The Mimic Stage / A Series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and Farces for Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals

by George M. Baker

Act 1.

Scene.—Parlor in the house of Dr. Harlem. Table, L., with chair R. of it; arm-chair, L. C.; small table with chair, R.; Lucy, R., sewing; Mrs. Loring seated in arm-chair, reading.

Mrs. L. Lucy, my child, how very quiet you are!

Lucy. Indeed, Aunt Loring, I cannot help it. You know to-day is the very last of the term. School closed; all the pupils gone except Fred Hastings and Bob Winders, and they leave us to-day: the thought of the quiet humdrum life we are to lead for the next two months makes me feel very sad.

Mrs. L. The change will be a relief to all of us. Think of your father: he needs the rest which the close of the term will bring.

Lucy. I do think of him; and for his sake I am glad. But still we lose many friends in the young gentlemen who have left us. I’m sure we shall miss them.

Mrs. L. Especially your particular friend, Fred Hastings; hey, Lucy?

Lucy. Oh! of course. You know he is very agreeable, Aunt Loring, and has been very kind to us.

Mrs. L. He is no favorite of mine. He has been very agreeable, especially to you; while to your brother Harry he has been altogether too kind.

Lucy. Why, Aunt Loring! Harry thinks there never was such a friend.

Mrs. L. Harry is young; he has seen little of the world: and the gay, dashing style of Fred Hastings has won his admiration. But Master Fred Hastings has already led him into mischief. Their pranks in the village have reached my ears, and, I fear, those of your father. Fred Hastings is not a fit companion for our Harry; and it will be a relief to me when he quits this place never to return.

Lucy. Don’t talk so, Aunt Loring. You are mistaken in him.

Mrs. L. I hope I am. But, during the ten years I have been housekeeper for your father, I have seen a great many young men, and learned to read their characters; and I say that Master Fred Hasting has too much money, too much assurance, and too much love for what is called sport, ever to make a good man.

Lucy. I do hope you are mistaken. I’m sure you must be.

Mrs. L. Well, well, child, we shall see.

Butts. (Outside, C.) Don’t tell me. How do you know? None of your lying. I’ll find out for myself. (Enter Butts, C.) How do you do, marm? Hope you’re well, Miss Lucy. Where’s the doctor?

Mrs. L. He’s out, Mr. Butts. What is the matter?

Butts. Matter! What should be the matter, when a set of jackanapes are allowed to roam through the village, pillaging, burning, and insulting? I won’t have it: the law shall be respected.

Mrs. L. Burning and pillaging! Why, Mr. Butts, have any of our young gentlemen been engaged in such disreputable proceedings?

Butts. Worse than that, marm. Worse than that. I’m disgusted with seminaries. If I could have my way, there shouldn’t be any thing like a school in the land.

Mrs. L. Then I’m very glad you do not have your way. What is the cause of complaint now?

Butts. The majesty of the law has been outraged; and I, as the representative of the law, have been insulted. Those rascals of yours have been at their pranks. Going to my office this morning, I found a crowd of the rag, tag, and bobtail of the village gathered about it, hooting and yelling at some object in the window. Madam, imagine my indignation when I found that object to be a stuffed figure wrapped in my dressing-gown, with a foolscap on its head, and labelled “Jonathan Wild Butts, Thief-taker,”—seated in my arm-chair too, at the open window. Think of that, marm!—an outrage, a diabolical outrage, upon justice!

Mrs L. Who could have done it?

Butts. You ask that, marm?—you who have lived for ten years in this den of iniquity, this nursery of roguery, this incubating machine of vice? Who did it?—why, Dr. Harlem’s pupils, of course.

Lucy. Why, Mr. Butts! They’re all gone except Fred Hastings and Bob Winders.

Butts. Except—Add your brother Harry, and you have the ringleaders in every assault upon the peace and quiet of the place. I know them. I’ve winked at many of their misdeeds; but, when they assault justice, I tell you Jonathan Wild Butts has his eye on ’em. I say, respect the law, respect the law.

Mrs. L. I assure you, Mr. Butts, I have a great respect for the law and its officers. Take a seat. The doctor will soon return.

Butts. No, I thank you, marm. I’ll call again. It’s my duty to keep an eye on rogues; and I flatter myself I know my duty. Let the wicked tremble; for justice is on their track. (About to exit, C., runs against Dilly, who enters, C.)

Dilly. Dear me, Mr. Butts. Don’t knock a body down.

Butts. (Taking her by the ear, and bringing her down stage.) Ah, ha, you little baggage! I’ve got you at last.

Dilly. Don’t, Mr. Butts: you hurt. I ain’t done nothing.

Butts. Look me in the eye.

Dilly. Which one, Mr. Butts?

Butts. Silence!

Dilly. Well, you needn’t holler so: I ain’t deaf.

Butts. Silence! You took my horse and chaise yesterday while I was in Mr. Bates’s house, drove through the town like mad; and, when I found them, they were locked up in the pound, the horse in a perspiration, and the chaise nearly stove to pieces. What have you to say to that?

Dilly. Let my ear alone. I won’t tell you a word until you do.

Butts. Speak out, quick! What did you take my chaise for?

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts! I didn’t mean to hurt it. You posted a notice on the church-door, warning people to beware of leaving horses in the street over twenty minutes; for, if they did, their horses should be put in the pound, and their owners fined.

Butts. What’s that got to do with my horse?

Dilly. Respect the law, Mr. Butts. I saw your horse stand at Mr. Bates’s door over half an hour; and you know what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander: and so I drove him to the pound. Ain’t you much obliged?

Butts. Much obliged, you young jackanapes? If ever I find you meddling with my horse again, I’ll have you locked up in a pound where you won’t get out in a hurry.

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts, don’t get angry! What’s the use of making laws, if you break them yourself.

Butts. Oh, bother! Precious little you know about law. Good-morning, Mrs. Loring; good-morning, Miss Lucy (going, C.).

Dilly. Good-morning, Mr. Butts: going to have a ride?

Butts. Oh, bother!

Dilly. I say, Mr. Butts—

Butts. Well, what now?

Dilly. Respect the law.

Butts. Oh, pshaw! (Runs off, C.)

Dilly. Ha, ha, ha! What a queer old customer!

Lucy. Why, Dilly!

Mrs. L. Dilly, child, you mustn’t talk so.

Dilly. That’s what Harry calls him.

Mrs. L. That’s no reason why you should speak so. Mr. Butts is a very worthy man, and tries to do his duty.

Dilly. He’s a constable, and I do hate constables: they’re always round poking their noses into every thing, and spoiling all the fun.

Mrs. L. It is his duty, child, to look after mischief-makers.

Dilly. But he makes such a fuss about it, and he always manages to catch the wrong ones.

Lucy. He didn’t catch the wrong one to-day. Why, Dilly, how could you do such a thing?

Dilly. Pooh! It is easy enough if you only know how to drive.

Mrs. L. That poor horse!

Dilly. Well, it’s Mr. Butts’s fault that he is poor. He ought to feed him: I’m sure he’s rich enough! Harry says he’s an old—

Mrs. L. Stop, child! never mind what Harry says.

Dilly. But I do mind what Harry says. Harry’s my father and mother and brother all in one. I’m sure I shouldn’t know what to do without Harry.

Mrs. L. You have great cause to love him, for to Harry you owe all you have.

Dilly. Yes: he found me a little bit of a girl in the streets, and brought me home. Don’t I love him for it, though? He calls me such queer names! Don’t you think, auntie, this morning, he called me “Little Bread upon the Waters.” What a queer name! I’m sure I don’t know what it means.

Mrs. L. I’ll tell you, Dilly. Nine years ago, the night before you were brought here, Dr. Harlem, Harry, and myself were sitting in this very room. The doctor, as usual, was reading from the Scriptures before retiring for the night. During the reading, this sentence attracted Harry’s attention, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.” Harry looked up with his bright eyes. “That’s a queer sentence, father,” said he. “Ah, my boy!” said the doctor, “there’s many sentences in this book to puzzle young heads like yours, and many to puzzle older ones than mine. ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters’ means, do all the good you can in this world, never looking for reward; for it will always come, sooner or later. Do a good deed, be it to benefit rich or poor, high or low; for your reward will surely come.” The next morning, Harry drove his father to the village at a very early hour, as the doctor was going a journey, and wanted to catch a train. On his return, he saw a little bundle of rags by the way-side. He alighted, and was surprised to find a little girl four or five years old, almost dead,—a poor little sick, suffering thing, evidently left to die by some inhuman mother.

Dilly. That was me, wasn’t it, auntie?

Mrs. L. That was you. Harry looked at you, and was about to turn away, when he remembered the lesson of the previous night. “Father says, ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters,’” said he; “so this little one shall go home with me.” The doctor was very much surprised on his return, and very much inclined to send you to the poorhouse; but Harry begged so hard to keep you, that he relented, and here you have been ever since.

Dilly. That’s why Harry called me, “Bread upon the Waters.” I wonder if such a little crumb as I am can ever repay him.

Mrs. L. No doubt, Dilly.

Dilly. Perhaps I shall turn out to be some rich heiress, that some cruel uncle wanted to get out of the way. If I do, won’t I make Harry rich!

Mrs. L. There’s not much chance of that. No clew could be found to your parentage.

Dilly. And I hope there never will be. I don’t want to leave Harry and you, auntie, and Lucy, and the dear good doctor. If I’m a nobody, I mean to be happy; and, if ever I can do any thing for Harry to repay him for—for—for— (Bursts into tears.)

Mrs. L. There, there, Dilly, don’t cry. We all love you dearly; and, while you live, there is a warm home for you in Greenlake. Come with me. I’ve got a new canary in my room. (Exit, R.)

Dilly. A canary? Oh, my! ain’t that splendid? (Exit, R.)

Lucy. Harry in danger! I do not believe it. Fred Hastings is a dear, delightful fellow, and I am sure would lead nobody into danger.

Bob. (Without, C.) O Lord! O murder! oh, bring somebody here quick! (Enter, C., dragging a trap, in which his foot is caught.)

Lucy. Why, Bob, what have you been doing?

Bob. Practising your favorite song, “I’ve been roaming, I’ve been roaming;” and this is the consequence.

Lucy. Ah! too many sharps in that tune for you.

Bob. Altogether. I don’t like the measure. Won’t you be kind enough to release me?

Lucy. Certainly. (Releases his foot.)

Bob. Thank you. Ah, Lucy, if I only had you to release me from all the traps I get into!

Lucy. Oh, pshaw! you should keep out of them. Now, I’ll warrant you’ve been in somebody’s melon-patch.

Bob. Lucy, you wrong me. But it’s just my luck. I never shall be understood. I’m born to be unappreciated in this world. I haven’t been in any melon-patch at all. I climbed Farmer Butts’s wall to gather a bouquet for you, when I stuck my foot in it. It’s just my luck. I never tried to gather a rose but what I stuck my hands full of thorns.

Lucy. Ah, Bob, you went too near Farmer Butts’s melon-patch.

Bob. Well, now you mention it, I did take a look at them there bouncers, and they seemed to say, “Come and take us melons;” but this trap said, “Can’t elope,” and fastened its cruel teeth in my tender ankles. Just my luck.

Lucy. O Bob! I’m ashamed of you.

