Switha (running in). I thought I smelled them burning! Oh, thou lazy, useless fellow! Thou art ready enough to eat the cakes, but too lazy to keep them from burning. No wonder thou hast no home, idle as thou art.

Alfred. I pray thee, good dame, forgive me. I was lost in thought of happier days and forgot my duty. Really I am sorry.

Switha. Ay, ay, that is always the way with thee. That smooth tongue of thine is better to thee than silver or gold; for it obtains for thee food, lodging, and friends, and softens all the wrath thy faults provoke. However, I shall set by all the burnt cakes for thy portion of the week's bread, I promise thee; and thou shalt have no other till they are all eaten.

Alfred. My good mistress, here comes a pilgrim boy to ask thy charity. May I bestow one of these cakes on him?

Switha. Thou mayest do what thou wilt with thine own, man! but do not presume to give away my property to idle fellows like thyself.

Alfred. But, mistress, may I not give him that which was to have been my portion for dinner?

Switha. No, indeed! I have enough to do with feeding one vagrant without adding all the lazy pilgrims who pass by.

Alfred. See, mistress, my amulet! I will give thee this jewel, Switha, if thou wilt permit me to feed this poor pilgrim.

Switha. Very well, then. Give him thy portion while I go and hide the jewel.

[Goes out as Odulph enters.]

Alfred. Welcome, Odulph! Tell me thy tidings. I hunger for good news.

Odulph. My tidings, royal Alfred, are these: Hubba, the Dane, the terror of England, is slain, and his banner of the Raven waves in my father's hall!

Alfred. What? Is thy father's castle in the possession of the Danes?

Odulph. Not so, my royal master; but the banner of the Danes, captured by your victorious Saxons, hangs in his hall. We were pent up in the castle by the Danes till our provisions failed. When the last loaf was eaten, and our archers had launched their last arrows, my valiant father led the garrison in an attack upon the foe.

Alfred. Brave Oscar! And you defeated them!

Odulph. Yes, because of the carelessness of the Danes. They believed they had us in their power, and they never dreamed we would leave the castle walls. Few as we were, we fell upon them and slew their chiefs. The soldiers fled, and left our men victorious. Then my father raised the cry, "Alfred the king!" All the country is calling, "Alfred the king!"

Alfred. The time is ripe. I thank you, Odulph. Your father is a noble man, and I shall know how to show a king's gratitude to you both. Shall we go?

Odulph. Lead on, King Alfred, England is ready. Soon you shall head your army shouting, "Long live King Alfred!"



ROBIN HOOD AND THE SAD KNIGHT

PERSONS IN THE PLAY—ROBIN HOOD, LITTLE JOHN, MIDGE, WILL SCARLET, THE ABBOT, THE KNIGHT, THE PRIOR, THE LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, THE LADY

SCENE I.—In the Greenwood.

[Robin Hood and his men making arrows.]

Robin Hood. This feather is too short. Give me another, Little John. This is a better one.

Midge. Making arrows is not a simple thing, is it, my master?

Robin Hood. Indeed, no; if the feathers be too short, the arrows will not keep true to their course; and if the feathers be too long, the arrows will not fly swiftly.

Little John. If all men knew how to make arrows, their skill in shooting would seem greater. Look to your arrows, say I, before you shoot.

Will Scarlet. We should thank the gray goose for the even growth of her feathers, which carries our arrows straight to the mark.

Robin Hood. First the strong bow that bends to our hand, then the straight arrow, tough and trim, and the feathers that wing it to its mark. But best of all the steady hand and keen eye that direct our winged shaft. But you have worked well this morning, my men, and now we may rest awhile. Sing us a song, Will Scarlet, while we lie beneath the friendly oak.

Will Scarlet (sings).

The hunt is up! the hunt is up! And it is well-nigh day; And Harry our king has gone hunting To bring his deer to bay.

The east is bright with morning light, And darkness, it is fled; And the merry horn wakes up the morn To leave his idle bed.

Awake, all men! I say again Be merry as you may! For Harry our king is gone hunting To bring the deer to bay.

Little John. This song is well enough in its way, but for me, I should much prefer a good dinner. The morning's work has given me a fine appetite and I long for food.

Robin Hood. It is good to eat, but not before we find some rich traveler to pay the bill. Ride out, my man, and find us a host. Willing or unwilling, bid him come.

Little John. With right good will, my master; and may I soon meet with him!

Robin Hood. Remember well, no farmer shall you bring. He works for what he gets and shall live in peace. And the laborer who toils for wife and child you must not harm. Only those who oppress the poor and weak, those who are selfish and unkind, who play while others weep, these shall you bring to me.

Will Scarlet. But look, my master, what sorrowing knight rides there? His garments are rich and his horse gayly decked, but his countenance is sad and he rides slowly, careless of the way.

Little John. Hail, gentle knight; my master awaits you and fain would have your company at dinner.

The Knight. At dinner,—in the wood! Who is your master?

