but one lack in your beautiful state. Betty. And that? Louise. Men. Betty (laughing). A sad situation for a Kentucky girl, isn't it? I'm sorry; but all our men have gone to war. Vir- ginia needed them more than we. Louise. This (pointing to Colonel^s hat by table) doesn't bear out your statement as to the lack of all things masculine. Betty (tiirning her head). Oh, my father's. He's been wnth us for a few hours and goes back to his command this evening. Louise. Does he come often? Betty. Very seldom. And each time it's harder to let him go. Louise. You Virginia women are very brave. Is — is there no other man in your family? Betty. Oh, yes, my brother, Beverly — the most wonder- ful brother in all the world. Louise. Then he must be a very important man to the southern cause. Betty. General Lee puts every hope in him. THE TllUEAD Ul- DESTINY. 47 LoL'isi-: (ijiiickly). Docs lie ride? Betty. Ride/ \\ hy, every Virginian rides ; and Beverly is in the sadille twenty hours out of the twenty-four. Why did you ask? LoLiSK. Why, my dear, for no other reason than that of idle curiosity. {Rises.) I've been selfish, haven't I? Takinjx you from your father. If you'll f^ive me a j^lass of water before I venture out on that dusty pike, I'll be just that much more indebted to you. Betty. Why, i should. have thought of that. I'm afraid you think me a poor hostess. You'll excuse me a moment. {Exit L.2E.) Louise goes Juistily to door C. in P., beekons and is joined by John, z^'lio eomes from R. Louise {quiekly). This is the place, I tliink. There is a brother — evidently a scout — likely the man you want. The house has many hiding places and will bear shadow- ing. {Exit John to R. Louise comes to C.) Enter Betty, L. 2 E., with (jiass of ivater ; crosses to Louise. Louise {taking glass). Thank you so much. {Drinks.) And will you come to see me sometime? Betty. I'll try, and I wish 1 might do something to make your stay more pleasant. I don't like you tn remem- ber us as inhospitable. Ciood-bye. {Shakes Louise's //(/;/(/. Exit Louise, C. in E. Betty gazes after her, then turns and leaves the room at R. U. E.) Enter George Washington and Fanny, C. in P.. George Wasthington carrying a basket. Fanny. Much obleeged, Gawge W'ashin'ton. {Sits on .step in door.) Won't you set down an' rest a while? CjKorge {seating himself by her). Reckon I will. It sho' am lonesome ober at de plantation since de big house am closed and Marse Peyton gone to de war — Fanny. Gone to de \'anks, why don' you say? Ef he\l a-stayed at home an' behaved heself — George. You hush, Fanny. Dar's one thing you can't tear to pieces wid yo' tongue an' dat's Marse Peyton. VA he wanter fight wid de \'anks you may be sho' dat it's all :iE^5 48 ■ THE THREAD OF DESTINY. right fo' him to fight wid 'em. Marse Peyton, he don't make no mistake. Fanny {sniffing). Huh! I reckon you is insinuatin' dat Marse Beve'ly made de mistake — George {sullenly). Ain't insinuatin' nuttin. De Baileys dey don' beheve in criticisin' dey neighbors. Fanny {pertly). De Montgome'ys, dey don' do nuttin to be criticized 'bout. George. Look hyah, Fanny, I done got tired of fightin' wid you. Dar is 'nough fightin' goin' on any way widout tongue-lashin'. Fanny {sighing). Dese am troublous times, Gawge Washin'ton — troublous times. De sky am jis' one big black cloud. George {moving closer). Every cloud, it got a silber linin', Fanny. Fanny. You reckon dat's true, Gawge Washin'ton? George {moving closer). Fanny {leaning to her), won' you let me be de silber linin' to yo' cloud ? Fanny {drazving away). Lan' sakes, Gawge Washin'- ton, I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud. Enter Ralph C. in F. hack of them. Ralph {dictatorially) . Tell your Miss Virginia that I wish to see her. Fanny {paying no attention). Ez I wuz sayin', Gawge Washin'ton — Ralph. Did you hear what I said? Fanny. I heard what you said but I don' jes' 'prove ob de way you said it. Ralph. You impudent black creature, do you know to whom you are speaking? Fanny {turning her head). Law, yes — Marse Francis. You reckon you kin be de only man what didn't go to war and folks not know it. Ralph. I'll have you whipped — Fanny. Oh, no, you won't. I b'long to de Montgome'ys, an' de Montgome'ys don' whip dey niggers. Ralph {angrily). Will you tell your mistress I am here? THE TllkliAD OK DESTINY. 49 Fanxv (rising). I ^o warn licr dal you is hyali. (George rises.) Lome on, (lawfjc VVasliin'ton ; \vc continue our in- t(.'rrui)tc(l conhcrsalion out in dc j^yardcn. {li.vriDtt Fanny iDUi CiKORCK to R.) R.w.vii comes ({(KOI C crosses to.uuintel, e.vaniines ar- ticles on mantel and table, then crosses and seats himself in chair, L. 2 E. .After a few moments \ iu(;im\ enters, R. U. E. X'iKc.iNiA. Mr. Francis? (Stands at door.) RALrii {rising). Miss Montj^onicry, may I liave a few nionicnts' conversation willi you ? \'iK(MNiA. Be very brief. My father is with us for a few hours and my time belonj^s to him. Ralph. It is — business, perhaps you mie^ht call it. \'iKGiNiA (turning). Then I'll call my mother. Doubt- less— Rali'II. But it is business with you — you alone. Will you be seated? Virginia. Thank you, I prefer to stand. Ralph. Miss Montgomery, your plantation is in a most hopeless condition. X'lRGiNiA. Did you come here to tell me that? Then we may as well call the visit at an end. (Comes down R. to table.) Ralph. Wait. Let me finish. This condition you are powerless to remedy. Virginia. It is the fortune of w^ar. We are not com- plaining. Ralph. I came here today to offer my help. X'iRGiNiA. It is not necessary, Mr. Francis. T thank you for the impulse, but — Ralph. Listen. .\s you know, I have been a successful man — Virginia. Successful in a material way, perhaps. Par- don me if I say that success gained by taking advantage of other people's misfortunes is not worthy the name of suc- cess. Ralph. Fvery one must look out ior himself. Miss Montgomery. 50 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Virginia. It has been proven, I think, that one may do that and still lend a helping hand — Ralph. I have improved my opportunities. Virginia. To the exclusion of your patriotism, perhaps. Virginia has little respect, Mr. Francis, for the man who turns a deaf ear to her call for help. Ralph. The fact that I'm not wearing a uniform is not sufficient proof of my lack of patriotism. Virginia. The subject is not worthy the discussion. If that is all — {turns as if to go.) Ralph. It isn't all. I repeat that I am here to offer you whatever help and whatever material assistance I can. (Crosses to table.) Virginia. Then Mr. Francis, I must acknowledge the generosity of the offer. In the name of the family I must thank you ; for even if we cannot accept, we are grateful for the thought. Will you take my hand? (Comes from be- hind table and offers hand.) Ralph (rushing to her). Oh, Virginia Virginia! If you will only say so, we will go far away and forget this war. I'll give you jewels, beautiful things — all that you may dream of, all that money can buy. Forget it all. Come! Come! (Catches her hands.) Virginia (struggling) . Let me go! How dare you? How dare you? Ralph. I dare do everything — now. Do you suppose I came to offer you help with no thought of reward? Would I be likely to spend my hard-earned dollars for the relief of the southern aristocracy that has looked upon me with scorn and treated me with contempt? Virginia (freeing herself). Hush! I have only to lift my voice and my father would strike you to the earth. Marry you? Why, I'd rather die a thousand times. Marry you? Life would hold no greater humiliation, no greater disgrace. Oh, you've reckoned wrong, Mr. Francis, for to a Virginia woman there are some things more precious than money, than jewels — and those things are courage, manliness, chiv- alry and nobility of soul. (Crosses to back of chair R. of C.) Till- TllklvM) OI- DKSTl.VV. 51 IvALrii {siiccrinijly). Privalitiii and despair will drive you to me yet. The lover that gave you up so easily is not likely to return, and — {iul7-aitccs). X'ikciNiA ( fTDinily). Will you j^o? (She f^oints to door. Ralph hesitates, then turns and lea:es the room at C. in I'. \'iiu;iNiA si)i/cs into the ehair R. of C, f^uts her head on her arms.) linter Madgk, C. in F. She stands lookin(j after Rai.tii. Madge (rushini^ to Xikciima). X'iri^iiiia, what has tint man heen sayinj^ to you? 1 low dare he come here — how dare he? (Seats herself on ri(/ht arm of ehair.) X'lkr.ixiA. Madc^e. isn't it enou.u:h that we women should endure liar(lshii)s without sufferini:^ tiie humiliation of in- sult? MADtE. What did he say? \''iRGiNiA. lie came with the ofTer of \\c\\) for us in our extremity — Madge. And in return? Virginia. lie asked for — me. Madge (risiiu/). X'irginia, today we moved out of the big house into the overseer's cottage — the only thing that is left to us. (Goes to chair L. 2 E.) Virginia. Madge — Madge (seating herself). It doesn't take long to tell the story. Xo one to work the plantation — the loss of every- thing — absolute want — and the borrowing of money from this man. \^irginia. Ah, Madge, why did you do it? Madge. Father did it, and since father is gone we are helpless. Today the climax came. He moved in — we moved out. Virginia. Madge — I'm sorry. Madge (raising hand). Don't pity me. I don't need it, you don't need it — for we're thoroughbreds, both of us, and there's something — inside — that makes us rise above it all. Virginia. I wish I might, Madge, but sometimes — Madge (sympathetieally). I know — I understand. 52 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Virginia. I've never seen him, Madge, since that day, three years ago. I do not even^know if he is living. Madge {leaning forward). Listen, Virginia. I saw Pey- ton today. Virginia (rising). Madge, you're sure — you're sure? Madge. Sure ; 'twas only a glance as he rode by, but enough to satisfy me. Virginia. Oh, Madge, how did he look? How — {moves szviftly to Madge.) Madge. 'Twas 'only a glance I had. Isn't it enough to know that he is here? Virginia. He has come back — but why? {Walks to hack of cJi^air.) Madge. The Union forces are massed at Culpepper and destiny has brought him to his native soil. Virginia (to herself). The thread of destiny — he said it would bring him back to me. Madge (turning her head). And what are you going to tell him ? Virginia. What can I say — but what I said before? Madge (rising). Are you sure, Virginia? This war should have taught us many things — among them, charity. Our foes are noble ones — we must acknowledge it; and if the verdict goes against us, I for one shall accept it with the belief that whatever is, is best. Oh, Virginia, I want to see a peaceful land, I want to be in the midst of a happy people — and most of all, I want to live under one flag! Virginia. Madge ! Madge. Life is too short for useless separation, Virginia. Love is too precious to barter for a mistaken duty. Think of what I tell you and forget what that man has said to you today. For some day retaliation will come, and I ask no greater boon than that I may have a part in bringing him to destruction and defeat. Enter Sally Ann and Laura Lee, C. in F\ They rush to Virginia. Sally. Virginia, does your father know that Grant is Till-: TIIRKAl) Ol- DESTINY. 