Bob. Now, don’t, Lucy! I’m an unfortunate chap. I was born to be unlucky. I tell you, you should have had the most beautiful melon,—I mean bouquet,—if it hadn’t been for this trap. Just my luck! Here I’ve been sent to this school by my fond but mistaken parent to be fitted for the bar or the pulpit. Fit subject I am for either. The only bar I hanker for is a horizontal bar. I’d like to be a gymnast, join a circus, or something of that kind; but there, you see, I’m too fat. It’s just my luck. If I go out with the boys on a frolic, I’m sure to get caught. If I race on the water, my weight either capsizes the boat, or leaves me a mile behind. I tell you, Lucy, I’m born to ill luck.

Lucy. Oh, no, Bob! Have more confidence in yourself.

Bob. Confidence! Well, I like that. Confidence in what? I’m always at the foot of the class, always the last one up in the morning, and always the last in every thing. Oh, dear! I wonder what will become of me. If it wasn’t for Harry, I should drown myself. No, I couldn’t do that. I’m too fat: I couldn’t sink. Just my luck.

Harry. (Outside, C.) Halloo! halloo! house! house! house!

Fred. (Outside, C.) Fish! fish! fish!

Lucy. There’s Fred and Harry.

Dilly. (Runs in, R.) Oh, here’s Harry! Harry, here we are. (Enter Fred and Harry, C., with poles and fish-baskets.)

Harry. Halloo, Dilly! such a mess of trout for dinner!

Fred. Such capital sport! Halloo, Bob! where have you been? We are looking for you!

Bob. Oh, I’ve been fishing too.

Harry. No! Have you? What luck?

Bob. Oh! I caught some.

Lucy. Yes: brought them home in a trap too.

Harry. Oh, ho!

Fred. Ha, ha!

Harry. Been in that melon-patch again?

Fred. O you rascal!

Harry. You promised to wait till dark.

Bob. Sh—Confound it!

Fred. Selfish chap! Wanted them all for himself.

Bob. Oh, bother! I was only reconnoitering.

Harry. And got snatched by the sharpshooters.

Bob. Sharpshooters! you may well say that. Such sharp, shooting pains as I’ve had in my ankles!

Harry. Served you right.

Bob. Just my luck!

Harry. Never go into anybody’s melon-patch without your friends.

Fred. No, sir! Greedy boys always get punished.

Dilly. O Harry! what splendid trout! what bouncers!

Harry. Well, you bounce into the kitchen with them, quick; we must have them for dinner.

Dilly. That I will. (Singing.)

“Fishy, fishy, come bite my hook;

You may go captain, and I’ll go cook.”

(Exit, R.)

Fred. Well, Lucy, our happy school-days are drawing to a close. To-night I must leave for home.

Bob. And so must I. Ah, Lucy,

“Those happy days are over;

There’s naught but grief and pain”—

Harry.

“When in a trap you set your foot:

So, don’t do it again.”

Oh, pshaw! Boys, don’t be sentimental: let’s end the term with a frolic.

Fred. I’m agreed. What shall it be?

Harry. What say you to a race on the lake? Our wherries are at the landing. We sha’n’t have another chance.

Fred. I think we owe some attention to the ladies, as this is our last day.

Lucy. If I may speak for the ladies, I think nothing would please them better than a race.

Harry. There’s a jolly little sister for you. Come, boys, I challenge you to a race across the lake and back; the prize to be—what?

Fred. What do you say, Bob?

Lucy. If Bob says what, it will be water-melons.

Fred.	} Ha, ha! Caught again, Bob.
Harry.

Bob. Now, Lucy, that was too bad.

Lucy. So it was Bob; and, to show my repentance, you shall be my champion in the race. Here, sir! you shall wear my colors. Kneel, and receive from the hands of your sovereign this white ribbon. (Pins white ribbon on his breast.) Keep it pure and unsullied, and bring it back to me as a trophy of victory.

Bob. Lucy, I’ll do my best; but you know what it will be: I shall be last. Just my luck!

Harry. Oh, pshaw! Bob. Remember the fable of the hare and the turtle.

Bob. Confound it! do you mean to call me a turtle?

Fred. Well, well, whose champion am I? (Aside.) That Bob Winders has got ahead of me already. (Enter Mrs. Loring and Dilly, R.) Ah! here’s Mrs. Loring. Madam, we are to have a race on the lake. Miss Lucy has accepted Bob here as her champion: he is already decorated with her ribbon. May I not hope that you may be induced to look with favor on your humble servant?

Mrs. L. Well, I’m sure, Master Fred, if my favor can help you to victory, here is my ribbon. (He kneels, she pins red ribbon on his coat.)

Lucy. All hail the champion of the Red!

Dilly. Going to have a race? Oh! ain’t that jolly? Whose champion are you, Harry?

Harry. They’ve left me out in the cold. No, Dilly! Whose champion? Yours, little lady, if you will accept me.

Dilly. Oh, my! Will you, though? Oh, that is real jolly; but you want a ribbon: wait a minute till I let down my hair. There, now! wear that (pins blue ribbon on him); and, if you don’t bring it as a trophy of victory, I’ll never speak to you again.

Fred. All hail the champion of the Blue!

Dilly. Red, White, and Blue,—hurrah for the race of the Red, White, and Blue!

Mrs. L. The victor should be rewarded with an ensign. Suppose, Lucy, we go and make one while the young men are preparing for the race. (Exit, L.)

Lucy. That’s a capital idea! (Exit, L.)

Dilly. Oh, let me help!

Harry. What can you do, little girl?

Dilly. Little girl?—I want you to understand, Mr. Harry, that I’m a young lady. I can cut out the stars if I can’t do any thing else. (Exit, R.)

Bob. If I’m not much mistaken, you’ll cut out a great many stars when you grow older.

Harry. Good for you, Bob. Well, lads, when shall we start?

Fred. It’s just ten o’clock. Let’s start in half an hour: ’twill give the ladies a chance to make their flag.

Harry.	} (Agreed. Enter Butts, C.)
Bob.

Butts. I’ve caught you, have I?—you rascals, you rapscallions!

Harry. Come, come, Mr. Butts, hard words!

Fred. What in the world is the matter now?

Bob. Old Hookey looks wrathy.

Butts. Old Hookey!—young man, respect the law.

Harry. What’s the matter, Mr. Butts? Whose eggs are missing now?

Bob. Whose chimney stopped up?

Fred. Whose water-melons sloped?

Butts. Eggs, chimneys, water-melons,—Oh! I shall choke.

Bob. Do: ’twill save the sheriff a job.

Harry. Come, come, speak out man. What burglary has been committed?

Fred. Whose cow stolen?

Bob. Whose cat drowned?

Butts. Stop, stop, stop! In the name of the law, I command you! I’ve been outraged, my office broken into; and I charge you three with the perpetration of this foul outrage.

Bob. Oh, ho! a hen-coop plundered?

Harry. Hold on, Mr. Butts: this is a serious charge. We acknowledge we have sometimes overstepped the strict boundaries of the law; but to break into a man’s office is something not even the mischief-loving pupils of Greenlake Seminary would be guilty of. Explain yourself!

Butts. My office was broken into between the hours of seven, P.M., last night and seven, A.M., this morning; my window thrown open; a stuffed figure placed in my arm-chair with a scurrilous label attached to it: now who did it?

Harry. Not I, Mr. Butts, I assure you!

Fred. I never thought of doing such a thing.

Bob. Nor I.

Butts. ’Tis false: all three were concerned in it.

Harry. Do you charge us with falsehood?

Fred. Mind what you’re about: I won’t be called a liar.

Bob. No, sir! If you say we lie, you’ll find yourself lying on the floor.

Butts. There’s a lie somewhere.

Harry. Oh, come! I can’t stand that. Let’s throw him into the lake!

Fred. Good! I’m with you.

Bob. Yes: let’s cool him off.

Butts. Would you offer violence? Young men, respect the law.

Harry. Here, boys, grab his legs. I’ll take his head.

Bob. No: let me have the lightest part.

Butts. Keep off,—I say, keep off!

Harry. It’s no use, Butts; in you go.

Fred. The lake is waiting to receive you.

Bob. We’ll make a water-butt of you, Butts.

Butts. Help, help, murder! (They seize him in their arms, and carry him to the door. Enter Dr. Harlem. They drop Butts, and go, R. and L. Enter Dilly, L.)

Doctor. Well, well, young gentlemen, you seem to be amusing yourselves in an unwonted manner. May I inquire the cause of this assault?

Butts. That’s it, doctor,—assault with intent to drown. It’s a diabolical conspiracy against the law.

Doctor. Harry, Master Hastings, Master Winders, I am waiting for an explanation.

Harry. Father, that man charged three of your pupils with falsehood: we couldn’t stand that. He was hot and angry.

Bob. And so we thought we’d just cool him off, that’s all.

Butts. But they’re a pack of jackanapes, violating the law, and then denying it.

Doctor. Gently, Mr. Butts. My boys, however mischievous they may be, are ready to own their faults without resorting to falsehood. What is your complaint?

Butts. They broke into my office, insulted me by placing a stuffed figure in my window, with my name upon it, and this confounded ridiculous thing on its head (pulls foolscap from his pocket, and places it on his head). Behold the insulted majesty of the law!

Doctor. Allow me to look at that cap, Mr. Butts. This is made of one of my papers; and, as it bears my name upon it, it certainly came from this place. Now, who is the culprit? Harry, I have heard of your pranks in town, though you fancied I was ignorant of them. You will answer me truly. Is this your work?

Harry. No, sir. I have not been near Mr. Butts’s office for three days.

Doctor. Master Hastings?

Fred. I assure you, doctor, I had nothing to do with it.

Doctor. Master Winders, can you throw any light on this proceeding?

Bob. What! I dress old Butts in a foolscap? No, sir. I couldn’t see any joke in that; that’s what I call twitting on facts.

Doctor. Then who is the culprit?

Dilly. If you please, doctor, it was me.

All. You, Dilly!

Dilly. Yes: it was me.

Butts. Why, you little scarecrow, do you mean to say that you did this? I don’t believe it.

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts, you’re never satisfied. You’ve been growling because nobody would confess; and now, when I’m ready to own it, you won’t believe me.

Doctor. Dilly, if this was your doings, you will please explain it.

Dilly. Well, then, I went to Mr. Butts’s office this morning to let him know his horse was in the pound.

Doctor. His horse in the pound?

Dilly. Yes: I’ll tell you about it.

Butts. There, there! no matter about that.

Dilly. Well, I thought you wouldn’t care to hear about it. Well, I went to Mr. Butts’s office, and Mr. Butts wasn’t there: the door was locked; so I tried the window. It was unfastened. I jumped in, saw Mr. Butts’s dressing-gown and boots, dressed up something to look like him, and opened the window.

Butts. What did you do it for?

Dilly. To scare the rogues, Mr. Butts. They would think it was you. It was just as good as though you were there.

Butts. You little, confounded, saucy!—I’ll dress you! I’ll make an example of you, now I’ve caught you!

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts, didn’t you never catch a rogue before?

Butts. Silence!

Doctor. Leave her to me, Mr. Butts. Dilly, I’m astonished that a young lady of your age should be guilty of such a proceeding.

Dilly. Dear me, doctor, I didn’t mean any harm: I only wanted a frolic, and it was such a good chance!

Butts. Frolic?—an insult to an officer of the law, you call a frolic? I’ve been insulted. You let me catch you in my office again, that’s all! Frolic!—shades of the chief justices, ghosts of departed judges! Oh, I shall choke! (Exit, C.)

Doctor. If I hear of such a frolic again, Dilly, I shall be very angry with you. Don’t do it again. (Exit, R.)

