“Mr. Holt is a teacher, I believe,” said Ruth Warren, who found herself growing much interested in the Holt family.
“Yes, out in Colorado; he had to go there for his health, and that is why we are here,” was the reply, given with quiet dignity.
Ruth Warren liked Mrs. Holt all the better because she did not attempt to make any apology for keeping a market-garden, or to explain their poverty, which was evident from the shabby furniture and plain clothing.
“I wish they would begin,” sighed Alice, who was feeling rather left out of things and who had all this time kept her eyes turned away from the stairs, where mysterious preparations were going on.
“You may turn ’round now,” called out Ben, starting the red light. So the audience faced expectantly toward the stage which was formed by the wide landing four steps up the stairway.
Ben, jerking back the pink curtain, announced in a deep, dramatic tone: “Priscilla, the Puritan Maiden.”
Beside a real spinning-wheel sat Elsa with a white cap over her golden hair and a white kerchief across her shoulders,—a demure little Puritan maiden, her face very rosy under the red light.
The applause from the audience was hearty and prolonged. Alice clapped louder than any one else. But after the curtain was drawn forward, she slipped her hand into her mother’s and said wistfully, “I do wish my foot was well so I could be in the shows.”
“Think of the little Convalescent children, my darling,” said Mrs. Holt in a low tone, replacing the afghan which Alice had restlessly pushed away. “Think how some of them keep still all the time.”
A moment later Alice’s face dimpled with smiles as Ben drew aside the curtain and said in his stage voice: “Little Red Riding-hood.”