53 iiiarchin«,^ toward kicliiiioiul lliat our uk-ii arc massing in the Wilderness ? X'lKCHNiA (excitedly). Oh, I'll tell him. {li.vit K. U. E.) Madge. And I'll be hurrying^ home. {To Laura.) Stay with Virt^inia — can't you. p^irls. She needs you. (lixit C. in F.) Lai'ka (calling/ iiftcr her). We'll stay. Come, Sally Ann. {They mount the stairs. Exeunt L. U. E.) Enter Colonel (i;/(/ Mrs. Montgomi.kv. A'. U. E. They cross slozcly to C. Colonel. Just a few moments for farewell, Charlotte; but now that they have come, I can think of no last words to say. {Dnucs chair R. of C. for her.) Mrs. M. {seating herself). Why should we? We have lived them all our lives. But, someway, it has never seemed so hard to let you go. Colonel (at back of chair). Think of the meeting, Charlotte — not of the farewell. Think of the furlough that is coming to me — the furlough that will mean rest — home — and — you! (Puts arju around her shoulder.) Mrs. M. (siijhing). Oh, John, life is so full of partings — Colonel. That end in meetings, dear — even, as boy and girl, we'd say goodbye in the old garden and count the mo- ments until we met again. Mrs. M. The old garden — the garden of youth. Then (tJioughtfully) the flowers were gay and many-colored — bright marigolds, sweet mignonette, gorgeous verbena, and — sweetest of all, John — lad's love. Colonel (softly). The garden of later days had its rose- mary of remembrance, dear — its bit of rue, perhaps — but we planted the flowers of hope, of love and service, and they have comforted us with their bloom and their frag- rance. Mrs. M. And now, John, when the gaily-colored blos- soms have gone, when the sky is dark and threatening, when there is rain instead of sunshine, we have — heartease. Colonel. Charlotte, some way the courage has gone out 54 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. of me. I feel old — and stricken. (Crosses and sinks in chair R. 2 E.; takes hat from table.) Mrs. M, (rising). Never tliat. You are a soldier — Vir- ginia's soldier — the man who has always borne the shield of honor and the sword of courage. (Crosses and puts hand on his shotdder.) Colonel (stands and puts arms about her). The shield of honor — the sword of courage! You have given them to me, Charlotte. You have embodied the truest, the noblest and the best that life has had to oifer. Come, let us watch the sunset together. (They walk slowly and stand before zvindow,) For the last time, perhaps — who knows? Who fears? For death cannot conquer love — nor eternity. See (he points), the glorious hues have faded into the paler, fainter tints — only a suggestion of the former glory. I'll carry away the memory of it — and the glow and radiance will put new life in me — will help me to say — ^goodbye. (Kisses her.) Mrs. M. {turning). Goodbye, John. I'll watch from the window — and my heart will follow you. (Ascends steps. Colonel watches her, then goes out C. in F. Stage clear for a few moments, then Laura Lee comes dozvn steps.) Laura (crossing to chair R. 2 E. and seating herself). I'll sit here for awhile ; maybe I can cheer up a bit. Oh, I'm so lonesome — so lonesome — so tired of it all. It seems al- most wicked to wish for a little fun, and yet I do. (Rises.) Well, I'll light the lamp. I wish it were like Aladdin's lamp and I could get my wish just by rubbing it. I believe I'd wish for — a man — a real man. (She hastily lights lamp and holds it high as — ) John enters, C. in F. John (coming forward). You? Laura. Yes, I ! Why shouldn't it be ? Were you looking for — some one else? (Puts lamp on table.) John (in a daze). To think — after all these years — it should be — you ! Laura. I don't see why that is surprising ? Why shouldn't it be — myself? Till-: rilKI.Al) Ul- DKSTIW. 55 Joiix. I've come hack! La IK A. Come bach! When 1 tli(hi't know you starlech {.'Isidc.) Oil, he's crazy — quite crazy. Some poor, lialf- starved Yank, 1 reckon. h)iiN. \\n\ surely haven't fore^otten ? {Comes nearer.) Laura {hastily). No. Oh — a — its just slipped my mind. John. That April day — down by the liedi;e — 1 was go- ing to war — Lalka {aside). It's best to humor them, they say. (lo John.) I remember. You looked so brave in your new uniform and your new sword. And as you rode away on your prancing steed — John. That isn't it at all. You've mixed me with some- body else. Laura. Oh, no, I haven't; Tve just mixed somebody else with you. John. I wasn't riding. Laura (quickly). Then you must have been walking. I ahvays did get the cavalry and the infantry confused. (Aside.) Oh, I wish he'd go. I'm frightened. {Drazus back.) John (sorroz^'fully). Why, I've thought of you all these years — just as I saw you last. I've dreamed of meeting you again, and — now you've forgotten. Laura. I can't help it ; really I can't. It — it runs in the family. John (aside). Oh, I begin to understand. Her mind has left her. All this trouble has crazed her brain. Oh, how- sad it is. So young, so fair — and so utterly demented! (Looks sorro7^'fiilly at her.) Laura (aside). Why does he look at me that way? (/;/ terror.) I don't know what to do. John (aside). I'll try her again. {7^o Laura.) I'm John Merivale Morton. Laura (politely). Oh, yes; to be sure. I'm certainly glad to meet you. (Aside.) I'll try to be calm and natural. J(jHN (repeating). John — Merivale — Morton. Laura. It'.s — it's a very pretty name. (John "walks to L. of stage.) TH^r 56 THETTHREAD OF DESTINY. John {aside). No go. Let's see; sometimes a gesture, a mere word will bring to the darkened mind a ray of in- telligence. (Suddenly.) I'll act it out. (Looks nervously around, spies the hassock, brings it near, seats himself on it, takes imaginary plate and pretends to eat.) Laura (aside, in horror). Oh, he thinks he's an animal. They often do ; and I reckon it's better to pretend to un- derstand. (Reaches out and pats him on the head.) Nice doggie! (Jumps hack.) John (jumping up). Great heavens! It's worse than I expected ; and yet — and yet she looks intelligent and (ga::es steadfastly at her), it seems that she ought to understand. Laura (nervously). I think he's going to bite. (John zvalks R. of C.) John (aside). Maybe she'll remember waving to me. ( Waves frantically.) Laura (zvith relief). Oh, must you go — really? Sally Ann appears on landing from L. U. E. Laura. I'm sorry you must hurry, but I'm glad you could come even for a little while. Goodbye. Sally (to herself). It's John Merivaje Morton. (To Laura.) Laura, Lee, what are you doing down there with ■ — that — man ? John (gazing up at her). Good gracious! Another? Am I seeing double, or — oh, I can't be losing my mind. (Seiz- ing Laura.) You're here, aren't you? You're not up there. I just thought you were. Didn't I? (Looking up.) Oh, you are — Sally (descending). Laura Lee, go right up stairs this minute. Laura (crossing to stairs). Oh, Sally Ann, it's a crazy Yank-^and I want to stay. Sally (sternly). A crazy Yank! Indeed you shan't stay. I'll attend to him. Laura (coaxingly). Oh, Sally Ann; please. Even if he is crazy, he's a man — and I haven't seen a man for so long. Sally (at bottom of stairs). You're not going to see TIIK THkKAl) ()!• DESTINY. 57 liiin now. Don't you ask nic why. 1 have rca.soiis of my own. Ouick, now — up stairs! ( Laika ascciuis stairs.) Lalka i^lcanituj oi'cr stain^wy). I Mease, Sally Ann — just this once. Sallv (sternly). Are you j^oinjj? ( fi.vit Lai'ua at L. (^ £.) Oh, Jolni Merivale Morton, is it really you? John. That's the ({uestion 1 should he asking you. Heavens, what a fool I've made of myself. Why didn't you tell me you had a twin sister? {Cocs to her.) Sally {tossimj her head). In the hrief space allotted to our acquaintance, there was no time for family revelations. (Crosses to table R. 2 E.) John. And you've never told of our meeting? Sally. Never. Yoti inferred that I couldn't keep a se- cret. I chose to prove that I could. John. And you're still my Sally Ann? {Folloi^'s her.) Sally. I'm Sally Ann all right. But as yet no personal pronoun has been pretixcd to my name. John. You haven't forgotten? Sally. What a silly question. Just like a man. How could I forget? John (rapturously). Sally Ann ! Sally (quickly). When I had a pin to remind me. John. And you've worn it — Sally. Every day. John (eagerly). You 'wore it — for — me? Sally (carelessly). For convenience — mostly. John. Sally Ann, I said I'd come back to you. Sally. So you did. But men don't always mean what they say. (Slyly.) Neither do women. John. Didn't you mean what you said to me? Sally. I can't remember that I committed myself to you in any w-ay. John. Your eyes did. (Comes closer. Sally quickly crosses to L. 2 E.) Sally. I'm not responsible for my eyes. Taking care of my tongue keeps me ])usy. (Turns.) Look here. John Merivale Morton, you've been so busy asking me questions 58 THE'THREAD of DESTINY. that I haven't had a chance at you. Now what are you doing in this particular part of the country? John. Doesn't the fact thaf the Union forces are mass- ing in Virginia explain my presence? Sally. And in this particular house? John. Stopped by — to get something to eat. Sally (in disgust). Hungry again f Is life nothing to you but an eternal quest for food? John (seriously). Life — for three years — has been nothing but a quest — for you. Sally. Prettily said, Yankee Doodle, but rather im- practical. John. Impractical. Why, Dixie? Sally. Because the great quest of your section of the country is that of plunder, pillage and devastation. John. It's the fortunes of war. (Cj'osses to her.) Sally (returning to table at R.). Fortunes of war. What a well worn phrase. Like charity, it covers a multi- tude of sins. Well, if you reckon you're going to get any- thing to eat here, you'll get fooled. John. Wait till I ask you for something, you impersona- tion of southern hospitality. (Stands back of chair R. of C.) Sally. This isn't my house and I haven't any right or desire to be hospitable. And if you're discovered here you'll be about as popular as a rattlesnake. John (zvith decision). Well, I'm not going yet. I've waited three years to see you — Sally. And you're waiting now, I reckon, until you lay eyes