Dilly. There, now! the doctor’s angry. I didn’t mean any harm. It’s such fun to plague Mr. Butts!

Bob. Served him right, the old scamp!

Harry. Stop, Bob! don’t encourage her: she’s wild enough already. Dilly, come here.

Dilly. What for, Harry? You going to scold me?

Harry. Yes, Dilly. This frolic of yours has grieved me very much. You are too old now to indulge in such pranks.

Dilly. Why, Harry, you and Fred and Bob hoisted Mr. Butts’s horse up into the steeple; and I’m sure you are all older than I.

Harry. That’s a different matter altogether. We are young men, and you are a young lady.

Dilly. Well, don’t you think young men ought to behave themselves, Harry?

Harry. Yes, of course; that is—sometimes. Oh, pshaw! What I mean is, Dilly, I don’t want you to do such a thing again. It will grieve me very much.

Dilly. Then I’ll never do it again. I’m sure, Harry, if you want me to be a good girl, I shall try ever so hard; for I love you dearly, Harry: and if ever I should grieve you, I—I—I— (Weeps.)

Harry. There, there! Run off, and finish cutting out your stars: that’s much better than cutting up pranks.

Dilly. Oh, the stars! I forgot all about them.

Harry. Confound it! I must turn over a new leaf.

Bob. Yes, practice before you preach. Well, Dilly, how comes on the flag?

Dilly. Nearly ready. Will you come and hold a skein of silk for Lucy? (Exit, L.)

Bob. For Lucy? Will I? Won’t I? (Exit, L.)

Fred. It strikes me that Bob Winders is mighty attentive to Lucy.

Harry. Of course, he is. Why, Fred, you’re not jealous?

Fred. That sister of yours is an angel, Harry.

Harry. That she is, Fred.

Fred. Do you know, Harry, that the saddest of our parting is the thought that I shall meet her no more? You and I are such good friends, Harry, that you will not laugh when I tell you I love her dearly, truly.

Harry. Ah! a boy’s love, Fred. We know how that will end. New scenes and new faces will blot out all remembrance of her.

Fred. I tell you, no, Harry. If I am a boy, I have lived a man’s life for the last five years. Hers is not the first fair face which has attracted me; but all fade before hers. Harry, I tell you I shall leave this place with the firm resolve to one day return, and ask her to be my wife.

Harry. Your wife, Fred?

Fred. Yes, my wife. You would not object to that?

Harry. I should, most decidedly.

Fred. How?

Harry. Yes, Fred Hastings: I’d rather see my sister laid in her grave than marry you.

Fred. Harry, you’re crazy!

Harry. Not a bit of it. Look you, Fred. You’re a gay fellow, and with you time flies lightly and merrily. But you’re a rich man’s son. Your purse is always full. You know too much of life. Boy as you are, you can drink as deep as the oldest; you can shake a dice-box as glibly as the most expert, shuffle a pack of cards with the boldest, and bet your money with the fastest. I can very easily tell your future life,—a gay life and a merry one; and, with such a companion, a pure, loving girl like Lucy would be miserable. I know all this; for you have led me into it. So, Fred, say no more about it. Lucy is too good for you ever to dream of.

Fred. Why, Harry, what’s the matter? You have engaged with me in all these sports that you speak of. Do you turn upon me now? Harry, you are not yourself.

Harry. No, I am not. When you came to this school, I was a happy lad who had never heard of this gay life; content to stay at home with my dear sister and Dilly, with but one desire,—to please a father who was very proud of me. You came. New life, new enjoyments, were before me; and, like a thoughtless boy, I plunged into them. Well, I suppose it is one of the phases of life which tempt all; but I wish I had never, never, seen it.

Fred. But, Harry, what has caused this sudden change?

Harry. I’ll tell you, Fred. You introduced me to Capt. Pitman’s house, to look on at the game. I was content, at first, to look on; but one night you tempted me to play. I lost seventy-five dollars to Capt. Pitman, and I had not the means to pay it. The captain was very kind: he said the money was of no consequence: I should give him my I. O. U. for the amount, and, when convenient, pay it. I gave him a note.

Fred. That was all right. He doesn’t want the money.

Harry. Ah! but he does. He met me this morning; said he was very sorry, but he must have it at once. I declared my inability to pay it. He persisted, and warned me, that, if the money was not in his hands to-day, he should be compelled to call upon my father for an explanation.

Fred. He cannot collect it. You are a minor.

Harry. Collect it! Do you suppose my father would hesitate to pay, when he knows, that, on his refusal, the whole story would be made public? Fred Hastings, rather than look upon my father’s face—his honest face—when he should feel his son was a gambler, I’d throw myself into the lake.

Fred. Oh, come, Harry! he shall not know it. I got you into the scrape, and I’ll see you out. The doctor holds money belonging to me, from which I draw for my convenience. I’ll go to him, get the money: you shall pay Capt. Pitman, and nobody be the wiser.

Harry. Will you, though? That’s kind of you, Fred; and I’ll repay you with the first money I have.

Fred. I’ll go at once.

Harry. And I’ll look after the boats. But don’t think any more of Lucy, Fred; for I tell you, you can’t have her. She’s too good for you. (Exit, C.)

Fred. Too good for me! A saint at last! What a rascal I must be! Too good for me! Ah, Harry Harlem, you don’t know me yet with all your keenness. Too good for me!—we’ll see. Oh! I’ll help you out of the scrape, I’ll help you out. I can shake a dice-box, can I? I can bet my money, can I? You’ve seen all this? But there’s one little sleight-of-hand trick that you haven’t seen yet, Master Harry Harlem. I’ll help you out of this scrape with a vengeance. (Exit, R. Enter Bob.)

Bob. Just my luck! I’ve tangled all their silk, cut their cloth in the wrong place, and upset every thing in the room. Just my luck! The idea of a chap of my temperament sitting down before Lucy Harlem to hold a skein of silk, while her bright eyes were burning holes in my susceptible bosom! Oh, it’s horrible! I’m over head and ears in love with her. When she touches me, the blood rushes to my head, and I rush off. I think she likes me. I’d like to go down on my knees before her, and say, “Lucy, I am yours.” But there, I’m too fat. She might say, “There’s too much of you.” Here she comes. I’ve a great mind to say something. (Enter Lucy, R.)

Lucy. Why, Bob! what did you run away for? You tangled my silk all up, and left me to unravel it.

Bob. O Lucy! you’ve tangled me all up, and I don’t believe I shall ever be unravelled.

Lucy. Why, what’s the matter?

Bob. Lucy, I’m going away to-day.

Lucy. I’m so sorry you’re going just at this time!

Bob. You are? You don’t know how happy you make me. Why at this time?

Lucy. Because the water-melons are just ripe.

Bob. Oh, pshaw! What’s water-melons to me?

Lucy. A great deal, I should think. Don’t you like them?

Bob. Yes; but I like you just as well.

Lucy. Why, Bob!

Bob. No, no! I mean— (Aside.) I’ve a great mind to speak. (Pops down on his knees.) Lucy— (Enter Fred, R., with a portfolio in his hand.)

Lucy. Oh! there’s Fred.

Bob. Just my luck! (Jumps up.)

Fred. Why, Bob, what’s the matter? Have you hurt you?

Bob. No, I ain’t hurt me. (Exit, C. Enter Dilly, L.)

Fred. I’m glad you are here, Lucy. I leave you to-day, and, that you may not entirely forget me, may I beg your acceptance of this. (Presenting a watch.)

Lucy. Oh, what a splendid little watch! Thank you a thousand thousand times for your kindness.

Dilly. Oh, what a beauty! Dear me, Fred, ain’t you going to give me something to remember you by?

Lucy. Hush, Dilly.

Dilly. I’m sure I shall forget you if you don’t.

Fred. Oh! I haven’t forgotten you, Dilly. Here, take this. I’ve often heard you say you wanted a portfolio. You shall have this. Should I ever become a great man, you can boast that you own something which no one but I have ever used.

Dilly. Oh, thank you, Fred! That’s just what I wanted! Isn’t it nice? I’ll go show it to auntie at once. (Exit, L.)

Fred. Lucy, may I not hope that the many happy hours we have spent together here may sometimes recall me to your remembrance?

Lucy. Don’t talk so, Fred! I hope we shall meet again often. There is no one whom I shall miss more than you.

Fred. Do you mean that, Lucy? May I hope sometime to return, and— (Enter Harry, C., in boating costume, blue. Aside.) Pshaw! he back again?

Harry. Well, Lucy, are you all ready for the race?

Lucy. When you are, Harry. Look at my beautiful present. From Fred too: isn’t he kind?

Harry. Very.

Lucy. Well, I declare: is that all you can say?

Harry. I’m busy now: don’t talk. Get Aunt Loring and Dilly. We must be off.

Lucy. We’ll all be ready in a minute. (Exit, L.)

Fred. Here, Harry, here’s your father’s check for seventy-five dollars: settle with Capt. Pitman at once.

Harry. Thank you, Fred! I’ll run down and pay him.

Fred. And I’ll get ready for the race. Look out for yourself; for I shall beat you. (Exit, R.)

Harry. Don’t be too sure of that. I’ll get this debt off my mind. (Turns to door, meets Butts.)

Butts. Oh, here you are, here you are! I’ve been looking for you.

Harry. You’re always looking for somebody. What’s to pay now? Who do you want?

Butts. You, Harry Harlem: I’ve got a little business with you. The law has its eye on you.

Harry. Well, I’ve no objection, as long as it’s the eye, and not the hand.

Butts. But the hand follows the eye.

Harry. O pshaw! I’m in a hurry: if you have any business with me, speak out.

Butts. I’ve a little note against you, placed in my hands for collection by Capt. Pitman.

Harry. Capt. Pitman! In your hands?

Butts. Which, of course, you can’t pay; so my next business is with your father.

Harry. Not just yet. Where is the note?

Butts. Here it is; seventy-five dollars,—a large sum for a son of Dr. Harlem to lose by gambling.

Harry. Sh!—Don’t speak so loud.

Butts. Here it is; seventy-five dollars.

Harry. And here is a check for the amount.

Butts. A check!

Harry. My father’s check: it’s good, I believe.

Butts. Good as gold. Here’s your note. (Aside.) There’s another job slipped through my hands.

Harry. So you see, old Butts, it isn’t necessary to see my father. There’s your money. Good-day!

Butts. Will you take a little bit of advice from me?

Harry. No, sir. I won’t take any thing from you. You’d like to catch me tripping; but you haven’t got me yet, Mr. Butts.

Butts. No, not just yet; but, if your acquaintance with Capt. Pitman continues, it won’t be long. Good-day! (Exit, C.)

Harry. I’ll take good care to cut the acquaintance of Capt. Pitman. I’ve had a narrow escape; and I’ll keep out of his den. (Enter Lucy, Mrs. Loring, and Dilly, with flag, L.)

Dilly. Here’s the flag, Harry: isn’t it a beauty?

Harry. It is, indeed; and I’ll do my best to win it for you, Dilly. Where’s Fred? (Enter Fred, R., in boating costume, red.)

Fred. Here’s Fred, ready and “eager for the fray.”

Harry. Good! Run for Bob, and we’ll be off.

Dilly. Oh! he’s always last. (Enter, Bob, R., in boating costume, white.)

Bob. Of course, I am; just my luck! I tell you it’s no joke to robe myself in these uncomfortable clothes. I’ve ripped two shirts and three pairs of—

Harry. Hold on, Bob.

