And such was the case on this Thanksgiving night. Most of the audience was made up of farmers out holiday-making with their families, factory girls from the silk mills and a few storekeepers and clerks.
"I am glad there are so few people here," observed Grace, looking around the scanty audience; "because, if we have to resort to my scheme, it will make it much easier and less dangerous."
"What in the world is it?" pleaded Jessica.
"Never mind," answered her friend. "I'm afraid you'll object, so I won't tell until the last minute."
Just then a wheezy orchestra struck up a march and the High School party settled down in their seats, each with a secret feeling that it was rather good fun, in spite of the peculiar reason that had taken them there.
"Here he is," said Nora, pointing to the name on the programme. "He takes the part of Amos Lord, owner of the woolen mills."
At that moment the lights went down and the music stopped short. The curtain rolled up slowly disclosing the front of a church. It was night and lights gleamed through the stained glass windows. Snow was falling and from the church came the sound of organ music playing the wedding march. The picture was really very impressive, although the music was somewhat throaty and the flakes of snow were larger than life-size.
But who was it half lying, half sitting on the church steps, shivering with cold?
The girls had not been so often to the theater that they could afford to be disdainful over almost any passable play, and from the very moment the curtain went up their interest was aroused. Certainly, there was something extremely romantic and interesting about the lonely little figure on the church steps.
"That's the heroine," whispered Jessica. "Her name is Evelyn Chase."