on some southern officer that may come riding by. John (eagerly). Is there likely to be one here, Sally Ann — in this house? Sally (tauntingly). Getting scared, aren't you? Well, he'll make you see stars. John (advancing to table) . Stars — and stripes. It's what every good soldier of Uncle Sam sees — always, Sally Ann. (Takes small U. S. flag from pocket.) Sally. Stars and bars. It's what every soldier of Dixie Till-: Tllkl-.AI) Ol DKSTI.VN. 59 sees — always — Jolm Mcrivalc Mnrioii. {Ccts Confederate flaij from nmiitcl. ) John (ijaciiui ot fhuj). TIk- stars and stripes! Tlic red of couraj^c; the white of purity; tlie hlue of hjyaUy. Sally ((j/ cluiir R. 2 Ji.). rhc stars aiul bar's— the Hajj of our Confederacy. It tells of a love that is courageous; a struggle that defies hardshij) ; a sj)irit thai coiujuers even defeat. JoiiiN. And under your folds, (jh, red. white and hlue, there toils the mighty warrior in whose hands there lies the destiny of our nation. Sleepless, tireless, watchful, indom- itable, great of soul, boundless in pity, idol of every sol- dier's heart — Ulysses S. Grant. Sally. And 'neath your ripples, oh flag of mine, there stands the hero of every loyal southerner. Dauntless in misfortune, noble in success, we place him on the pedestal of our faith, our loyalty, and our truest devotion — Robert E. Lee. John {takimj her hand). Dear little southern girl, some day we'll stand together under one flag, and on that day there will be no North, no South, but the I'nion ! Sally {dropping in chair R. 2 £.). Oh, do you think so, John Merivale Morton? Do you really think so? I'm so tired — so tired. (Sounds of footsteps off stage.) Hush! You must go. It i,sn't safe ; it isn't. Oh, just to please me. Hurry! Hurry! (Rises and pushes him tozcard door C. in F.) John (eagerly). But I'll see you again? Sally. Yes; oh, yes. (Still pushes him.) John (turning). Tomorrow? Sally. Tomorrow. (Exit John C. in F. Sally closes door after him.) Laura Lee appears on landing, R. U. E. Laura. Has he gone? Sally. Well, I reckon he has. I settled him all right. Laura. Well, it took you a mighty long time to do it. Sally (ascending stairs). It takes time to do things thoroughly. (Exeunt Smiv mid Laira, /?. U. E.) ^^^ 60 THR THREAD OF DESTINY. Enter Virginia, who goes to chair at R. 2 E.; Edith, who seats herself R. of C.; Betty, zvho crosses to L. 2 E. and seats herself. • Betty {sighing). I just know that if all the bandages I've made were sewed together, it would reach from the North to the South pole. Edith. You ought to be proud of that feat. It isn't everybody that can encircle the globe so easily. Betty. Well, just to be sure, Ell make some more. {All sew in silence.) Virginia. I'm nervous tonight. I can't sew. I feel as if something were about to happen. {Puts zvork basket on table.) Edith {soberly). There are few days now, Virginia, in which something does not happen. {Silence for a few min- utes, zvhistle sounds off stage.) Virginia {rising). Beverly! Lower the light, Betty. (Betty obeys. Whistle is repeated. Mrs. Montgomery descends the steps from R. U. E. Virginia opens door.) Enter Beverly, C. in F. Mrs. Montgomery rushes to him and embraces him. Virginia closes door. Mrs. M. Beverly! My boy — my boy! Oh, you're wounded ! Beverly. Nothing but a scratch, mother. I'm lucky to get off so well. The woods are full of Yanks and they've done their best to pepper me. {Staggers to chair at L. 2 E. Mrs. Montgomery clings to him and stands back of chair. Virginia brings hassock and sits before him.) Edith {hastening to him). Beverly, you're faint — you're — {stands R. of Beverly.) Beverly {zvearily). Tired, Edith, oh so tired. If I could only sleep again. If I could wake to find the sunshine in my room and to feel the breeze in my face. (Betty brings a glass of zvine to him.) Sometimes I dream of it. {He drinks.) Thanks, little sister. (Betty puts glass on table and stands there.) I'm better now; I really am; and I need my strength tonight more than I've ever needed it before. I've ridden since yesterday morning and I must reach the THE TIIKKAU Ul- UESTIXV. 61 southern lines. I must. Every crossroad is watched ; but I'm j;t)inj:: to j.,'ct ihrouj^h — and you've ^^ot to lielp me! Mrs. M. Ik'verly, arc conditions so lioi)eless — so — Bevkklv. luerytliin^ is desperate — desperate. We have only our pride, our spirit and our bravery to keep us up. Oh, when I see the heroism of those half-starved fellows, I thank God that I am a southern man. And even were I to despair — to falter — 1 have oidy to look at that pathetic figfure in the liu^ht of the camptire — that sleepless, intrepid hero that sntTers in silence. (With ctnotioii.) Oh, mother, I could die for Lee! \^IRC.INI.\ {holduui his huud). Rest — just for a moment, Beverly. You'll be all the better. We'll watch— we'll— Bevkrlv. Rest? I can't. There's a ^^1nkee scout behind me. lie's almost liere, anil T know that he is the bearer of important messa<;es to drant. I nuist have these dispatches. I must have them. Ho you hear? {Tiiniiug.) Edith, you're clever, you're (juick. I'm puttin^e^ my hope in you. Will you do it? Edith {turning aside). I can't, Beverly — I can't. It's treachery to my country. You don't know what you're asking. Bexkrlv. Oh, but I do know, and I'm askinj^ you to make this sacritice — for me. Edith — for me. (Pleadingly.) Help me. Edith. Oh, Ell try; Ell try. Bkverlv (raising his hand). Listen! Do you hear? He's coming. Don't let him ride by. (Rises.) I'll trust you, Edith. Ell trust you. (Mrs. Mcv^'tgomerv dratcs him away.) Yes, mother. Which way? (Mrs. Moxtc.omerv. Betty, Virgini.\ and Beverly aseend stairs. Exeunt L. U. E. Knoeking at door C. in F.) Edith {at door). Who is there? Scout (outside). A Union soldier, who asks for a chance to rest himself and beast. Edith. A Union soldier! Then I make you thrice wel- come. (Opens door.) Scout (on doorstep). I hardly understand the welcome. 62 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. It is not customary for a southern home even of reputed hospitality to throw open its doors to me. Edith. But every southern home does not harbor a northern girl. Scout. You mean (leans forivard). Edith. That I am for your cause, heart and soul. Scout. Whose home is this? (Enters.) Edith. My uncle's — Colonel Montgomery. (He looks cautiously around.) Don't be alarmed. We're alone. (Closes door.) Scout (at C). It is a hot-bed of rebellion. Edith (standing R. of him). Oh, it is — it is. Haven't I told you? Won't you believe me? Why, I cannot express how fearfully I've suffered under their taunts, their insin- uations. Scout. There's a son — (Beverly appears from L. U. E. an landing of stairs.) Edith. Yes, Beverly, the cleverest scout on the southern side. Scout. There is a price on his head that most of us would risk a great deal to gain. (Sternly). I'll test that statement of your loyalty to the North. Has this son been here lately? Edith. I'll prove the statement of the loyalty you doubt. He has. Scout. When ? Edith. Today — not two hours ago. Scout. Which way did he go? Edith (crossing to zvindozv). Down by the crossroads — across the river and directly east. Scout (coming close to her). You're telling me the truth? Edith. I'm telling you the truth. Scout. Could I catch him. (Draws revolver.) Edith. Not unless he has been in some way delayed. Put down your ugly toy and tell me — what I want to know. (Advances to table dozvn R.) Scout (follozuing). What do you want to know? (Lays down revolver on table and seizes her hands.) Heavens,; THI-: THkl-AU Ol- UIiSTINV. 63 but it's livini^ again, to forget war and to liold tlic liands of a pretty girl. Kdith {lirmcifK; azi'ijy her liauds). Tell me of our cause. Scout. The war is almost over. \Vc are steadily closing about the rebs, and after \''irginia is battered down the day is ours. {Lcmis on talkie; I^ditii rests on arm of chair.) Edith (oithnsiastically). Oh. I'm proud to be a part of it all. I'm grateful that fale threw yt>u my way tonight. Scout. I should be riding on. Edith. And why? Scout. They are waiting for me at headciuarters. I^DiTH. You must be very clever and brave, and, oh, I can well believe that they put all confidence in you. {Looks admiringly at hiin.) Scout {consciously). They do. My mission tonight proves it. Edith. Is it wrong to tell me what it is? {Leans foricard and smiles at him.) Scout {taking paper from pocket). Look, little north- ern lady. Can you realize that this paper is to play a very important part in the Virginia campaign ? Edith {standing). Oh, a dispatch — a real dispatch. Oh, how wonderful you are! May 1 see it? {Lie hands her the paper. She drops her handkerchief. As he stoops to pick it lip she seizes the revolver.) Stand just wdiere you are. With your permission, I'll keep this as a souvenir of our tirst, and, I trust, our last meeting. Scout {zvildly). You're a spy! {Moves tozvard her.) Edith. Stop! I can shoot perfectly well and my bullet usually reaches the spot for which I aim. Scout. You give me the paper. You give it to me now, or, by heaven, you'll never live to give it to anyone else. {Struggles with her.) Bevkklv {leveling revolver). Stop — this instant! (Scout turns.) And thank your lucky stars that I did not send a bullet through you. Here in Virginia we kill a man for laying a finger on a woman. (Scout starts toii'ard him.) 64 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Don't resist. It's no use. There's a squad of gray-coated men outside that are waiting fpr my signal. (Descending.) Take your Hfe as a present from a Johnny Reb. Tell them at headquarters that you lost your dispatches. And ride now as if the devil were after you. Go, I say, or I shoot. (They cover him zvith their revolvers. Edith follows him outside door C. in F.) Edith (entering). He's gone. Beverly. Oh, Edith, you couldn't have done it unless you had cared — a little. (Takes her in his arms.) Edith. Cared a httle? I say it, and I'm proud to say it, that I could have done it only for the man I love. (Knock- ing at C. in F. Mrs. Montgomery and Virginia rush down the stairs from R. U. E. Beverly and Edith ascend stairs. Exeunt L. U. E.) Virginia. I'll go, mother. (Opens door, revealing Pey- ton on the threshold.) Peyton! Peyton. Virginia, oh Virginia! (Speaking to those out- side.) Guard the house. I'll search within. Enters Peyton. Mrs. M. (advancing). Peyton, what does this mean? Peyton. Word has come to headquarters that a Con- federate soldier is in the house and I have been ordered to search it. If you give me your word that there is no reason for my presence here, not a man shall cross the threshold. Mrs. M. And if I refuse? Peyton. Then I must force my entrance. Virginia (scornfully). And this is the way you come back to us — after three years? Pray when did your north- ern commanders . decree war uppn women? Peyton. Never, I hope — never. Oh, you know I'm do- ing my duty. These hard years must have shown you that military discipline forces us to repress many things that we long to do. Mrs. M. I understand. You are free to make the search. (Comes to chair R. 2 E.) Virginia. Mother, how can you? (Advances.) Stop! THK TIlkKAL) 0|- UKSTIN'V. 65 Vou are )iot free lo make the ^eareli. N'ou iiorilierners are not masters yet. I yield to no forei|;n autliority under my roof. {Ihirs his f^assayc to staim'ay.) Peyton. Then, as much as I rej^ret to say it, 1 am forced to make my investijjjatinns without your permission. {To Mrs. Montgomery.) Ihe downsta'irs first, Mrs. Mont- i^omery ? Mrs. M. 