Bob. What’s the use in my attempting to race? Anyhow, I shall be the last in. It’s just my luck!

Harry. Don’t growl, Bob. It’s just your luck to be the best fellow in the world. What could we do without you? All the small boys swear by you. If they’re in trouble, who so quick to help as Bob Winders? If there’s an old lady within ten miles wants an armful of firewood, who so quick to bring it as Bob Winders? If I was in trouble, and wanted the help of a friend, a real friend, there’s no one I would call on sooner than Bob Winders.

Bob. Bully for you, Harry. I’d go through fire and water for you; for you’ve helped me through many tight places: but it’s no use: I shall lose the race. It’s just my luck!

Harry. Do your best, Bob. Come, lads, let’s be off.

Dilly. Yes: the race, the race,—hurrah for the race of the Red, White, and Blue!

(Exit Dilly and Harry, Lucy and Bob; Mrs. Loring and Fred about to follow. Enter Dr. Harlem, R.)

Doctor. Mrs. Loring, one moment; that is, if you have no important business.

Mrs. L. Will you excuse me, Mr. Hastings, one moment? (Fred bows and exits, C.) I was merely going to see the race on the lake. The young people desired it; and, really, I felt myself almost a girl again.

Doctor. I will detain you but a moment. I have just received an anonymous epistle, which annoys me very much. It is not the first I have received. It refers to Harry.

Mrs. L. To Harry, doctor?

Doctor. Yes. I am advised by an unknown friend to keep my eye on him, as he is in the habit of keeping bad company. Mrs. Loring, have you seen any thing wild about him for the last two months?

Mrs. L. No, nothing more than usual. Since school commenced, he has taken part in many of the frolics to which boys are accustomed. I think he will behave more soberly when they are all gone.

Doctor. I am exceedingly anxious. I have heard of his pranks in the village: I have also heard he is somewhat in debt.

Mrs. L. I think very likely.

Doctor. You take it very coolly, Mrs. Loring.

Mrs. L. Because I have full faith in Harry. Certain friendships he has formed must, of necessity, be broken to-day; and when he is once more with us, believe me doctor, he will be our own Harry again.

Doctor. I hope you are right, Mrs. Loring. Should harm come to that boy, it would kill me. I have set my heart on making a noble man of him; and, should he fail me— (Enter Dilly, C.)

Dilly. O auntie, quick! they’re just going to start. Come, doctor, come and see the race. Why, how slow you are! Come, auntie, come right along. (Pulls Mrs. Loring off, C.)

Doctor. Mrs. Loring must be right. She has had my children under her eye so long, that she is better able to judge their characters than I with my numerous duties constantly occupying my attention. Some meddling person has sent these notes to annoy me. (Enter Butts, C., hurriedly.)

Butts. O doctor, doctor! such a crime! such a high-handed outrage, a diabolical crime! Oh the villain, the villain!

Doctor. What’s the matter now, Mr. Butts?

Butts. Keep cool, doctor, keep cool! It’s a terrible blow, but keep cool: take example from me. Oh the reprobate, the villain!

Doctor. Well, well! what is it?

Butts. Are we alone? I would have no ear listen to the tale of horror; no voice but mine break the silence!

(Dilly dances in, C., flapping the flag in Butts’s face.)

Dilly. They’re off, they’re off! Such a splendid start! Come quick, you’ll lose all the fun. (Dashes out, C.)

Butts. Confound that little imp! she’s always in the way.

Doctor. Never mind her! what is this crime?

Butts. O Dr. Harlem. Dr. Harlem!

Doctor. Mr. Butts, will you be kind enough to explain yourself in as few words as possible? These ejaculations of yours may be pleasing to you, but I do not enjoy them.

Butts. Dr. Harlem, I am an officer of the law. It is my proud boast, that I am one of the supporters of the scale of justice,—that scale which—

Doctor. Stop, Mr. Butts. If you have come here to deliver an oration on justice, you’ll excuse me, as I have far more important matters to occupy my attention.

Butts. Dr. Harlem, I have a tender heart, and the sight of misery is terrible to me.

Doctor. What’s that to do with me?

Butts. Doctor, compose yourself, imitate my stoicalness. You are a father— (Dilly rushes in, C.)

Dilly. Oh, such a race! they’re half-way across the lake, and Harry’s ahead, Harry’s ahead! (Rushes out, C.)

Butts. Plague take that girl!

Doctor. Never mind her, but speak.

Butts. Dr. Harlem, I have had occasion to call upon you in regard to the conduct of your pupils many times. To-day, I called upon one of your young men to collect a note placed in my hands by Capt. Pitman. The note was paid by giving me this check.

Doctor. My check! How is this?

Butts. Is it your check?

Doctor. No, it is not: it is a forgery.

Butts. Yes, I knew it. Ha, ha, ha! You cannot blind the eyes of justice. Good, good: I’ve got him!

Doctor. Who—who did this? (Enter Dilly, C.)

Dilly. They’ve reached the other side. Harry turned first: he’s ahead, he’s ahead! (Exit, C.)

Butts. Drat that girl! she’s a nuisance.

Doctor. Mr. Butts, who was the author of this forgery?

Butts. One of your pupils.

Doctor. His name.

Butts. Well, well, don’t be in a hurry.

Doctor. His name, I say. (Enter Dilly, C.)

Dilly. They’re coming back. Bob Winders has upset, and Harry’s ahead.

Doctor. Dilly!

Dilly. Oh, come and see the race! You’ll lose the best of it.

Doctor. Dilly, you see I am very much engaged. Don’t enter this room again, or I shall be very angry.

Dilly. La! I thought you wanted to know about the race. (Exit, C.)

Doctor. Now, Mr. Butts, the name of this offender.

Butts. His name is—Harry Harlem.

Doctor. Harry Harlem! Butts, you lie!

Butts. What! this to me, an officer of the law? Dr. Harlem, recollect yourself. Respect the law.

Doctor. Pardon me, Butts. I was hasty. But you are mistaken. My son Harry—

Butts. Gave me that check in this very room.

Doctor. This is terrible! My son Harry forge the name of his father? I tell you you are mistaken.

(Outside: “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Harry Harlem!”)

Butts. Here he is: ask him. (Enter Harry, Fred, Lucy, Mrs. Loring, and Dilly, C.)

Dilly. Harry’s won the race! Harry’s won the race!

Harry. ’Tis true: I’ve won the colors.

Fred. I’ve been handsomely defeated. (Enter Bob, C.)

Bob. And I’ve got gloriously ducked. Just my luck!

Harry. Congratulate me, father! I’ve beaten the best sculler in the school.

Doctor. Stop! Before you secure my congratulations look me in the face, Harry Harlem, and answer me this: Have you seen Mr. Butts before to-day?

Harry. Oh, several times.

Doctor. Have you paid him any money?

Harry. Why—I—yes, I have. (Aside.) Butts has turned traitor.

Butts. Didn’t I tell you so? Didn’t I tell you so? He gave me the check. I’ll swear it.

Doctor. Harry, you hear. What have you to say?

Harry. I did give him that check.

Doctor. So, sir, not content with making yourself the terror of the village, not content with disturbing the quiet of our once happy home with your wild courses, to crown your evil life you commit a forgery.

All. A forgery?

Doctor. Yes, a forgery. This son of mine—hear it, all of you—this son, of whom I was so proud, has forged the name of his father to pay a gambling debt.

Harry. ’Tis false!

Doctor. False, boy! Can you deny this?—this check, which you confess you gave to Butts?

Harry. I did give him the check; but it was given me by another, one who can explain every thing. You could not think me so base as to forge the name of the kindest and best of fathers? That check was given me by Fred Hastings.

All. Fred Hastings?

Fred. Let me see it. ’Tis false! That check has never been in my possession.

Harry. Fred Hastings, do you deny it?

Fred. Most certainly. Harry, I would willingly lend you my name to help you out of a scrape; but this is a crime I look upon with abhorrence. You must bear the blame yourself: I cannot help you.

Harry. Am I awake?

Doctor. A lie to cover a crime! O Harry, Harry! Is this the reward for all my love, my pride in you?

Harry. Father, what can I say? One whom I thought a friend has bitterly betrayed me. I do not know, I cannot imagine, a reason for this; but, as true as there is a heaven above, I am innocent of crime.

Doctor. Have you not frequented the gambling-house of Capt. Pitman?

Harry. I have. To my shame, I confess it.

Doctor. Then you are no longer son of mine. You have bitterly betrayed the trust reposed in you, and you cannot hold up your head in honesty. Go! The world is wide: find where you can a resting-place. My house shall no longer harbor a gambler and a forger.

Mrs. L. Doctor, doctor, calm yourself!

Lucy. O father! don’t speak so! (They lead him to chair, R.)

Doctor. The cool, heartless villain!

Harry. Dr. Harlem (I will no longer call you father, since you yourself cut me off), I have indeed deceived and disgraced you by thoughtless folly; but of this crime I am innocent. You are right. Your house is no longer a fit place for a gambler. I can claim no friends here now.

Mrs. L. Oh, don’t say that, Harry!

Doctor. Silence! Who bandies words with that villain is no longer an inmate of my home.

Dilly. Then you can set my bandbox outside the door at once. Dr. Harlem, you’re a mean old doctor, so you are! O Harry, Harry! I don’t know what it’s all about; but I know there isn’t a better Harry in this world than you. (Rushes into his arms.)

Harry. Hush, hush, Dilly! ’Twill all come right some day.

Bob. Harry, there’s my hand. The case looks hard against you, and I suppose I should be on the other side; but I believe in you, and I stand by you. If you’re a villain, as they say you are, I can’t see it. It’s just my luck!

Harry. Bob, you’re a trump!

Dilly. You won’t go, will you, Harry?

Harry. Dilly, I must. You cannot understand it. I am accused of a crime, with no power to prove myself innocent. The time will come when I can prove it. Till then, I shall go from here.

Dilly. Oh, take me with you, Harry! take me with you! You are the one I love best in the world. I should die without you!

Harry. No, Dilly: you must stay here. Be good and gentle with father, and watch, Dilly, watch; for the time will come when even a little maid like you can serve me.

Doctor. Oh the villain, the villain! to seek to plunder his old father! The villain, the villain! Has he gone?

Harry. In one moment, doctor: my presence is hateful to you. I have disobeyed you, and must bide the consequences. Farewell! Where’er I go, I shall always remember you as the kindest and best of fathers. Farewell!

Butts. Stop! You are my prisoner.

All. Prisoner?

Doctor. No, no, Butts! Let him go. I make no charge.

Butts. But the bank does. I have a warrant for his arrest.

Dilly. You mean old Butts! You’re always sticking your nose into other people’s business.

Doctor. But, Butts, listen to me. (Takes Butts, R., and they talk together earnestly.)

Harry. (L.) Oh, this is too much! Must I be arraigned as a criminal?

Dilly. Why don’t you run away? I would.

Harry. Thank you for the hint, Dilly.

Dilly. Your boat’s down at the foot of the garden.

Harry. And, if I strike across, I can reach the road. Ah, Dilly! yours is a wise little head. Bob, here. (Bob crosses R.) Can I depend upon you? Will you stick by me?

Bob. Like a poor man’s plaster. It’s just my luck!

Harry. Then meet me in half an hour at the big oak by Jones’s lot.

Bob. I’ll be there.

Harry. Now keep old Butts here, and I’ll be off. Dilly, good-by. Heaven bless you! Be a good girl, and have faith in Harry.

