At last everything was in readiness. Figures of wire dangled in the breeze over the entrance and the puppets sat on the shelves ready for their part in the show. Behind a screen were the props for Billy the Goat. The set for Peter and Wendy was hauled out of the shed. There were only twenty campers, but all twenty were eager to shine.
It was a perfect day. The parents and guests arrived at ten in the morning and would stay through lunch. They sat on the hard, backless benches in the hot sun of the compound and watched the program with enthralled interest. When it was over, the applause was terrific.
Lunch time was a mad scramble. The children rushed to extract their individual lunches from the heap of lunch boxes, all singularly alike. Drinks and ice cream had to be taken from the coolers and benches carried up the hillock to the grove of aspen trees. Everyone, or nearly everyone, helped. Mrs. Freiborg, assisting Lynne and Judy to carry one of the benches, never ceased to express her enthusiasm.
“And,” she continued as they awkwardly struggled up the path, “I can’t thank you enough, Lynne, for all you’ve done for Anne.”
Lynne gave a pleased smile and Mrs. Freiborg went on. “I don’t say that Anne was the most wonderful Wendy, but that she consented to play the role at all surprised me. It was always Peter she fancied and yet she played Wendy with such feeling.”
“Let’s drop the bench right here,” Lynne said. “I’m too tired to carry it any further.” She sat on it and motioned the others to do the same.
“Don’t thank me for Anne’s performance. Judy is the little wizard who deserves our thanks. I helped occasionally with the direction. Allen and the farmer who owns this property built Wendy’s house out of some discarded plywood. Luckily it didn’t fall apart as it did at one of the rehearsals. But Judy selected the sketch, cast the players, and produced it.”
Mrs. Freiborg smiled, “Judy?”
“Yes,” Lynne answered. “She had the idea that Anne would rid herself of the concept of not wanting to grow up by having her take the part of Wendy, a mother image. A sense of responsibility, a maturity would develop—gradually.”
“Lynne,” Judy interrupted, bewildered by these high-flown words, “you know I didn’t figure it out that way! I just thought it would do Anne good to look after someone else, like the Lost Boys—and after the first try-out, I saw she could do it.”