'Hie downstairs first. { li.vit Peyton. R. U. E. Hi:vERLY appears L. U. Ji.. makes his 'icay cjuictly dozen the steps z<'hen Peyton reappears at R. U.'li.) Peyton [leieliiuj revolver). Halt! NOu are my prisoner. {As he reeoynizes him.) Beverly! Beverly. Peyton! (Mrs. Montgo.mkry starts forward, X'irginia stands at stairway.) Peyton. After all these years, to meet you liere, in this way. {Bitterly.) Fate mi^ht have spared me this. Beverly. Fate isn't particular ahout the blows she deals us. Peyton. Pve found that out. You've cau<;ht me fairly, and 1 give myself up without resistance. Mrs. M. {laying hand on Peyton's arm). Peyton, you won't — you caiv t ! {Crosses to Beverly.) Beverly {putting arms about her). Mother, not a word. My personal safety is not to be weighed against Peyton's honor as a soldier. Peyton. Beverly, your scout work has done much harm to our cause. Do you realize the consequences of your capture? Beverly. Absolutely, and Pm ready, old fellow. Peyton. For three years Pve never gone on the battle- field without the dread of meeting you ; but I would rather have come face to face with you than to know that I must hand my best friend over to — uncertainty. Beverly. Put aside the idea of our friendship, Peyton. Vou know that Pm surer of that than of anything in the world. Now we are but tw'o men, each with a different cause, and your cause demands the sacrifice of your per- sonal feelings. As I said before, Pm ready. Peyton {advancing to door C. in F.. opening it and speaking off stage). Sergeant, will you take the men to ^?^ 66 TFrP* THREAD OF DESTINE. the front door of the house and guard it closely? If there is a soldier hidden here he may attempt to escape by that way. This is the only door om this side, and I'm watching it. (Returns to Beverly after closing door.) Beverly (eagerly). Peyton, what do you mean? Peyton. Beverly, where is your horse? Beverly. Down in the hollow. Peyton. Listen. There is a guard at the bridge. Cross at the shallow place farther down. Once over, keep off the road. (To Mrs. Montgomery.) Since my search in one room was unsatisfactory, Mrs. Montgomery, with your permission I'll try another. Mrs. M. (taking his hand). Peyton, I cannot tell you what this means to me — how I love you for it. Peyton. Oh, did you think I could, sever all the ties of the past? (To Beverly.) Why, Beverly, I'd rather die a thousand times than to be the means of your capture — and death. I'd rather risk the name of traitor to my cause than to be false to my friendship. War has taken many things that will never come back to me. It has given me much that I needed to make a man of me. But it shall never force me to betray my friend. Beverly (zvith emotion). Peyton! (They clasp hands. Exit Peyton, L. 2 E.) I'll fire three shots when I'm over the river. And I'll come back, mother. I'll come back. (Hastily kisses his mother and Virginia and goes out door C. in F. Virginia closes door.) Mrs.- M. Virginia, sometimes pride is a stumbling block. At the beginning of the war we were all impulsive. Many things of small import seemed great to us. But in these crises of suffering and death we have learned that all that endures, all that is worth while, is — love. Ponder on what I've said, dear, and do what you think best. (Ascends stairs. Exit L. U. E.) Enter Ralph from door at C. in F. and stands in back- ground, unseen by Virginia. Enter Peyton from L. 2 E. Three shots are fired off stage. Virginia (clasping her hands). Oh, he's across. Pey- rill". TIIKi:\l) ()!• DKSTI.VN-. 07 ton, IVvlon. \vc can never lliank you cnoup;l> for this. {Comes to him as he stands at L. 2 II.) Pkvton. I (lun'l want your thanks, Virginia. I i^jnorcd tiic duty to my country and allowed Ik'vcrly to escape — not for you. but because he is my friend. X'iKGiNiA. Will you take my hand and try to understand? {Holds out hand.) Pkvton. Do you realize that I'm .siiil a northern soldier — your enemy? \'rKc;iNi.\. Sometimes miracles happen in a moment. Often we realize in a Hash ibal we've been stubborn, and proud, and, oh, so blind. Pkvton {takunj hand). Dear, don't think you must humble yourself in this way because I've done this service to your brother. \'iRciNL\. Humble myself? 1 have exaltetl myself, for a wonderful knowledj^e has come to me suddenly. {Clings to him.) Oh, it's been such a long, bitter time — the suffer- ing, tlie wailing, the anxiety. Pm not strong enough to go through it again without you, Peyton. Pevtun. But I haven't changed, X'irginia. Pni ^lill Inyal to my cause. ViKGiNL\. And I am still true to my South. Pevton. Then you can — forget? Virginia. I can forget. I have forgotten. For as we stand here together, the fighting, the struggle seem very far away, and there is no one in the wiile world, Peyton, but you. Pevton {taking her in his arms). Oh, Virginia, Vir- ginia! Life is very sweet again. All the sweeter for the bitterness. And just as we have learned our lesson, this nation of ours will be the better and greater for its strug- gle. Destiny has brought me back to you, dear; just as I said it would. {Pause. Ralimi laughs. Peyton turns sud- denly and lifts his revolver.) How dare you? Rali'II {advancing). \\\\. up your weapon. I came here on business — with Miss Montgomery. Evidently my knock was not heard. Virginia. Will you go, l\\vton ? 1 a^k it a^ a favor. ^t; 68 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Peyton. Virginia, what right has this fellow to force himself upon you? Virginia. None whateve'r. It's business — only business ■ — and you'll go? (Pushes him to door.) Peyton. I'll go. {Turning at door C. in F.) Good- night, Virginia. Virginia. Good night, Peyton. {Exit Peyton, C. in P., closing door after him.) Ralph (sneering). Quite like a melodrama, isn't it? Sorrowing heroine is comforted by dusty hero — arriving in nick of time. Wedding march — orange blossoms — and they lived happily ever after. (Laughs.) Virginia. This is insufferable. A base advantage to take of a girl whose father and brother are not here to protect her. Ralph. You need no protection. All you need to do is — to name the day. (Seats himself in chair R. of C.) Virginia. I bid you goodnight, Mr. Francis. (Starts to ascend stairs.) Ralph (rising). Not yet, fair lady. Not yet. Listen to me. (Virginia shakes head.) Oh, yes, you will. Didn't I tell you that the game was not over? Virginia (quickly). What do you mean? Ralph. Peyton Bailey was here tonight to capture a Confederate soldier. The Confederate soldier proved to be your brother — and he was allowed to escape. Virginia. Well. Ralph. I alone heard Peyton say that he ignored the duty to his country. I alone saw Beverly go. Do you know how the army punishes such carelessness? (Pauses.) By death ! Virginia. You wouldn't dare — Ralph. Oh, wouldn't I? I dare anything to win you. And if I can't do it by fair means, Pll do it by foul. Do you understand my meaning? Virginia (proudly). I do not. Ralph (threateningly) . Then listen. Unless I have your promise to marry me, I shall immediately inform headquar- ters of the little drama that was played here tonight. You Tllb: Tllkl-..\i) ui- Ul-M l.\\. 69 are the only one wlio can save your lover from something worse tlian death — (hsj^race, X'iKGiNiA {bcsccchimjly). Oh, you wouKhi't do it, Mr. I'rancis — you wouldn't. Think of all we've suffered — of Peyton's love for Beverly — oh, he couldn't betray him. Oh, I bef^ you to be generous. I'll do anything for you. (Lays Jiand on his arm.) R.\Lrii [ijnickly). Oh, will you? Then marry me. \'IRG1NIA {flinch'uui). Oh, I cannot — I cannot — any- thing but that. Is there no other way? R.xLiMi. There is no other way. (X'ikc.inia hesitates, goes toward R.) X'iRGiNiA i^to herself). Oh, Peyton! Peyton! And I thought we were to be so happy! {Pause.) 1 will marry you, Mr. Francis. {He starts to speak.) No, not a word. Go! (R.\Li'ii hesitates and leaves the room at C. in P. \'iRr.iNiv seats herself R. of C, stai^e is quiet for a fr-u' minutes. Tlie)i a roiee is heard off stage.) \'oiCE. The Colonel fell. They're bringing him home. \'iRGiNiA {screami)i(j). Oh, oh! {Rushes out.) Mrs. Montgomery enters at L. U. P., descends stair and comes sloTvly to center stage; stands there motionless. Pnter Uncle Billy at C. in P. tciV/i Colonel's sivord. Billy (handi)i(j her the sicord). Marse John — he done got he furlough. {She tahes s'l^'ord and boics her head upon it.) Curtain. 70 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Acf III Scene : Yard of the Montgomery home. Full stage; landscape drop. Set trees down R. and L. Entrances R. U. E., R. 2 E., L. U. E., L. 2 E. Rope siving R. of C. Stump of tree R. 2 E. Bench L. 2 E. [If practicable there may he a porch down L., zvith steps. In this case the entrance R. 2 E. becomes a practical door, although R. U. E. remains an entrance.] At rise stage is zvell illumined, since it is afternoon. Dis- covered, Betty, in swing, shelling peas. Betty (calling). Mammy! Mammy (off stage). What you wan', honey? Betty. Will one pan of peas be enough? Mammy (off stage). I reckon 'twill ef no uns'pected company comes stragglin' in. Betty. Company? Why, Mammy, you know that we haven't had company for oh, ever so long. Mammy (appearing L. 2 E.). Mebbe not fusted quality folks, but ef dis ain't a restin' place foh ebery Tom, Dick an' Harry dat comes down de pike, den my name ain't Dinah. Hand 'em hyar, honey. Enter Tom, R. U. E. Mammy. Well ef dar ain't Marse Tom. Tom (at R. U. E.). May I come in for awhile? Betty (turning her head). Oh, Tommy, Tommy! How you have changed ! Three years ago you never would have said that — you would have come in of your own accord. (Exit Mammy L. 2 E.). Tom (corning dozvn R.). But that was three years ago, Betty, and going through purgatory sort of takes the starch out of a fellow. Do you mean to say that I was once young enough and festive enough to gambol o'er this green? I don't believe you. (Sits on stump.) Betty. Think very hard now. Don't ghosts of all the maids you flirted with rise up and jog your memory? TIIH TllkKAD OK DESTIXV. 