Dilly. That I will! (Harry kisses her, and creeps out, C.; the Doctor is with Butts, R.; Fred and Lucy, with Mrs. Loring, back R., talking together.) Oh, if he can only get away! (Follows him to door, C., and stumbles over the trap, which was placed by Bob, L. C.) Dear me! I’ve nearly broke my ankle! Why, what an ugly-looking trap! I must take care of that.

Butts. I tell you it’s no use, doctor. Law is law, and your son must go to jail.

Doctor. But, Butts, I am the only loser by this. The bank has lost nothing.

Dilly. (Coming down R. of Butts.) Mr. Butts, what will you do with Harry?

Butts. Lock him up in jail, where you ought to be.

Bob. (Coming down L. of Butts.) But look here, Mr. Butts, I’m ready to bail him, or my father is. Don’t take him away, that’s a good fellow. I’ll help you to take all the rogues there are in the village, only let him off.

Dilly. (At door, C.) He’s reached the boat, and he’s off. (Drags trap down behind Butts, and sets it.)

Butts. Look here, young man! I know my business. Harry Harlem must go to jail.

Dilly. Oh! don’t take him to jail, that’s a good Mr. Butts! I won’t dress up any more figures, and I won’t steal your horse and chaise again, if you’ll only let him go.

Bob. Now, do, old Butts! You’re a kind-hearted old fellow, I know you are!

Butts. Silence! The law must be respected. (Dilly and Bob pull him R. and L. to attract his attention during the previous lines. At this part, they have him in front of the trap.)

Fred. (Back, C.) Gracious! there’s Harry half-way across the lake! There’s innocence for you!

Doctor. Escaped? Thank heavens!

Dilly. (Dancing, and clapping her hands.) Good, good, good!

Butts. The prisoner escaped! (Bob pushes him back into the trap.) O murder, murder! What have I done?

Bob. Put your foot in it, old Butts.

Dilly. Good, good, good!

Butts. (Rushing round and dragging the trap.) Lost my prisoner! Murder, help! O Bob Winders, you’ve ruined me.

Bob. Have I? That’s just my luck!

(Quick curtain.)

ACT II.
FIVE YEARS SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE.

Scene same as Act. 1.—Table, R. C.; arm-chair, L. C.; small table, R. C.; with chair R., in which is seated Mrs. Loring, knitting.

Mrs. L. Dear me, how time does fly. It’s five years this very day since our Harry disappeared. Five long years, and no word, no sign, from him. Perhaps he’s dead. Poor boy, innocent or guilty, his loss has been a sad blow to his father. Since that day, he has never been the same man. Prostrated by a long illness, the result of that terrible excitement, feeble in body, wandering in mind, he is but the wreck of the grand old doctor of former days. The school has been given up, the house mortgaged, and what the end will be, Heaven alone can tell. But for Dilly, this would be a sad house. Dear child, she is the ruling spirit. When the blow fell, forsaking all her roguish pranks, she proved herself a woman. The doctor cannot stir without her, and we have all come to depend upon her quick and ready judgment. To-morrow the interest on the mortgage is due. I know we have no money to meet it, no friends to assist. Ah, me, I fear the house must go, and that I am convinced would kill the doctor. (Enter Lucy, R.)

Lucy. Aunt Loring, I have come to you for advice. Mr. Hastings sent me a note this morning, in which he declares his love for me, and asks me to become his wife.

Mrs. L. I have long suspected this would be the result of his stay here. Does it surprise you, Lucy?

Lucy. You know how persistently he has visited us for the last three months, and how attentive he has been to me. He is very agreeable, and—and—

Mrs. L. You love him. Is that it, Lucy?

Lucy. No, no! I do not, and I sometimes wonder at myself: I like to be with him, he is so gay and so attentive; but, when he begins to speak of love, I don’t know why—but a face comes between his and mine, the face of my dear brother Harry, and then I almost detest him.

Mrs. L. You do not believe him guilty of the charge made by Harry?

Lucy. I do not know what to believe: I only know I wish he would never speak of love to me; but still—

Mrs. L. Well, Lucy?

Lucy. We are poor, very poor: this life we now lead cannot last much longer. Some day this place must be given up; then what will become of father, you—all of us? Dilly works hard to keep the wolf from our door, and I am but a poor drone in the hive. Mr. Hastings is rich: were I his wife, this place might be secured, father made comfortable, and you and Dilly happy.

Mrs. L. And yet you do not love him?

Lucy. No, no: I cannot while this uncertainty exists about Harry.

Mrs. L. Then do not marry him. A marriage without love is a blasphemy; and a marriage with Fred Hastings could not be a happy one. Give him his answer, plainly and fairly, and leave our fate to be adjusted by a higher and wiser power. Hark! here’s Dilly: do not speak of this before her; it would make her unhappy.

Dilly. (Outside, C.) Ha! Ha! Ha! what a queer old doctor! you make me laugh so, my sides ache, you’re so funny. (Enter C., supporting Doctor. Lucy runs and places arm-chair C., in which they seat him.) There, I’ve given you a good long walk; now be a good boy, be quiet, and entertain me. (Sits on stool at L. of Doctor. Lucy kneels, R.)

Doctor. Ah, Dilly, you’re a funny girl—a little rogue—you want to keep me all to yourself.

Dilly. Of course I do: ain’t you my cavalier, my true and faithful knight, ready to break lances and fight for me?

Doctor. Yes, yes! ah, dear me, dear me!—

Lucy. What’s the matter, father?

Doctor. Ah, Lucy, my child, your father’s getting old. I can’t tramp so far as I could once. Mrs. Loring?

Mrs. L. Well, doctor.

Doctor. Isn’t it most school-time?

Dilly. (Aside.) Dear me, the school again!

Doctor. You know we must be very prompt, or we shall set a bad example.

Mrs. L. You know it’s vacation now, doctor.

Doctor. Dear me! so it is, so it is! strange I should forget it. But isn’t it a very long vacation, Mrs. Loring?

Mrs. L. About the usual time.

Doctor. The pupils will be coming back soon, won’t they? We must have every thing neat and tidy. Greenlake Seminary must keep up its reputation. I shall be glad to see the lads,—Hastings, Winders, and all the rest of them. What rogues they are: I hope they’ll behave better this term, and keep our Harry—no, Harry’s dead.

Dilly. O doctor! don’t talk about the school: let that take care of itself. Talk to me.

Doctor. Harry’s dead. What day is this, Dilly?

Dilly. The 1st of August.

Doctor. Harry’s dead. Five years ago; it was a beautiful day when we buried him. Don’t you recollect it Dilly: we placed a marble slab over him—we took it from the village bank. I don’t understand why we did that. Do you, Dilly?

Dilly. No matter, doctor. Let’s talk of something else: you know you promised me a sail on the lake this afternoon.

Doctor. (Looking at his watch.) Nine o’clock: come, boys, to your places,—to your places. Master Root, you were very imperfect in your history yesterday: be careful sir—be careful. Master Hastings, why must I speak to you so often about your grammar. Master Winders, you were in Farmer Bates’s orchard last night. Harry, Harry,—dear, dear, I forgot! Harry’s dead.

Lucy. Dear father, don’t talk any more about Harry.

Doctor. Why, Lucy, child, where have you been all day? Where have you been?

Lucy. I’ve been here, father, waiting for you.

Doctor. Waiting for me? Why, I haven’t been away. Yes, yes, I have: Harry drove me to the cars early this morning. I found something by the way,—this little girl (patting Dilly’s head): her name’s “Bread on the Waters.” That’s what Harry calls her. She’s going to live with us,—ain’t you, little girl?

Dilly. Indeed, indeed, I am, doctor.

Doctor. Harry says, “Keep her, father, keep her;” and Harry’s a good boy,—a good boy. Where is he this morning? Why don’t you speak? Somebody run and call him.

Dilly. Why, doctor, you know he’s gone a long journey.

Doctor. Dear me! so he has, so he has,—a long journey to the bank. He’s a good boy—a good boy—he’ll be back soon.

Dilly. Oh! why don’t he come? why don’t he come?

Mrs. L. Dilly, Dilly, be calm.

Doctor. Don’t be in a hurry, little girl. Don’t be in a hurry (Fred appears, C.): all in good time—all in good time.

Fred. May I come in?

Lucy. Mr. Hastings?

Dilly. He here again.

Mrs. L. Certainly, walk in.

Fred. Ah! thank you, delightful morning, ain’t it. You grow young, Mrs. Loring. Ah, Lucy! I hope I find you well, and Dilly too. How’s my old friend the doctor, this morning?

Doctor. Ah, Butts, how are you?

Lucy. You are mistaken father: it’s Mr. Hastings.

Doctor. Ah! Master Fred, I’m glad to see you. Back to school again, hey? Well, well, lad, be more careful of your grammar this time. Study, boy, study.

Fred. Of course I will. With so renowned a master, as Dr. Harlem, I mean to study hard, and then I shall be sure to succeed.

Doctor. Come, Mrs. Loring, you see the boys are coming back: let’s go and see if every thing is in order. (Mrs. Loring takes his arm.) Greenlake Seminary has a reputation to sustain. Come: good-by, Dilly.

Dilly. Good-by, doctor. Now, don’t tire yourself, for you must take me out for a sail this afternoon.

Doctor. Yes, yes, when Harry gets back: you know we can’t do any thing without Harry. (Exit Doctor and Mrs. L., R.)

Fred. The doctor appears feeble this morning, Lucy.

Lucy. Yes: poor father fails very fast. At times his reason wanders, and for whole days he is as you have seen him to-day.

Fred. Poor doctor: is there no help for him?

Lucy. None, I fear.

Dilly. You are mistaken, Lucy. There is one thing that would set him right.

Fred. And pray what is that?

Dilly. The return of Harry, with his innocence clearly established.

Fred. Ah, indeed! you know that can never be.

Dilly. You think so?

Fred. I know it. It’s no use now to mince matters. Harry forged that check to get himself out of a scrape. He will never return.

Dilly. I think he will.

Fred. You have great faith, Dilly.

Dilly. In Harry? Yes. I believe him innocent; and I am sure the day will come when he will stand beneath his father’s roof in the calm, proud consciousness of vindicated innocence.

Fred. You are a brave girl thus to stand by him,—a convicted felon.

Dilly. ’Tis false. He is no felon.

Fred. His flight—

Dilly. Was my act. Would I had never counselled him to it! Had he remained, all would have been made clear.

Fred. Ah, you suspect—

Dilly. Yes; but I do not accuse.

Fred. Dilly, you are an enigma. Do you know that doubting Harry’s guilt places me under suspicion?

Dilly. Does it?

Fred. Dilly, you surely do not suspect me?

Dilly. Mr. Hastings, we will speak no more of this.

Fred. But, Dilly—

Dilly. I repeat, I accuse no one. The time will come when all this will be made clear. We must wait.

Fred. (Aside.) That girl does suspect me. (Aloud.) You’re quite right, Dilly. It’s a disagreeable subject, and unworthy our attention this bright, beautiful morning. Come, Lucy, it’s too pleasant to be cooped up indoors. What say you to a sail?

Lucy. I shall be delighted to go. Dilly, will you go with us?

Dilly. Thank you; but I have something very particular to attend to this morning. You must entertain Mr. Hastings.

Lucy. I’ll do my best, Dilly; and I won’t be gone long.

Fred. There’s a beautiful breeze on the lake.

Lucy. I’m all ready. Good-by, Dilly.

Dilly. Lucy, one moment.

Lucy. Certainly. (To Fred.) Will you excuse me?