71 Tom. Kvcn such a memory as that may pruvc false wlicii one is rtirtiii|^ with (icath. Betty (siyliiiKj). Don't, Tom— don't. Tom. And you mean to tell n>e that I once ate fried hickcn. hot hiscuils and hlackherry jam? Cio Monjj, Betty. Why, many's the lime I've wept my eyes uut for a hunk of hard tack. Bettv. Poor old Tom — Tom. Sometime in the prehistoric ages I may have had more than one suit of clothes and one shirt, but 1 doubt it. As to dancing, I've just been one of the many, Betty, who have shaken their feet in this awful dance of death. Bettv. And you're going back to it all? Tom. Going back as soon as I can. I used to say I'd re- turn a brigadier general, didn't I ? Instead I U)\\ back in an ambulance with no honorable wt)un(ls to (lisi)lay ; no mutilated stumj) to wave; only a disgusting and uninter- esting attack of fever. Hard luck! {Siglis.) Betty. The war isn't over yet. Maybe you'll have some thrilling encounter that will emblazon your name on the roll of fame. Tom. Xoihing like that coming my way. I reckon the Lord is depriving me of all emoknnents of glory because lie knows I'm a dissipated character and not fit even to run the risk of dying. Bettv {laughing). That sounds like the old Tom. Enter Ma.mmv, L. 2 E. Mammy. Honey, s'posin' you take Marse Tom into de garden, an' atter awhile I'll fetch you somethin' nice an' cool to drink. Betty (rising). J^hall we, Tom? (Sadly.) Tho' it's not the old garden in which you used to frolic with your reti- nue of girls. (Ihnids pan of peas to Mam. my.) Tom (rising). Girls — girls. Where are the girls of yes- terday? Betty. Oh, Tom, I can answer that question only by mother. Where are the boys that used to be? Tom (taking her hands). Some day we'll all come back n THE THREAD OF DESTINY. to each other, Betty. Some day, when the smoke of battle clears away. Think of the tyne we've lost and the fun we've forfeited. {To Mammy.) Mammy, hurry up with your nice cool drink, fo/ we're going to toast the piping times of peace, Betty — the piping times of peace. {Exeunt Tom and Betty, R, 2 E.) Mammy (walking to R. U. E.). Praise de Lawd — dat de fust real laugh dat chile gib since Marse John went away. Mebbe de good times comin' arter all. (Peers out.) Huh ! Ef dar ain't dat Miss Melissy trailin' 'long de pike. An' hyar I jes' sayin' dat mebbe de good times am comin'. Enter Miss Melissy, R. U. E. Melissy. Good morning, Dinah. Mammy. Mawnin'. (Hurries to bench at L. 2 E., fol- lozved by Miss Melissy.) Melissy. I'm fairly reveling in the charms of nature, Dinah. (Holds out flower.) Who says spring isn't here? Mammy. Ain't heerd nobody say 'tain't. (Seats herself on bench L. 2 E.) Melissy (clasping her hands). Such a day to meditate — to dream- — ■ Mammy. Folks what got wu'k to do ain't got no busi- ness dreamin' an' meditatin'. Melissy. I'll sit here by you, Dinah (Mammy moves reluctantly) , for since Uncle Sam has freed you colored people you're just as good as anybody else. (Seats herself.) Mammy. Dinah jes the same as she always been. 'Man- cipation proklimation or no 'mancipation proklimation. (Shells peas vigorously.) Melissy. Why don't you go up north, Dinah — you and Billy — now that the Colonel's gone — Mammy. Go up north — leave Mis' Charlotte? Miss Me- lissy, yo' doan un'erstan' de niggers ; an' ef yo' say much mo' I ain't 'sponsible for bein' disrespeckful. (Turns her back.) Melissy. There, now. I didn't mean to vex you. Re- ally, it seems these days one can't find a safe subject to talk about. You Southerners are so touchy. THE TlIKl-Al) OF Dl-STIXV. 73 Mammy. Dar's one j^uhjcck wc doatr mind— dc weather. Go on an' talk sonic mo' 'hont de sj)rin^ bein' liyar an' — (Mrs. Moxtciomkry hcliimi semes sinys n verse of "The Boiniie Blue I'lai^," or some other Southern soitii^.) Mklissv. Wlio is that ? ( I'urns her heud.) Mammy. W liy (hit' Mis' ChaHottc. Mklissy. And the Colonel dead harcly two months. It doesn't seem (jnitc decent. (Shakes her head aud si(/hs.) Mam.my {tnniiiKj). Dc Colonel — dead! Dar ain' no sich word, Miss Mclissy. Marse John not j^one 'way. He wid ns ebery time we t'ink oh him. Dc ft)lks wc luh nehher die — dey jes lib on — an' on in onr hearts. Mklissy. Mercy, how spooky you are. It makes me shiver. {S hirers.) Mam.my. Den yo' bes' be movin' on. Dinah ain't ^ot no time to be talkin' no way. Melissy. You're kept pretty busy now, aren't you? It must be a great trial to all the Montgomerys to have that wounded Yank to care for. Mam.my. I notice none oh de Yanks wanter take 'im. Melissy. Ry that, Dinah. T suppose you mean me. (Coquettishly.) Well, I didn't care to run the risk of the man falling in love with me. Wounded soldiers are so susceptible and it might have caused all kinds of trouble. Mammy. Trouble fo' him, dat's sho'. You needn't a- worried 'bout Marse John. He got de eye fo' de thor- oughbreds, he has. (Laughs insiuiiatiugly.) Melissy. Mr. Beverly is home on a furlough,, isn't he? Well, I should think it's about time to s.top his wild per- formances and settle down with his mother. {No aus7s.'er from Mam.my.) Betty's losing out on looks, isn't she? 'Tisn't likely she'll ever marry now. (Siletiee as Mammy slings peas 7'ieiously into pan.) F.verybody's talking of course about Virginia's engaging herself to that Ralph Francis. There was a time when the Montgomery's wouldn't look at him. But no7i\ (Smiles.) Well, money does help, of course, and this plantation is pretty well run down at the heels. They do say, too. that young Bailey jilted her mighty soon after she behaved so ridiculously- 74 the: thread of destiny. just because he went into the Union army. (Silence as Mammy sits with clenched hands.) I've always said that this Southern aristocracy business is a little far-fetched and overdone. {Silence as Mammy turns and glowers at her.) Give me the northern common sense and democratic spirit — the desire to arise, to forge ahead — Mammy (rising and speaking furiously) . Dat jes' what I wan' yo' to do — rise an' fo'ge ahead — and keep on fo'gin' till you git plumb out o' sight. I'se a Montgome'y, I is, an' de Montgome'ys is blue blood ; but I reckon de Lawd'U fergive me dis once ef I bust de laws of hospitality an' start yo' goin'. Go on now, you meddlin' pervaricatin' ole maid — yo' — Melissy (rising). How dare you talk to me that way? How dare you? Emancipation proclamation indeed! I am sorry it's been issued. I wish we were back in the times of slavery — good hard slavery, too — for what you need is a hundred lashes, you impudent black creature. Boast of your high and mighty Montgomerys if you wish ; but mark my words, their downfall isn't far off. You may think that Viriginia's marriage will bring dollars into your empty pocketbook, but there's many a slip, and that pretty little Kentucky girl seems to have no trouble in holding Ralph Francis. (Laughs.) Won't it be a fine story for the public if the fair Virginia is jilted by two lovers? (Sneeringly.) Blue blood indeed ! It loses a little of its color when asso- ciated with the white feather. Good morning! (Exit R. U. E. Mammy stands looking after her, then shrugs her shoulders and leaves the stage L. 2 E.) Enter Ralph and Louise, R. U. E. They come slowly down C. Louise (looking around). The estate begins to show the ravages of neglect and poverty. Too bad that destruction must be a part of war. Ralph. All will be repaired upon my marriage to Miss Montgomery. I've always desired this plantation, always longed to have the management of it. The dream together with other ambitions is about to be realized. THE THREAD OF DESTINY. 75 Lorisi-: {stiiiiJiiiy at front of stayc). If afTairs pass into your liantls, success is assured. Vou seem to have tlie Midas touch wlieii business mailers are at stake. Ralimi {by her). I've been successful. I've liad many ihing^s to goad me on. Louise. And you've — won? R.MJMi. I've won, over oilier people's failures. Lorisi:. This war has surely given you ample c)i)p()rlu- nity to increase your wealth. Iv.ALi'ii. Undoubtedly. ( )ne cannot have to do with the fmancial side without either sinking or swimming. LorisR. And this financial side? R.\LiMi. Has meant the intimate knowledge of the re- sources — and works of the South. LoL'iSK. Together with your sympathy for tliat section of the country ? Ralimi. Not necessarily. I am not a Southerner by birth, nor has the South been so indulgent as to claim my allegi- ance. (Suddenly.) What is it, Miss Lawton ? I am too shrewd a man not to know that you are seeking — informa- tion, shall I say? LouiSK. And T am too shrewd a woman to deny the statement. I am being frank with you : and I would not be frank if I were not fairly sure of you as a man. Mr. Francis, I am in the employment of the federal government. Rali'II {noddiuij). I thought as nnich. What will you have of me? LouiSK. Certain facts. Ralph. And if I give them? Louise. SuOicient remuneration. Ralph. Well, then, first — Louise (in loi^'crcd tone). 1 lave you an idea of tiie supplies, the ammunition, the general condition of the Con- federate army here in X'irginia between the Wilderness and the city of Petersburg? Ralph . I have. Louise. Have you definite knowledge in regard to the city of Petersburg — its various , approaches, its vantage grounds for attack ? ^fe Id THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Ralph. I lived there three years. Louise {impatiently). You do not answer my question. Ralph. Well, then, I have. Louise. Thank you. Next, for what sum will you give this information to me? Ralph. I must have time to consider. Louise. Grant is marching on towards Petersburg; the time for consideration is brief. Ralph. It is treachery to those with whom I am asso- ciated. Louise (smiling). Treachery? For some people — not for you. Scruples at which others hesitate are not in your phi- losophy. Ralph (shaking his head). It's too great a risk. I'll not do it. Louise (touching his arm). Money is the only thing that may win Miss Montgomery ; without it you have no chance, with it — well, what woman can withstand the lure of beautiful things? Ralph (yielding). I must have time. Louise. I'm waiting. Ralph (after a pause). I'll do what you ask. Louise. Very well. Later on I'll meet you — (ponders) well, here. 