Fred. Oh, don’t mind me! I’ll stroll down the path and wait. (Exit, C.)

Dilly. Lucy, that man loves you.

Lucy. I know it.

Dilly. You know it? He has spoken then.

Lucy. No. He has written, and now awaits my answer.

Dilly. And you, Lucy; do you love him?

Lucy. Why do you ask, Dilly?

Dilly. Because it would break my heart to know you did. O Lucy! think of Harry, your dear brother, falsely accused. Think of his words five years ago regarding this man.

Lucy. I do think of them, Dilly, often, very often; and, remembering them, I can say to you, No, I do not love him.

Dilly. Oh! bless you for those words: they lift a weary load from my heart. While Harry is away—

Lucy. I am heart whole. I know your suspicions, Dilly; and, till they are proven true or false, Fred Hastings can have no claim upon me. Good-by! he’s waiting.

Dilly. Good-by, Lucy! (Exit Lucy, C.) The time will surely come, but when—when that old man tottering on the brink of madness shall be in his grave, when this loved home shall have passed from us, when old age and gray hairs shall be upon us. Faith,—yes, I have faith; but this watching and waiting is weary and wearing. No clew by which to work, nothing but bare suspicion; and yet I have faith. This man Hastings, after nearly five years’ absence, appears again among us. He knows I suspect him; and yet he dares to woo the sister of his betrayed friend. Oh! why don’t Harry come? If he would only write; but no, no word, no sign. Pride keeps him silent; but I know he will one day return. Heaven grant it be not too late to save his father! (Enter Butts, C.)

Butts. O Dilly, Dilly! such a crime! such an outrage, a high-handed, diabolical assault on law and justice!

Dilly. Why, Mr. Butts, what’s the matter now?

Butts. Sh—! don’t speak so loud. We must be cautious: my reputation depends upon it. I haven’t breathed a word of this to a single person; but you know since the time you managed to help Harry give me the slip, I’ve had a great respect for you, and always come to you for advice.

Dilly. What is this new outrage?

Butts. A forgery, a stupendous forgery.

Dilly. Here in our village?

Butts. No: in California.

Dilly. California! What’s that to do with us?

Butts. A great deal to do with me, Dilly; for I am the humble individual destined to bring the perpetrator to justice.

Dilly. You, Mr. Butts?

Butts. Listen, Dilly. Three months ago, the Malone Bank of Sacramento lost twelve thousand dollars by the payment of a check purporting to be signed by the firm of Dunshaw & Co., wine-merchants, presented by one John Robinson a noted gambler and stock-speculator. Three days after, the check was found to be a forgery. In the mean time, the said John Robinson had embarked in a steamer bound for New York. The firm of Dunshaw & Co. immediately offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the arrest of the said John Robinson. I have just received a note from some unknown party, giving me the intelligence of the forgery, and acquainting me with the fact that the said John Robinson is in this vicinity. Five thousand dollars! Why, Dilly, I shall be a rich man.

Dilly. When you get the forger.

Butts. Precisely. That won’t be long. I’ve got my eye on him.

Dilly. You suspect.

Butts. Do I! I tell you, Dilly, when Butts gets his eye on a culprit, there’s no escape.

Dilly. Mr. Butts, didn’t Mr. Hastings come here from California?

Butts. He did. By the by, he might give me information,—valuable information.

Dilly. Suppose he should be John Robinson?

Butts. Oh, pooh, pooh, Dilly. It isn’t possible. Suspect him? why you’re not so sharp as I gave you credit for. He’s here openly. Do you suppose John Robinson would travel about in his original hair and whiskers? No, John Robinson is disguised. I’ve got my eye on him. There’s been a very suspicious character prowling about the village for the last two days. It’s him, John Robinson. But he won’t prowl much longer. Oh, no! Butts has his eye on him, Butts has his eye on him. Good-by, Dilly! Don’t speak of this,—not a word, not a syllable. Five thousand dollars! He’s trapped, he’s trapped. (Exit C.)

Dilly. This is very strange. Why should this John Robinson come here? I wish this matter was in any other hands than those of Mr. Butts. Zealous as he appears, he was never known to ferret out any crime of more importance than that of robbing an orchard. He’ll be sure to make some mistake. (Enter Mrs. Loring, R.)

Mrs. L. I have persuaded the doctor to lie down, Dilly. Can I be of any assistance to you?

Dilly. No, thank you.

Mrs. L. The interest on the mortgage is due to-morrow.

Dilly. O auntie, I know it is; and we have not the money to pay it. I know not where to go to procure it. We must ask Mr. Hartshorn for further time.

Mrs. L. I fear that will be useless. Mr. Hartshorn is the principal of a rival seminary: he has long desired to possess this place; and, I fear, will not let the opportunity pass when he can procure it at a very low price.

Dilly. Oh, do not say that, auntie! If he refuses, who will aid us?

Bob. (Outside C.) Just my luck! (Enter, C. with carpet-bag.) Halloo, here you are, here you are!

Dilly. (Rushing up, and seizing his hand.) Why, Bob Winders, you dear old fellow! where did you come from? I declare I must hug you. (Throws her arms round his neck.)

Bob. That’s right, Dilly. Hug away. I like it: it’s just my luck. (Gives his hand to Mrs. L.) Mrs. Loring, I’m glad to see you looking so well.

Mrs. L. Robert, welcome, a thousand times welcome.

Bob. Well, now, that’s hearty. Dilly, how you’ve grown! My eyes, what a bouncer!

Dilly. Why, Bob, how you have altered!

Bob. Altered. I suppose you refer to my weight. “How are the mighty fallen!” Well, I flatter myself I have altered, and for the better. It’s a deused sight more comfortable; and there’s no end to the money saved. Provisions have sensibly lowered in price, and the tailors look decidedly gloomy, since I’ve donned this slender habit. I’ll tell you how it came about. When I presented myself to my respected parent on my return from school, his first exclamation was, “Good gracious! how fat that boy grows!” followed by a lengthy survey of my by no means diminutive person. “This will never do, boy: you must travel.” Being of an obedient disposition, and being plentifully supplied with funds, I did travel. I first attempted to cross the ocean, was shipwrecked, and for twenty days skimmed the cold ocean in an open boat, my daily food being one biscuit. It would naturally be supposed that a loss of superabundant flesh would follow. It didn’t. I increased in weight. Finally, after much tribulation, I reached England. I was blown up on the Thames: not an ounce of my flesh forsook me. I was smashed up on a railroad. Flesh still immovable. Paraded Paris, rushed into Russia, sighed in Siberia, peeked into Pekin, leaned against the Leaning Tower at Pisa, roamed in Rome, swam in Greece, picked a bone in Turkey, and finally brought up in California, weighing twenty pounds more than when I left home. Just my luck! But here Providence befriended me. I started for the mines. Domesticated myself in a little place called Leankin, was persuaded to run for office, and, by the time the campaign was over, I was run with a vengeance,—run out of pocket, run off the track by my opponent, and run down to my present slender proportions.

Dilly. O Bob! you’ve been unfortunate. I’m so sorry!

Bob. Unfortunate!—not a bit of it. When I’d lost all my money, I fell in with my partner,—a glorious fellow my partner. We worked in the mines together till we had amassed a snug little capital, then started business in San Francisco; and to-day there is no more successful firm in California than that of Winders & Co.

Dilly. I’m so glad! But, Bob, have you no tidings of our Harry?

Bob. Harry! Why, Harry’s here, isn’t he?

Dilly. Have you forgotten the events of five years ago?

Bob. Oh, I remember! Harry ran away to escape being jugged by old Butts.

Dilly. And you know nothing of him?

Bob. Me! Why, bless you! how should I know any thing about him? Hasn’t he been heard of?

Dilly. Since that day we have never heard of or from him. His poor father has been very ill, and now is almost bereft of reason.

Bob. You don’t mean it! This will be news for Har—I mean my partner.

Dilly. Your partner? What is this to him?

Bob. Oh, nothing! only he is naturally interested in any thing that interests me; that’s all.

Mrs. L. Yes, Robert, your old master has seen sad times since you left. This house is mortgaged, and must now pass from him.

Bob. No! You don’t mean it?

Dilly. The interest is due to-morrow, and we’ve no money to pay it. Oh, if Harry were only here!

Bob. As he isn’t, let me be your banker. Here’s my wallet: it’s in the condition in which I was five years ago,—it’s overburdened, and wants tapping.

Dilly. No, no, Bob! You are very kind; but we have no claim upon you, and I could not think of taking your money.

Bob. Claim! confound it! Isn’t this the home of my old master? and do you suppose I am going to stand by and see it pass from his hands when I have plenty? No, Dilly. Harry and I were brothers here at school; and, when his father is in trouble, I’m bound to aid him for the good he has done me, lickings and all.

Dilly. Oh, no, no, Bob! do not ask me to take it.

Bob. Well, then, I won’t. Mrs. Loring, who holds this mortgage?

Mrs. L. Mr. Hartshorn.

Bob. Then I shall do myself the honor to call upon Mr. Hartshorn, and put him in good spirits by paying the interest.

Mrs. L. O Robert! you have a kind heart.

Bob. Have I? Well, I’ve got a full purse too, and it’s pretty heavy; and, as I’ve got rid of heavy weights, if this doesn’t lighten soon, I shall throw it into the lake.

Mrs. L. Well, well, have your own way.

Bob. I always did. It’s just my luck. I’m very dusty. Shall I go to the old room?

Mrs. L. Yes; and I’ll show you the way. O Robert, Heaven will surely bless you. (Exit, R.)

Bob. Bless her dear old face! Dilly, it does seem good to be in this house once more.

Dilly. O Bob, we’re so glad to see you! You have comforted sorrowing hearts to-day.

Bob. Have I? Well, that’s pleasant. But, Dilly, where’s Lucy?

Dilly. She’s on the lake with Fred Hastings.

Bob. Fred Hastings! He here? Just my luck!

Dilly. Lucy will be glad to see you, Bob.

Bob. I hope she will, Dilly; for I’ve come a great ways to see her. Good-by! (Exit, R.)

Dilly. Good-by! Dear old fellow! how fond Harry was of him! Ah, me! if Harry would only come now! (Turns, and meets Harry, who has entered, C., disguised as an old man, gray wig, beard, red shirt, and sailor trousers.)

Harry. A morsel of food, I beg. I have travelled far, and I am very hungry.

Dilly. Hungry! Poor old man, sit down. I will bring you some food. No one is ever refused in this house. (Exit, R.)

Harry. Thanks, thanks! Heaven bless you! Home again at last, after five long years; once more I stand within the dear old house. How familiar every thing looks! There’s the arm-chair in which father sat, the little stool on which I nestled at his side, there’s Aunt Loring’s knitting-work, and Lucy’s book,—every thing just as it was in the old times; and that was Dilly, my little Dilly, grown to woman’s estate. Oh! how I long to clasp her in my arms! They told me I must not come in here; but I could not help it. I must know if I am remembered here, or if the bitter accusation made against me has driven me from these hearts. (Enter Dilly, with meat and bread, which she places on table, R. C.)

Dilly. There, that’s the best I can do. You are heartily welcome. Sit down, and make yourself comfortable.

Harry. Thanks, thanks! (Sits R. of table.) I’m so hungry! You have a kind heart, a kind heart, young lady! Heaven will surely bless you for your kindness to a poor old wanderer.

Dilly. Now, don’t stop to be complimentary.

Harry. (Pretending to eat, but watching Dilly attentively.) May I ask whose house this is?

Dilly. This is Dr. Harlem’s house.

Harry. Dr. Harlem, Dr. Harlem? Oh! I remember,—the master of the seminary.

Dilly. Are you acquainted here?

Harry. Long ago, long ago! In better days I knew this place.

Dilly. But you don’t eat.

Harry. Oh, yes! I do. I’m very hungry. Dr. Harlem,—he was a kind, good gentleman.

Dilly. Ay, that he was and is. But times have sadly changed. Illness has almost unsettled his reason.

Harry. (Starting up.) Gracious heavens!

Dilly. How you startle me! What ails you?

Harry. (Recovering himself.) Nothing, nothing. I’m very old, and the fear of losing my reason haunts me. When you spoke of that old man, you startled me. I beg your pardon.

Dilly. Well, sit down. If you don’t eat, I shall fear you are not pleased with what I have prepared.

Harry. But I do eat (eating ravenously); don’t you see I do? I’m very hungry. (After a pause.) Dr. Harlem,—are you his daughter?

Dilly. Oh, no! His daughter Lucy is on the lake.

Harry. But didn’t he have a son?

Dilly. Yes, he has a son.

Harry. Yes, yes, I remember!—a wild, reckless lad. He was sent to prison. He was a forger.

Dilly. ’Tis false! He was noble, generous, and good; and those who dare accuse him of crime are base slanderers.

Harry. (Aside.) She’s true, she’s true! (Aloud.) I beg your pardon; I was told—

Dilly. Told?—how dare you, beneath his father’s roof, partaking of his charity, repeat this falsehood? Oh, shame, shame, upon you!

Harry. I beg your pardon once more. It was ungrateful in me, I spoke without thought. Forgive me, I will go.

Dilly. No, no, sit down! Forgive me; for it was wrong in me to speak thus to one who never knew Harry.

Harry. Ah! Harry has a warm friend in you.

Dilly. I hope he has; for his kindness to me can never be repaid. For five years, every thought of mine has been to find some way to clear him, some way to prove his innocence. But, alas! his father’s illness has required all my attention; has kept me at his side: and I have found no way to serve him.

Harry. If he is innocent, wait: the time will come when the truth will triumph. Have faith, my child, have faith.

Dilly. I have, I have! But you’re not eating.

Harry. Oh, yes, I am; for I am very hungry. Heaven bless you for your kindness to an old man (placing his hand on her head), and bless you for your trust in one who wanders through the earth with a blasted name.

Doctor. (Outside, R.) Dilly, Dilly, here, quick!

Dilly. The doctor calls me; I must go. Now make yourself comfortable; I’ll soon return. (Exit, R.)

Harry. My father’s voice!—sick, almost bereft of reason; and I cannot go to him. The sight of me might kill him. O false friend! the time will come, the time will come! Heaven send it soon, or my heart will break. (Sinks into chair R. of table, and buries his face in his hands. Enter Butts, C., very stealthily.)

Butts. Five thousand dollars! Now, who would imagine that mass of hair and old clothes was worth five thousand dollars? And yet it is. Once within the clutches of this limb of the law, I’m a rich man. Oh, ho, Butts, you’re a sharp one, you are! (Strikes his hand on table.) Wake up, you’re wanted. (Harry raises his head.) At last we meet.

Harry. Meet! Who are you?

Butts. Oh, you don’t know me! Well, that’s not singular; but I know you; I’ve had my eye on you: you’re a deep one, you are! But I’ve got you! California too hot, hey? Well, we’ll give you a warm corner here, John Robinson. Oh! I know you: you can’t humbug Butts. Suppose I should tell you just when you left California, John Robinson? how much money you took, John Robinson?—suppose I should lay my hand on your shoulder, John Robinson, and say you are my prisoner, John Robinson,—what would you say, John Robinson?

Harry. That, if you lay a finger on me (producing a pistol, and presenting it), I’ll blow what little brains you have into yonder lake.

Butts. (Dropping under the table.) Murder! put up that infernal machine. Help, murder!

Harry. Shut up! If you speak again you’re a dead man. Come out here! (Butts obeys.) Now take a seat, and make yourself comfortable.

Butts. (Sitting L.) Comfortable?

Harry. The tables are turned, hey, Butts?

Butts. Oh, you villain, you villain! But you can’t escape me; I’m an officer of the law; never known to take a bribe. I believe in justice, and justice will surely overtake you, John Robinson.

Harry. I sincerely hope I shall some day have justice.

Butts. The hemp has grown, the rope twisted, that will twist your little neck, John Robinson.

Harry. So you are Butts the thief-taker, are you? Well, I’m glad to meet you. I’ve a little business with you. Butts, an officer of the law, who believes in justice, and yet turned his only son out of doors.

Butts. How! What do you know about my son?

Harry. I know that he is dead.

Butts. Dead! My Bill dead!

Harry. Yes; it was my hand that closed his eyes, away off in the mines of California.

Butts. My boy dead!

Harry. He told me the story of his life. He loved a poor girl, and his father turned him out of doors.

Butts. She was a vile—

Harry. Stop, Butts! She was a pure, noble woman: her only fault was loving your scamp of a son. He married her. I have his word for it and the marriage-certificate. He married her nineteen years ago; took her to the little town of Elmer, fifteen miles from here. They had a child.

Butts. A child! I never heard of that.

Harry. Oh! you was too busy looking after rogues. You forgot your own scamp of a son. When the child was four years old, the mother died, broken-hearted; for your son was a villain. Bill determined to try his luck in California. But the child was an encumbrance that must be got rid of. So one dark night, Bill took her in his arms, and started for his father’s house, to leave her on the doorsteps. But Bill, not having led a virtuous life, was wanted by certain officers of the law. They tracked him. Bill found they were after him, and, with fatherly care, flung his offspring by the roadside, and fled. He died three months ago in California.

Butts. And the child?

Harry. Ah! the child is safe.

Butts. Thank Heaven for that! Where is she, my grandchild?

Harry. Safe, I tell you. I, and I alone, know where to find her.

Butts. John Robinson, you’re a noble—no—I mean you’re a—Oh! lead me to her. I’m an old man. This child—I long to clasp her in my arms.

Harry. Lead you? Well, Butts, under the circumstances, that is a very cool proposition. You forget: by your own admission, I am your prisoner.

Butts. You are free, only give me the child.

Harry. Five thousand dollars for John Robinson, hey, Butts?

Butts. If it were fifty thousand dollars, give me the child, and you are free.

Harry. I’m astonished, Butts! you an officer of the law, never known to take a bribe!

Butts. Oh, curse the law! John Robinson, if you are a man, lead me to that child.

Harry. On one condition, Butts.

Butts. Name it.

Harry. There’s a man named Belmer stopping at the village inn: bring him here in half an hour.

Butts. And the child?

Harry. Bring Belmer here in half an hour, and the child shall be placed in your arms.

Butts. Bless you, John Robinson, you’re a trump! I’ll be here in half an hour. Robinson, you’re a brick! (Exit, C.)

Harry. So the train is laid. I’ll take myself off, lest the sight of that dear girl’s face unman me. If all works well, when next I enter here none shall have cause to blush for Harry Harlem. (As he is about to exit, C., he meets Lucy, who enters, C. He stands aside, bows, and hurries out, C.)

Lucy. A strange old man! Who can he be?

(Enter Fred, C., Lucy sits, R.)

Fred. Lucy, I entreat you unsay those words. Give me at least the power to hope.

Lucy. No, Fred: I am convinced a union between us would be unhappy.

Fred. But give me some reason, Lucy. You love another?

Lucy. No.

Fred. Then why reject me? I love you truly, devotedly. Become my wife; and, if you do not love me now, I will find some way to make you.

Lucy. No, Fred: I repeat it is impossible. My father needs my care. Were he well, I think he would not sanction it, and—and—

Fred. Lucy, you are not just to me or your father. He needs your care: he needs something more than that. I know how his small fortune has gradually dwindled away, that his house is mortgaged, that he has not a penny in the world. Become my wife, Lucy. I am rich. Give me the power to aid him?

Lucy. No, no, Fred: better as it is. Dilly, Aunt Loring, I, will work night and day to gain for him every comfort.

Fred. But think, Lucy. The best you can do will only make him comfortable for a little while. With a pressing creditor like Hartshorn, this house must at last be given up.

Lucy. I know it must, I know it must. Heaven help my poor father!

Fred. I offer you my hand: accept, and to-morrow the mortgage shall be paid, principal and interest. See, Lucy, I’m at your feet. I love you truly, sincerely.

Lucy. My poor father! What shall I do? oh, who will aid us now? (Enter Bob, R., with fishing-pole, stumbles against Fred, who is kneeling.)

Bob. Just my luck! I beg your pardon. Why, Lucy!

Lucy. (Rushing to him.) Bob Winders, dear Bob, how glad I am to see you! (Throws her arm round his neck.)

Bob. Just my luck! Why, Lucy, I hardly knew you.

Fred. (Aside.) What sent him here at this time? (Aloud.) Bob, old boy, where did you drop from? (Gives his hand.)

Bob. Why, Fred, is it you, still fluttering round the old flame, hey? Where did I drop from? From the four quarters of the globe. I’ve been in England, France, Russia, everywhere, including California.

Fred. California!

Bob. Yes, California. It’s a fine place, California, the Golden State. Lots of gold to be got by digging; and, if you object to that, money can be easily got by signing your name to a slip of paper. Just before I left, a chap raised twelve thousand dollars by putting a name to a blank check. But it wasn’t his name; ’twas the name of Dunshaw & Co.: his was John Robinson. “O Robinson, how could you do so?”

Fred. It was discovered.

Bob. Of course it was. Robinson sloped; but he’ll be caught, he’ll be caught! Lucy, I see you are engaged. I’m going out to try the trout. I used to like the sport; and I rather think the trout liked me, for I never managed to hook many of them. Just my luck! Good-by!

Lucy. Oh, don’t go, Bob! I want to talk to you. I’ve scarcely seen you.

Bob. Well, there isn’t so much of me to see as there was. But I’ll be back soon. (Aside.) There’s popping going on here, so I’d best pop off. (Exit, C.)

Lucy. The dear old fellow, Harry was so fond of him! Don’t you think he has altered, Fred?

Fred. Very much, Lucy. But he is still the same blundering fellow he always was. But for him, just now, I should have had your answer, I think your favorable answer.

Lucy. I have told you, Fred, I do not love you. Do not, I entreat you, urge me to a course I know I should regret. I would do any thing for father—

Fred. Then marry me, Lucy. Give me your hand. I will wait for your love.

Lucy. To save my father, Fred— (Enter Dilly, R.)

Dilly. Lucy, our old friend Bob Winders has arrived. Have you seen him?

Fred. (Aside.) Confound that girl! she’s always in the way.

Lucy. Yes, he passed through here just now: I never saw such a change. (Enter Doctor, R., with the portfolio used in Act 1.)

Doctor. Dilly, Dilly, don’t scold! I wandered into your room in search of you. I picked up your portfolio; and I want you to write to Harry.

Dilly. Write to Harry?

Doctor. Yes: write to Harry. Tell him to come home: we want him. Don’t you understand, child? Write, write, write!

Dilly. (Takes the portfolio. The Doctor sits in an arm-chair, L. C.) What can I say to him, doctor?

Doctor. Say—say? What can you say to Harry? I believe the child is mad. Say that we want him here; that his old father’s heart is breaking, breaking, breaking. You want him, don’t you, Dilly?