'Twill be safer. You will bring me a plan of Petersburg, its fortifications, its works, also the statistics I asked for. I'll give you a sum which we may agree upon in payment for — your scruples, we'll say. (Exeunt Ralph and Louise, R. U. E.) Enter Uncle Billy, L. U. E., pushing John in a wheeled chair. Comes down C. - John. Slow, now. If you happen to injure my other knee, I'll be on your hands another month. Isn't this sun- shine bully? There's nothing up north that can touch it. Thanks, Uncle Billy. You've been pretty good to this Yank, and he isn't going to forget it. (Holds out hand.) Billy (shaking John's hand awkwardly). Pshaw, Marse John, yo' can't help bein' a Yank. Anyway yo* reckon we let yo' die? Dat ain't like we-uns. Hyar yo' nil-: niui-AL) oi' destiny. n iM.ok. {Hands book.) Take a snooze in dis sunshiiu*, an' .illcr a while I conie hack fo' yo'. (/i.r/7 L. U. Ji.) liiitcr Sally Ann. A*. 2 li., with covered basket. |(»iiN . ichistlcs "Vaitkee Doodle." f Sally (tvalkituj stiffly). I low dare you whistle ihat? T can't help keepinj^ step — John. Any more than i can when yon i)lay Dixie. Sally. I'd like to see you keej) step to anythinj.^ now w ith that j^^ame knee. JOHN. A rehel hnllet wounded it. .^ALLY. Well, then, 1 reckon all we ean do is to save that liariicular knee and hang the rest of you. {Stands to John's left.) John {curiously /^eerijii^ in basket). What's this? Sally. Something to eat, of course. Why, John Meri- vale Morton, the very sight of you suggests eating, {llancjs bonnet on chair.) JoHxX. The deuce it docs. Does it suggest nothing else? Sally. Course not. The memory of John Merivale .Morton's ravenous, a]i])ctitc will linger with us long after he is forgotten. John. That's not nice. What is it today? {Lifts edge of napkin.) Sally. Custard. (Pulls bench at L. 2 /:. close to John's chair.) John. You're awfully good to me, Sally Amu Sally (in a matter-of-fact tone). Just as I'd be to any other soldier that came my way. John. Fa'cu if he were a Yank? Sall^'. (){ course. It's such a splendid chance to learn to love my enemy. John. Am I your enemy? {Takes her hands.) Sally. John Merivale Morton, I'm talking biblically. Hands off, or you won't get this custard. (John drops her hands.) Now, isn't that just like a man? He'd let go anything if it interfered with his eating. John. Did you want me to hold on? Sally Certainlv not. I lold olT is a better motto for vou, 7B, THE THREAD OF DESTINY. "John Merivale Morton. {Takes cup of custard from basket.) John (softly). I wish I could tell you just how you look today. Sally. Don't try. My mirror told me much better than you can. {Gives him a spoonful of custard.) How do you like it? John {rapturously) . Heavenly ambrosia from the hands of a heavenly being. Sally. Don't get sentimental. There are mighty few people who can indulge without being silly. {Holds cup away from him.) John {in alarm). Aren't you going to give me any more? Sally. Not until I discipline you a little. For every question satisfactorily answered, you receive as a reward a spoonful of the Fairfax unparalleled custard. John {in resigned tone). Hurry up, then. {Sighs.) Sally. First, doesn't the state of Virginia beat your old North all hollow? {Waves spoon.) John. In respect to blue skies, bright sunshine and adorable women she's unexcelled. Sally {frozvning). You evaded my question, but what you said was pretty ; so I reckon Fll let you have this. {Gives him spoonful.) John. Is that all? Sally. All! What kind of a teacher do you think I am? John {leaning forivard). Shall I tell you? Sally {hurriedly) . Next! Aren't the southern men the bravest soldiers in the world? John. They are indeed worthy foes to face. Sally. You're not playing fair, John Merivale Morton. You don't say right out what I want you to say. But I'll let it go this time. {Feeds him.) John. Sally Ann Fairfax, did you make this custard? Sally. Do you think I'd let anybody else make it — {hesitates) for you? John {eagerly). Sweetheart! Sally (quickly). Next! Haven't you been outclassed in many a battle? TIIl<: TIIRI" \D OF DIiSTIXV. 79 JniiN (a)i(/rily). Well. I j^uicss not. W'c — Sally {intcrruf^tnuj ). And liavon'l you won your vic- tories by superior numbers and all kinds of uiulerband tricks? John. Look bere. Sally Aim. I won't take tbat, even from you. W'liat can you say of Antietani, Sbiloii, Mcni- pbis — S.\LLV. Or Hull I\un or Fredericksburg — John. Or (ietty>l)ur«^^ wiili its i^lorious victory for tbe stars and stripes! S.XLLv. Jobn Merivale Morton, I bate you — I bate you! {Turns her back and nioi'cs to end of bench.) JoH.x {after a fe:c nionients' silence). Sally .\nn, in your manual of military tactics is tbere no sucb tbing as a flai^ of truce ? ( S.\LL^ .\n \ shahes her head. John, sadly. ) Can't you boist one just lonj^ enoui^b for me to finisb tbis custard? (S.vlly .\n.\ hides her face but lifts her hand- kerchief.) Heavens! I didn't tbink you'd give in — bonest, I didn't, or I never would bave asked. {Starts to get up.) Hang tbis knee. I can't go to you. but you've got to tell me wbat's tbe matter. Sally (puttiny head on back of bencJi). Ob. Jobn Meri- vale Morton, I'm so tired of figbting! John. Tired of figbting! W'bo isn't? .-\nd I'm tired of fooling, too, Sally Ann. W'by, tbe tiling in tbe world I want most is you. Vou know it : you wear mv pin ; and yet- Sallv {liftincj her head), ^'et wbat ? John. You keep me guessing. Sally. Tben guess away and I'll tell you if you guess right. (Turns half ti-ay round.) John (eagerly). Do you mean it? (Sally Ann nods.) Come bere, Sally Ann Fairfax, you've got to come event- ually, so you migbt as well do it now. (Sally .Ann nio7'es sloii'ly toward hint.) Dear little Dixie, wby do we worry over a Nortb and a Soutb so long as we are together? 1 love vour land. I love your people, most of all 1 love you, and 80 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. the flag is big enough to float over both of us. (Puts arms about her.) Sally (dropping head on his shoulder). Oh, John Merivale Morton, you may whistle Yankee Doodle all you want to — John (softly). But I don't want to, for the most beau- tiful tune in all the world is Dixie ! Enter Uncle Billy, L. 2 E. He coughs several times unheard and unseen by John and Sally Ann.) Billy. Law, Marse Jack (Sally Ann jumps azvay from John), you all say yo' fightin' fo' de Yanks? Mebbe you am, but you am under de command of a gineral what wins mo' battles eben dan Marse Lee an' Marse Grant. Dis gineral ain't got no weapons but an arrow ; he don' fly no flag, but he sho' do slay his ten thousands. An' jis as sho' as ole Billy sees you chillen jinin' ban's an' fer- gittin' which am Reb an' which am Yank, jes so sho'ly am he gwine to look at a Ian' whar dar ain't no norf, no souf, whar dar ain't no fightin', no brudder agin brudder, an' dat day he gwine shout "hallerlujah !" John (reaching for Sally Ann^s hand). The war is over, Uncle Billy. We've signed the treaty; we've broken ranks. Sally (rising). And we'll all march forward while the band plays — (pauses and whistles ''Yankee Doodle.'' To this tune Uncle Billy wheels John out R. U. E., pre- ceded by Sally Ann.) Enter Peyton and George Washington, R. U. E. George (follozving Peyton to L. 2 E.). It sho' am lonesome at de big place, Marse Peyton. Ain't yo' ebah comin' back? Peyton. When the war is over, George Washington. Oh, we're planning to do many things when the war is over. (Seats himself on bench at L. 2 E.). v George. Am Mis' Jinny comin' back wid yo'? Peyton. No, George Washington — no. George. Marse Peyton, it ain't none of my business, but am yo' gwine to let dat po' white trash carry her oflf? TIN-: 'riiki-:.\i) oi- 1)I-^tivv mi Pkvton. George \\'aslnniii,M,. -...iiuuiin-. \m- ^..im- upon conditions which we do not undcr'^tand. CiEOKGE. Yo' reckon a i^mnl horse whii)i)in' would help r TicvTON. 'Ihere, now; don'l icnipt nic ; and if >()U wish to do me a histinj? service hefore I'm nff aj^aiii, tind Miss Virginia and ask lier to come liere to me. Ch-okgic. Marsc Pt7ton, I— {hesitates). 1'evton. Yes? (iKURGE (hesitatiiKjly). Marse Peyton, I — Peyton. Wliat's the matter, George Washington? George {sheef>isltl\'). Marse i'eyton — I gwine git — married. Peyton. ( )1i. that's what's trouhhng yon. So the fair Fanny has given in after all these years of devotion? George. No, she ain't. That's the onliest thing in de way. Peyton. Can't she be — i)crsuaded? (lEoRGE. Fanny sho' am upstarty, Marse Peyton; an' yo' goin' in de ^^ank ahmy nigh on to mined my chances. Peyton. Then we're in the same l).)at. old fellow. Hurry on, now, and I shall stay around here until I go — for — (to liiniscif) in some way I feel I may he needed. Gi:()RGE. Den de luck charms a-workin'. Marse Peyton : ii sho' am. (Hurries to L. V. R. and turns.) Fo' de Lawd I hope it done work on Fanny! (R.vit L. U. E.) Enter \'irgini.\, L. U. E. Virginia. Peyton, T just met George Washington and he sent me here. Don't make it so hard for me, dear. (Pe^'ton 'rises.) Peyton. Virginia, a man doesn't give up his happiness without a struggle. I caimot go hack to — uncertainty — v.'ithout a la.st plea. Tell me what it is that brings this man into your life. (Leads her to heneh L. 2 E.) \'iRc;iNi.\. Oh, Peyton. T can say only what I've said to you so many times. 1 cannot tell you why — I cannot tell you. (Sits. Peyton stands by her.) Peyton. You will marry him when your love is given to mc? ^rafe 82 THE THREAD OF DESTINY. Virginia. I will marry him — I have promised. Peyton. I can do nothing? Virginia. Oh, if you ask* me a thousand times, I must still say, you can do nothing. Peyton. It sounds like a story of medieval times. What threat can this man hold over you ? What mystery can there be that Beverly and I may not share? Virginia. Beverly does not know. At the time of fath- er's death I couldn't tell him. I couldn't add to his burden. Peyton. And you send me away without hope? Virginia. There is no hope. (Hides her face in her hands.) Peyton. What kind of a man would I be if I allowed that to be the last word between us ? Do you think that my love is so frail a thing that I cease to fight for it, even if I fight blindly against an unseen adversary? (He goes slowly out tozvard R. U. £., then pauses.) If you need me, Virginia — ever — I'll come to yoil. Will you remember? (Virginia nods. Exit R. U. E.) Enter Madge, R. 2 E. Madge (rushing to Virginia). I have no time for expla- nation ; I cannot stop to parley. You must promise to do something for me — and you must do it. Virginia (wearily). I promise. There are so few things now, Madge, that I can do for anybody. Madge (kneeling by her). Then tell me zvhy you are marrying Ralph Francis. Virginia. Not that, Madge — anything but that. (Raises her hands in protest.) Madge. You must! You must, I say! For I have every chance to thwart this man. I have every hope of bringing him to justice. Now will you tell me? Virginia (eagerly). You mean — Madge. That rriy knowledge of certain things may give me a hold on him that I may use to your advantage. You trust me, Virginia? Virginia. Oh, yes — yes! TlIK Tllki:Al) OF DESTINY. 