Dilly. Heaven knows I do!

Doctor. Then write: quick, quick! (Dilly sits behind table, R. C., and opens the portfolio.)

Fred. Ah, Dilly, I see you still preserve my present of five years ago.

Dilly. Preserve it? Yes; but I have never opened it. The memory of that day is not pleasant to recall. Now, doctor, you shall tell me what to write.

Doctor. Commence “Dear, dear Harry.”

Dilly. Oh, of course! “Dear, dear Harry”— (drops her pen, starts, and remains with her hands clasped, her eyes fixed upon the portfolio. Aside.) What do I see? am I dreaming?

Doctor. Yes, “Dear, dear Harry.” He is dear,—my own dear son. Who says he’s dead? It’s false: he stood by my bed last night. Who says he’s a forger? ’Tis false. He’s a good boy, a good boy—first in his class—the largest number of credits—no checks for Harry Harlem! Checks! they said he forged my name,—the name of his old father; and they took him, put him in prison, and hanged him by the neck till he was dead, dead, dead. A forger! ’tis false, false, false.

Lucy. Why, Dilly, what’s the matter?

Fred. (Approaching table.) Dilly, child, what ails you?

Dilly. (Starting up, and closing the portfolio.) Away, away!—you, of all men! I beg your pardon: I know not what ails me. (Takes portfolio, and comes down, L.) (Aside.) The proof, the proof at last! What shall I do? who trust? I dare not leave Fred Hastings here with Lucy: I fear his influence. Oh, if I could but make the doctor understand!

Doctor. Have you written, Dilly?

Dilly. Not yet, doctor (sits on stool at his side, L.) I want to talk with you first; I want to tell you a story.

Doctor. But I don’t want to hear a story; I want you to write to Harry.

Dilly. Listen to me a moment, doctor. You’ll like this story: it’s about a boy very much like Harry.

Doctor. Then he was a good boy, a good boy!

Dilly. Yes, he was a good boy until he gained a friend, a false friend, who led him into temptation.

Fred. (Aside.) What is the girl up to now?

Dilly. This false friend taught him to gamble.

Doctor. That wasn’t like Harry: he never gambled.

Dilly. He lost a large sum he could not pay. The false friend proffered assistance; gave him a check purporting to be signed by the boy’s father, with a very plausible story to account for its being in his possession.

Fred. (Aside.) What is she driving at?

Dilly. The fraud was discovered; the boy punished.

Doctor. The boy! It should have been the friend.

Dilly. You’re right, doctor; it should. But the proof was strong against the boy, and he suffered. Even his own father believed him guilty.

Doctor. False friend! false father!

Dilly. But the boy had another friend, weak but true: five years after, among the papers of this false friend, she found the proof to clear the boy.

Doctor. Proof! What was it?

Dilly. (Opening portfolio.) It was like this, doctor.

Doctor. Like this?—like this?—Why, I see nothing. A portfolio blotting-paper!

Dilly. But on the paper?

Doctor. Marks, nothing but marks. Yes, yes, they assume shape,—Aug. 1, Aug. 1. Gracious heavens! what is this? what is this?

Fred. I see it all. (Rushes up, and seizes the portfolio.) Girl, girl, would you kill the old man? You must not so excite him: no more of this. I’ll fling this accursed thing into the lake. (Runs up, C., and throws the portfolio off.)

Dilly. What have you done? what have you done?

Fred. Saved the old man from a fever. No more of your confounded stories, Dilly.

Dilly. Fred Hastings, you are a villain! In that portfolio is the proof of your guilt: it shall not be destroyed. (Runs up, C.; Hastings seizes her by the wrist.)

Fred. Hold, mad girl! Hard words; but, for the sake of the old man, I forgive you. If that portfolio contains proof of my guilt, it’s too late now: it’s at the bottom of the lake. Who can bring it thence? (Enter Bob, C.)

Bob. Just my luck! I knew that lake contained bouncing trout; but I never knew before that it produced any thing so nearly resembling a flounder. (Holds up portfolio.)

Dilly. It’s mine, mine, Bob.

Fred. Curse that fellow! He’s always in the way.

Dilly. Listen all. I charge that man Hastings with the perpetration of the forgery of which Harry Harlem was accused five years ago. The proof is here. On the blotting-leaves of this portfolio once owned and used by him are indelibly impressed the written lines of the check,—“Aug. 1, 1858. Seventy-five—Andrew Harlem,”—left there when he blotted the check. (Enter Mrs. Loring, R.)

Lucy. Gracious heavens!

Mrs. L. Is it possible?

Bob. By thunder!

Doctor. I don’t understand, Dilly; I don’t understand.

Fred. You’re right, doctor: it is hard to understand, especially as Harry and I were such good friends. We used our writing materials in common. Of course, he wrote the check on that portfolio; that’s plain.

Lucy. Mr. Hastings, I remember the words with which you presented that portfolio to Dilly, “Should I ever become a great man, you can boast you possess something which no one but I have ever used.”

Dilly. His very words.

Fred. You, too, turn against me, Lucy?

Lucy. To clear a dear brother’s name, against you and all the world.

Bob. (Aside.) Ah, ha! I shall have her yet: it’s just my luck.

Fred. My friends, I pity your delusion. It is natural we should stand by those we love; but this is a clear case. Harry Harlem is now an outcast skulking from justice, while I—Who dare accuse me of any crime? (Enter Harry, C., disguised.)

Harry. Be that task mine.

Dilly. That old man again!

Fred. Yours! Pray may I inquire who you are?

Harry. One who for five years has watched your course, knowing you to be a villain, waiting for the proof; one who has watched you first squander the rich inheritance of your father, then fall among the ruined and degraded, living as a speculator and gambler; one who has proof of your last crime, the forging of the name of Dunshaw & Co.,—the hunted felon under the name of John Robinson. (Enter Butts, C.)

Butts. John Robinson here! then who the deuse are you?

Harry. Belmer—did you find him?

Butts. Mr. Belmer waits without.

Fred. Belmer—that name! He here? Then I am caught at last.

Harry. Yes: Belmer, the detective of Sacramento, waits for you. Shall I call him in?

Fred. No, no: I’ll see him outside. So, so! run to earth like a fox! Well, I’ll put a good face on it. Friends, I have a pressing engagement; will you excuse me? I should not have come to this place; but—but—

Lucy. Fred, Mr. Hastings, you once professed a regard for me: if it was sincere, I beg you clear my brother’s name.

Fred. For your sake, Lucy, yes. I did forge the name of Dr. Harlem to the check used by Harry.

Dilly, Lucy, Harry. (Together.) At last!

Fred. At last? (To Harry.) Who are you that to-day stand forth as my accuser?

Harry. One who, after five long years of absence, now stands beneath his father’s roof cleared of every semblance of stain. (Tears off his wig and beard.)

Fred. Harry Harlem!

Dilly. (Rushing into his arms.) My Harry, my Harry! Oh, welcome, welcome! Here, doctor, doctor, Harry’s come! Harry’s come!

Doctor. (Starts up.) Harry’s come! Where is he? where is my boy?

Harry. (Kneeling.) Here, at your feet, dear father.

Doctor. My boy, my dear boy, we’ve waited long for you; but I knew that you would come.

Lucy. Dear, dear brother! (Embracing him.)

Harry. Lucy, best of sisters!

Bob. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the junior partner of the firm of Winders & Co.

Dilly. Your partner!

Harry. Yes, Dilly, my true and fast friend. From the day I left here, we’ve been inseparable. A true friend, a true friend!

Fred. If you will pardon me, I think I’ll go.

Butts. I think you’d better. Mr. Belmer is very anxious to see you.

Fred. Butts, you’re a stupid old fool. (Exit, C.)

Bob. He can’t help that: it’s just his luck.

Butts. I think I’d better follow him.

Harry. No: Belmer will secure him. Never fear.

Mrs. L. Harry, welcome home once more!

Harry. Ah, Aunt Loring, still as buxom as ever! thanks, thanks!

Doctor. Well, I declare I feel like a new man.

Dilly. Ah, I told you Harry would make all right.

Doctor. Ah, that he has. I’ll open school again.

Butts. I say, Harry, you’ve no ill will against me?

Harry. Ah, Butts, I’ve no ill will against any one now, I’m so happy.

Butts. The child, Harry?

Harry. Dilly, how can I ever repay you for your kindness to my father, for your faith in me? To you I owe the good name I bear to-day: how can I repay you?

Dilly. O Harry, you ask me that?—you to whom I owe my happiness, this dear home, these kind friends?

Harry. Dilly, you have a relative living.

Dilly. A relative?

Harry. Yes, a grandfather. Your father died in California: I know his history. Your mother is also dead. Your father’s name was William Butts.

Butts. And I’m your grandfather. O Dilly, Dilly! who’d have thought it?

Dilly. You my grandfather!

Harry. There is no mistake: you are his grandchild. I have the proofs.

Butts. Come right here and kiss me. Who would have thought it? Why, Dilly, this accounts for your being such a thief-taker: it runs in the blood.

Bob. (Aside.) Precious little inheritance in that line she received from you.

Dilly. You my grandfather! Is it possible? Then I am really somebody after all.

Butts. Somebody? Yes, indeed! Grandchild of Jonathan Wild Butts!

Dilly. But I don’t want to be anybody’s grandchild. Harry’s my father: I don’t want any other. And, if I am to go away from here,—

Harry. Don’t be frightened, Dilly. It’s a good thing to know you have relatives; but I do not propose to renounce my claim. You are my rightful property: I found you by the roadside when deserted by your father. I will still claim relationship; but, Dilly, it must now be as your husband.

Dilly. My husband!

Harry. Yes, Dilly, be my wife. I have had you in my thoughts night and day for the last five years. You have proved your love for me as a sister; now I shall claim a dearer title.

Dilly. O Harry, I do not deserve it!

Doctor. She does, Harry; and, if you don’t marry her at once, I will.

Butts. What! rob me of my grandchild just when I have discovered my treasure? I don’t like it.

Dilly. Oh, yes, you do, grandpa! for I shall love you dearly, I know; that is, if you let me have my own way.

Butts. And that way is into the arms of a husband, I suppose?

Dilly. (Giving her hand to Harry.) So Harry says; and I always do just what Harry tells me.

Harry. Dear, dear Dilly!

Bob. So, Harry, you’re going to take a new partner into the concern?

Harry. Yes, Bob: remember the Scripture injunction, “Go, and do thou likewise.”

Bob. Lucy, what say you? Will you take an interest in the concern? The senior partner is desperately in love with you.

Lucy. O Bob, you’ve been a kind friend to my brother Harry!

Bob. That’s got nothing to do with it. I’m getting rid of all superfluous stock; and I find I’ve got too much heart. So I’ll throw it into the market. If you want it, it’s yours at your own price. Yes: I’ll take yours, and call it an even trade.

Lucy. Well, I suppose I must say it’s a bargain.

Bob. Thank you: we’ll just put a revenue stamp on that contract (kisses). I’ve got the best of the bargain: just my luck!

Doctor. Ah, that’s right, that’s right! just as it should be! We’re a happy family now, thanks to Dilly! Ah! we have much to thank her for.

Harry. Ay, that we have! Father, your words have come true at last,—“Cast thy bread upon the waters,”—

Dilly. “For thou shalt find it after many days.”

Doctor. Yes, yes: returning peace and happiness after many days, after many days.

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS.

R., BOB, LUCY, DOCTOR, HARRY, DILLY, BUTTS, MRS. LORING, L.