83 Madgk {scicinpi her liauds). Then icll inc. I want to liclp you, and to do thai I must know — \'iR('.iMv\. Tficn listen. IVyton captured l'»everly — at our home — the ni«,du of father's dealli. lie allowed him to escape. Mr. I^rancis watched and threatened. In save I'eyton I promised to marry him. M.\i)(ii: {risin(f). That sacrifice will not be necessary. I feel that I will succeed. Why, I nmst succeed — I must. Thank you for tellin*:^ me, dear. (Kisses her.) Trust me, and pray that 1 may have my way. {Exit R. U. E.) Enter F.WNv. L. 2 E. Conies to \'irgini.\'s side. F.\NNV. Mis' jinny, wliat nou i^^wine to do wid dat blue dress ob yourn wid de rufdes and de frillies ob lace? \'iRGiNi.\. Why, nothing', Fanny. Would you like to have it ? F.\NNV {(jlgijling). Now how you guess dat, Mis' Jinny? (Mazes to front of stage at C.) Virginia. Just by mind reading. Fanny. Dar wuz a hat — Virginia. You shall have that, too, if you'll tell me why you're planning all this elegance. Fanny. Well — Miss Jinny. I reckon I gwine git married. Virginia. Really. Fanny? How lovely. Is it George W^ashington ? Fanny, ^'as'm. (lawge Washin'ton 'bout ez good a nigger ez dey is. X'iKGiNiA. N'ou haven't been very nice to him, Fanny. Fanny ( /// f^reteuded innocenee). Law, Mis' Jinny. What I done? \'iRGiNiA. Why you quarrel with him continually. Fanny (shaking finger). Dar now, Mis Jinny, you doan' know niggers, ^'ou reckon (jawge Washin'ton keep tag- gin' attcr me ef I smile all de time an' let he know I like him? Not much. \'irginia (smiling). Why wouldn't he? Fanny. Kase no man want what he git too easy — dat's why. An* de longer you keep he guessin' de harder he co'te yo*. ^fe 84 TITE THREAD OF DESTINY. Virginia. Well, run on now, and get the dress and we'll give you the prettiest wedding we can. (Fanny starts toward L. U. E., tlieif turns.) Fanny. Wid watermelon? Virginia. Of course. (Fanny starts again to L. U. E., then pauses.) Fanny. An' a frosty cake? Virginia. Surely. {Turns her head and smiles at Fanny.) Fanny. Lavv^, Mis' Jinny, my mouf done begin to water already. {Moves slowly azvay.) Mis' Jinny? Virginia.. Yes? (Fanny turns at E. U. E.) Fanny. I forgot to say dat he ain't axed me yet. {Exit L. U. E.) Enter Mrs. Montgomery^ L. U. E.; stands looking after Fanny. Mrs. M. What is exciting Fanny so much? Virginia. The prospect of some cast off finery — and the zest of the ever stormy courtship of George Washing- ton. (Mrs. Montgomery comes to E. 2 E. and stands back of Virginia.) Mrs. M. Let us hope the courtship will end happily. Virginia. It will. Oh, mother, even Fanny can have her lover, and I — {hides her face on Mrs. Montgom- ery's arm.) Mrs. M. Don't dear; for though you will not tell me of this strange fancy of yours, or what power this man holds over you, I cannot believe that such a marriage will ever come to pass. {Strokes her hair.) Virginia. Did you tell Beverly? {Raises her head.) Mrs. M. Yes, dear. Virginia. And he — Mrs. M. Was unspeakably angry. You could not expect anything else, for Beverly had other dreams for his sister. Virginia {bitterly). Who knows better than I? Mrs. M. Virginia, your father would never have sanc- tioned this marriage, would never have allowed it, no matter what argument had been brought to bear. That is IIII-: TUKKAU Ul UKSTIX". 85 why 1 believe that, even now, you will he .savetl from the sacrifice. His living presence is denied us. dear, i)Ul his sjjirii is with us always; and his tender care will never allow you lo he led from your heart's happiness. ( )n that last aftern(jon, as we watched the sunset toj^ether, he said, "it may he the last — who knows, who fears? For love is stroncjer than death." It is stronger than death, Virginia; it will have its way; it will )el crown your life with glad- ness and song. (\'ir(;im.\ is silcnl. Mrs. MoNTr.oMKkV T.'(//A\v /() /.. (/. /:. (];/(/ looks off R. U. E.) I sec Beverly and l^dith approaching. Dear hoy, how good it is to have him home again. Will vou come, dear? (Starts toward R. U. E.) Virginia (risitig). Another way, mother. I can't cpiite hear to see their hapi)iness. (She joins Mrs. Montgo.mery at L. U. E. Exeunt.) Enter P)i:vEKLV and Kdith, R. U. E. Edith (at S7*.'ing). Virginia skies are blue in honor of your home coming, Beverly. Virginia hearts arc very happy — Beverly. And you, I'jlith? Edith. I am very proud, Beverly. (Sits in swine/.) Beverly. Once upon a time. Edith — it seems years ?go — I told you that I was going to play at war ; that after one possible engagement we'd be dictating peace to the Yanks. And now — (stands back of s^^'ing). Edith. One cannot always foresee, dear. Beverly. You could. ^VJU told me — Edith. But I had the vision of the North that was not vouchsafed you southern men. Beverly. And now, crushed, surrounded. tlireatene . 87 Fanny. Gawj^'c Washin'ton. cf yo' ain't iit a perfect lady. Mrs. «*luil>h. a hoardinp-ljouse keeper. Mrs. I'irltens. likiwlse. Kvrlvn. Ix>l8, Cherry and Lorelta, college girls. Dollle, a vaudeville quuen. SYNOPSIS. Aet I. — In college years, when life's at spring. Tiie old love seems a little thing. And heads are turned hy the college whirl. And the Freshman seeks a colh-ge girl. The new football star, captured in tlie railroad shops. "He's going to take plain sewing and cross-stitch." Paw l>rings Aaron to collegt'. "Aaron made the llnest graduating address ever heard on the SplintervilK' platform." Aaron is hazed and Lizzie Maud meets an old beau. Act II. — OlY with the (»ld love, on with the new. But often the newer love won't do. The sweetest rose is the ohi rose pressed And I som»'times think that the old love's best. Aaron president of the Fi-eshman class. "Slaving for eleven students and everyone a hyena in a Norfolk jacket." "I have oat- meal to burn and sometimes I do." The telegram. "Grandson of Stephen .1. Boggs, the multi-millionaire. * Why did I ever send that telegram? It's all over." Act III. — For a college life is a thing apart. And a college love is a whim o' the heart. And the heart beats true, though the world seems slow, When you love the girl, you used to know. "I thought you wanted nie for myself, not for my grandfather." "I resign right now." Chubb brings home a load but forgets the wood. "Me working like a slave and him down town making a human faucet out of hisself." "She said she'ti take me on one condition — that was easy. I entered with six." It's taken quite awhile to learn where I belong here at college, but I've found my- self — and I've found you." The Fascinators By WALTER BEN HARE. Price, 25 Cents Comic entertainment in ono act: ^?, females. Time. 40 minutes. A thorough school, open to girls between sixteen and fifty, which gives scientitic training in the fascinating game of catching a hus- band. Introduces specialties and a number of songs. "Stately Lilies." "Cooking Song." etc.. which are sung to familiar college airs. It ends with a verv clever and amusing "Flirtation" song and drill. Particularly suitable for women's clubs and societies. T. S. DENISON & COxMPANY. Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO The Dream that Game True By LINDSEY BAR.BEE. Price, 25 Cents Comedy drama in 3 acts; 6 males, 13 females. Time. 214 hours. Scenes: 3 interiors. Characters: Gordon Clay, foreman of the works. Charles Norton, the wealthy owner. Jack Brown, a cub reporter. Bobbie Byrnes, averse to college women. Billy Best, cap- tain of the 'varsity team. Lord Algernon, straight from England. Nan Worthington, one of the people. Margaret, loyal and true. Mrs. Jenkins, a boarding housekeeper. Angelina, her small daugh- ter. Louisa, one of the boarders. Florabel, a poetess. Mehitabel Biddle, a suffragette. Emmy Lou, fond of fairy tales. Mrs. Al- laire, the chaperone. Delphine, a college graduate. Peggy, a Browning fiend. Doris, an athletic girl. Nora, a maid. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — The impending strike. "It ain't so much the man that makes woman foolish, it's the lack of him." "Being a lady Miss Margaret is being just like you. "If ever the time comes when you need me, I shall stand the test." Act II. — "The strike's on." Gordon tells of his love for an- other. Norton refuses to make terms. Gordon plays his last trump. Margaret bids Nan prove that love is sacrifice. "I am to struggle on — alone." Act III. — "It's good-bye Gordon." "You're a dear, sweet little English Lord but I want to be under the stars and stripes." Nan has her revenge. "The factory girl can be generous." The dream comes true. Under Blue Skies By KATHARINE KAVANAUGH. Price, 25 Cents Comedy drama in 4 acts; 7 males, 10 females. Time, 2 hours. Scenes: 2 exteriors, 2 interiors. Characters: Bruce McCulloch, the man. Dick Warren, Edith's brother. David Joyce, Clare's father. Oscar Weber, a village swain. Old John, the gardner. Williams, a valet. Sleepy Heine. Clare, the girl. Edith, an heir- ess. Sara, the old housekeeper. Mrs. Weber, a troublemaker. Little Elsie and five neighboring women who have only a few lines. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Mrs. Weber insists on the marriage between Oscar and Clare. "This has got to be settled one way or the other." Clare meets Miss Warren. Oscar finds the letter. "Clare Joyce is my affianced wife." "If you come near me I'll kill you!" Act II. — Scene I: Old John and the flowers. Miss Warren finds Clare and Bruce together. Jealousy. The blow. "I'll make you sorry for this!" Scene II: Going to chapel. The love letter. Miss Warren and Oscar come to an agreement. "You'll never be able to hold up your head again." Humiliation. Act III. — Bruce unhappy. "I was playing with fire and I got my fingers burnt." An unexpected visitor. "Our engagement is at an end." Bruce proposes. The midnight marriage. Act IV. — The next morning. Breakfast. "Clare is not here." Mrs. Weber's story. "Your prayers and tears come too late." Bruce interrupts. "Clare Joyce is my wife." Happiness. T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO The Old Oaken Bucket By MARY MUNCUHE PARKLR. Price, 25 Cents Rural druina In i nctn; 8 tnulea. 6 femnloB. Tlm^ 2 hours. Scene*: 1 exterior, i Interior. Characters: R.ub.n Hanlacre. un Iiotu'st ol»l farnur. Tom. Iil.s .son. a clili. n( the ol.l »)!..< k Arthur AnK'S. true hhie. Mark llaywarcl. a wolf In ulie.pH el. .think'. Jake, a rustic lover. Ezra Ilobh. the po.mrnaxler. C. WhllllkenM. a Ti.i>,'hl)or. Kev. Mason, the peacemaker Martha. UeuI.eiiM wife. Lizzie, the li^'ht of rn«l.« Heuhen's ev.M. Kmllv. the .sun.Hhlne of the househohl. Sapphlra. the vlllaKo Kosnlp. Mr«. Q. WhIIllkens, proper, if not charitable. Miry, a country belle. SYNOPSIS. Act r. — 'Reuben, you air bo sot." ".ledRro not." The vlllajfo ..osslp makes tilings lively. Th.- younp artist r.coKnIze.H a villain and al.so makes a ron<|uest at tl>e old well. Marks edu<-ation and K*«od looks captivate Lizzie. "Meet me at the old lot? cabin at midnlKht." "Oh. rnr<'iij,'ht fame and mom-y. A stormy ni^ht — and a knock at tho dodi-. "It's Lizzie." The wanderer's return. "You ain't been away from our hearts a minute." "God bless you for your sweet for- giveness." Act IV. — Ted's weddlnK day. A surprise party. Snow, slelRh- ix'lls and merriment. The country dance. Lizzie's entrance — con- st. -rnation. "How's Mr. Hay ward?" The wrath of the sturdy old farmer. Rev. Mason Intervenes. Tom asks Lizzie to be his wife, .^^apphlra wonders — "The Idea of him takln' her when he could k'et me." The Rocky Rid^e Vaudeville Show By WILLIS N. BUGBEE. Price, 25 Cents Novelty entertainment. Eiprht complete vaudeville acts. Char- acters optional, about 2T> males. S females. Many of the parts may be doubled so that It can be easily produced with 20 adults and 3 children. Time, a full evenlnp. The leading citizen and corner grocery store wit of a small rural town visits a larpe city and at- tends a vaudeville show. He is enthusiastic over It and on his return, with local talent, puts on a similar performance at tho town hall, which proves a stupendous success. T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers IM W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO The Goodfellow By HARRY L. NEWTON. Price, 25 Cents Comedy-drama in 3 acts; 8 maies, 4 females. Time, 214 hours. Scenes: 2 interiors. Characters: John Dawson, a goodfeUow! Stubbie, a young reporter. Old Man Hudson, a mysterious philan- thropist. Steve Bacon, a detective. Richard Meadows, a private banker. Woodstock, an attorney. Capt. Richards, of police head- quarters. Henry Madison, a shiftless husband. Jane, his daugh- ter. Mrs. Madison, her invalid mother. Dora Woodruff, young and impressible. Martha Peck, old and impregnable. Professional stage rights reserved and a royalty of five dollars required for amateur performance, A GREAT MORAL PLAY WITH A "PUNCH." The Police Third Degree Scene, a Striking Novelty for Amateurs. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Introducing the shiftless father. "Only two knew the combination — and folks don't generally rob themselves." The mys- terious philanthropist arrives. The stroke of the eyebrow. "He's the kind of a man who would learw up against fresh paint, so's to get something for nothing." Arrival of the detective. Mr. Steb- bins, you're a great little liar." Act II. — "I'm going to smile and be brave too." "Fifteen thou- sand dollars! He gave that away and I can't afford to smoke good cigars." Stubbie remembers the time, the place and the man. The sound of the walking stick. Meadows proposes marriage to Jane and offers to save John from the prison. "Somebody is just going out." Here's your hat! What's your hurry!" Act III. — The hundred dollar bill. "Captain, your Third De- gree stuff works like magic. I'll sign a confession." Stubbie shows that "he knows what he knows." "I knew you were inno- cent, John." "I have had my lesson — I was a goodfellow." Sweet- hearts united. A disgusted detective. "Cap, I'm goin' out and find me a job drivin' a truck. If I find two jobs, I'll save you one." "Sometimes you can wink at the law and get away with it. Here's where I wink." A Burns Rebellion By EDITH F. A. U. PAINTON. Price, 25 Cents Humorous entertainment, introducing characters from Robert Burns; 8 males, 5 females. Time, about 1 hour. Scene: 1 simple interior. Characters: Tam O'Shanter. Souter Johnny, The Old Cot- ter, Jenny's Lover, The Reverend Sage, The Deil, Rab the Ranter (Burns' familiar name for himself). Duncan Gray, Jenny, High- land Mary, Bonnie Jean. Kate and Maggie. They have met to dis- cuss the manner in which Burns has presented them to the world. Tam O'Shanter complains that he has acquired fame from bibulous indiscretions, rather than from other qualities. Burns arrives and has great difficulty in quelling the rebellion of his brain children. Quotations from the original poems form most of the dialogue. Designed for schools, colleges and Scottish societies. T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS Prlc« 18 C«nU Cack. Postpaid, Unii .• Olfff«r«iit PH«« Is Qlvm M. r. 1 ' JS min. 1 1 I min 4 2 I 1 3 3 . JU niin.... 4 nor, 20 min. . .? i *:J^t, 13 min. . 5 ' '.Vo'tograph Gallery, 6 10 Jl, 40 m. 4 3 Mrs. ^^r^lOl)ms I>ook /\gent. 30 min ... 3 2 My Lord in Livery, 1 hr.... 4 3 " " " • Wife, 45 min.. 3 3 45 min 4 3 )ns, 1 hr 4 6 I tiie House, 40 m. 5 <* imily, 40 min 3 3 <' lea. 20 min 3 3 (' 'le Colonel, 25 min. 3 2 1' itics, 20 min 1 1 I ng, 35 min 4 3 I' >tnecary, 35 min.. 6 2 1' i 'utchman, 30 min. 6 3 i< .35 min 6 4 Roug; ' 43 min 4 3 Second 1, 15 min 2 2 Smith, • If, 40 min. . . 2 3 Taking bather's i'lace, 30 min. 5 3 Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 That Rascal Pat, 30 min 3 2 Those Rea Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 min 3 6 Treasure from Eg>'pt, 45 min. 4 1 Turn Him Out, 35 min 3 2 Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m. 4 <, 45 min.... 3 3 I a Fix, 15 m. 2 lite, 20 min.. 8 40 min 2 3 •ake, 20 min. . 3 2 '■ pnndent, 45 m. 4 4 N\ i< ro, 20 min 1 1 Vi lie Marry? 20 min. 2 8 ^V o? 40 min 3 2 ^^ h for Two, 45 min. S 2 \\ . 25 min 8 Yi I . J.Jler, 1 hr 7 3 VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES. MON- OLOQL CS. ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. u. r. Ax'in* Her Father, 25 min 2 3 Bnusfir riub of HIackville, 25 m.lO ' I ood for Two, 20 m. 1 I < 1. 15 min 2 I < k Courtbhip, 15 min. 1 1 Cojjunii Champion, 20 min.... 2 Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m. 14 Counterfeit Uills. 20 min I 1 Doings of a Dude, 20 min.... 2 1 Dutch Cocktail, 20 min 2 Five Minutes from Yell Col- lege, 15 min 2 For Reform, 20 min 4 Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min.. 2 1 Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. 1 1 Handv Andy (Ne^ro), 12 min. 2 Her Hero, 20 mm 1 1 Hey, Rube I 15 min 1 Home Run, 15 min I 1 Hot Air. 25 min 2 1 {umbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 .ittle Red School House. 20 m. 4 Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 Marriage and After, 10 min.. 1 Mischievous Nigger, 25 min.. 4 2 Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 1 Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min 1 1 Mr. Badger's Uppers, 40 min. 4 2 One Sweetheart for Two. 20 m. 2 Oshkosh Next Week. 20 min.. 4 Oyster Stew. 10 min 2 Pete Yansen's Gurl's Moder, 10 min 1 Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 Recruiting Office. 15 min 2 Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 Si and I, 15 min 1 Special Sale, 15 min 2 .Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.. 2 1 Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min.. 1 Time Table, 20 min 1 1 Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 Troubled bv Ghosts, 10 min... 4 Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. I Two Jay Detectives, 15 min.. 3 Umbrella Mender. 15 min.... 2 Uncle Bill at the Vaudeville, IS min 1 Uncle Jeflf, 25 min 5 2 Who Gits de Reward? 30 min. 5 1 A srsat number of Standard and Amataur Plays not found haro ara llatad in Danlaon'a Cataiog;uo T. S. DENISON A COMPANY, Publishers. 1 54 W. Randolph St. , Chicago R^TfN POPULAR ENTI^TAil a-.s.DENiso>r t COMPANY PIWUSHERS CHICAGO TN this . 1 .series are t , o u n d booksi . . ■iuchmg ev«ry rti.-__ in the enter-" tainment field. Finely made, good paper, clear print and each book has an attrac-t-i-T e individual cov- er design. DIALOGUES All Sorts of Dialogues. Selected, fine for older pupils. Catchy Comjc Dialogues. Very celver; for young people. Children's Comic Dialogues. From six to eleven years of age. Dialogues for District Schools. For country schools. ^ Dialogues from Dickens. Thirteen selections. The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. Over 50,000 copies sold. From Tots to Teens. Dialogues and recitations. Humorous Homespun Dialogues. For older ones. ^ Little People's Plays. From 7 to 13 years of age. Lively Dialogues. For all ages; mostly humorous. Merry Little Dialogues. Thirty-eight original selections. When the Lessons are Over. Dialogues, drills, plays. Wide Awake Dialogues. Brand new, original, successful. SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES Choice Pieces for Little People. A child's speaker. The Comic Entertainer. Recitations, monologues, dialogues. Dialect Readings. Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. The Favorite Speaker. Choice prose and poetry. The Friday Afternoon Speaker. For pupils of all ages. Humorous Monologues. Particularly for ladies. Monologues for Young Folks. Clever, humorous, original. Monologues Grave and Gay. Dramatic and humorous. The Patriotic Speaker. Master thoughts of master minds. The For. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS Hi 018 604 680 8 * Wit, humor, satireVTunny poems. - Scrap- Book Recitations. ~"^-- Choice collections, pathetic, hu- " ^rry.-^PPti^«. p r o s e, *^ •' ' <--,r>er No. 25c. DRILLS The Best Drill Book. Very popular drills and marches. The Favorite Book of Drills. Drills that sparkle with originality. Little Plays With Drills. For children frorn 6 to 11 years. The Surprise Drill Book. Fresh, novel, drills and marches. SPECIALTIES The Boys' Entertainer. Monologues, dialogues, drills. Children's Party Book. Plans, invitations, decorations, games. The Days We Celebrate. Entertainments for all the holidays. Good Things for Christmas. Recitations, dialogues, drills. Good Things for Thanksgiving. A gem of a book. Little Folks' Budget. Easy pieces to speak, songs". One Hundred Entertainments. New parlor diversions, socials. Patriotic Celebrations. Great variety of material. Pranks and Pastimes. Parlor games for children. Private Theatricals. How to put on plays. Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, Charades, and how to prepare. Tableaux and Scenic Readings. New and novel; for all ages. Twinkling Fingers and Sway- ing Figures. For little tots. Yuietide Entertainments. A choice Christmas collection. MINSTRELS, JOKES Black American Joker. Minstrels' and end men's gags. A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. Monologues, stump speeches, etc. Laughland, via the Ha-Ha Route. A merry trip for fun tourists. Negro Minstrels. All about the business. The New Jolly Jester. Funny stories, jokes, gags, etc. Large Illustrated CataloKue Free T.S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers, 154 W. Randolph St., Chicago