Little John. Robin Hood is he: and here he is to bid you welcome.

Robin Hood. Welcome, Sir Knight, thrice welcome art thou, for I have fasted beyond the dinner hour. Pray you, dismount.

The Knight. God save you and all your company!

Midge. The dinner is served, my master.

Robin Hood. Will you join us, Sir Knight? Here are pheasants and swans and meat of the deer.

The Knight. Such a good dinner, with so many brave men, I have not eaten for many a day. If I come again to this country, I will make thee as good a dinner. But Heaven knows when that will be!



Robin Hood. Thanks for your kind offer. But in the greenwood our guests must pay for their food. A yeoman does not pay for a rich knight!

The Knight. Sorry am I that you must call me poor. I would that I could pay you, but in my saddlebags are no more than ten shillings.

Robin Hood. Is that indeed the truth, Sir Knight? Look carefully, Little John; if the knight speaks truly, he shall keep the ten shillings, but if not—

Little John. Indeed, my master, the knight speaks truly, for this is all the money I can find.

Robin Hood. How comes it, noble knight, that thou art so poor? Come, tell me the story. Mayhap I can help thee.

The Knight. I am Sir Richard of Lea, and my ancestors have been knights for a hundred years. A year ago I had plenty of money to spend as I would. But now I have nothing for my wife and my children, who weep for my absence from them.

Robin Hood. But how did you lose all your money?

The Knight. Perhaps you will think I lost it in a foolish way. My son, whom I dearly love, is a manly youth. Well can he shoot and joust fairly in the field. But once, in a quarrel, he slew a youth, and to save him, I pledged all my lands. Unless I redeem them by All Saints Day I shall lose them all.

Robin Hood. What is the sum you are bound to pay?

The Knight. Four hundred pounds. The day is near and I have nothing.

Robin Hood. But what canst thou do if thou losest thy land? What wilt thou do?

The Knight. I will sail far away over the seas. I cannot remain in England.

Robin Hood. It is a small sum. Hast thou no friends to help thee in thy need?

The Knight. Many friends had I when I had money and lands. Now when I need their help they turn away and know me not.

Robin Hood. By my faith, gentle knight, thou shalt not want for a friend. Little John, go to the chest and count out four hundred pounds.

Will Scarlet. Shall he not have cloth for a coat, gentle master? He is thinly clad.

Robin Hood. Well said, Will Scarlet; go, get three measures of every kind, that he may be warmly and gayly clad.

Little John. Here is the money, Robin Hood, and good measure.

Robin Hood. And what will you give, Little John, who are so generous with my money?

Little John. A pair of golden spurs, that he may ride fast to his castle and redeem his lands.

The Knight. Many thanks, Little John, and to you, my good friend. Tell me, Robin Hood, when shall I come to return the money you so kindly lend me?

Robin Hood. This day twelvemonth; and a happy year may it be! We will meet under this trysting tree. Till then, be merry!

The Knight. I shall be with you a year from to-day. Farewell.

SCENE II.—In the Abbot's Hall

THE ABBOT, THE PRIOR

The Abbot. This day a year ago Sir Richard Lea borrowed four hundred pounds from me. He promised to pay in a year or lose his land. If he does not return to-day, the land will be mine.

The Prior. The day is now far spent. Perhaps he will come yet.

The Abbot. I am sure I hope he will not. I trust he has left England.

The Prior. The land is worth much more than four hundred pounds. It were a pity if he did not redeem it.

The Abbot. Thou art ever crossing me! Speak no more about it! Where is the Lord Justice?



Lord Justice (enters). Here I am. I have just come from London to do justice on that Knight. Where is he?

The Abbot. The Knight has failed to come with the money and this is the day when the land falls to me.

Lord Justice. I dare swear he will not come and thou shalt have his lands. I now declare that the knight, Sir Richard Lea, has failed to keep his promise and his lands are—

The Knight (entering and kneeling before the Abbot). Rejoice with me, Sir Abbot. I am come to keep my day.

The Abbot. What dost thou say? Hast brought the money?

The Knight (to try the Abbot). Not a penny, but—

The Abbot. What dost thou here without the money?

The Knight. To ask your kindness and patience, Sir Abbot, for a longer time.

Lord Justice. The day has come. Thou losest thy land, Sir Knight, since thou canst not pay.

The Knight. Good Lord Justice, help me against my foes! I will surely pay, but must have more time.

Lord Justice. I am sorry for thee, Sir Richard, but the law is plain. Either pay your debt or lose your land.

The Knight. Sir Abbot, I pray thee, have pity.

The Abbot. Get the land when thou canst, thou gettest no pity from me.

The Knight. By my faith, then, if I get not my land again, thou shalt pay dearly for it.

The Abbot. Get thee gone, false knight! Darest thou threaten me?

The Knight. False knight I am not, for I have fought well for my king.

Lord Justice. Sir Abbot, the day is not yet gone. What wilt thou give the knight to hold his peace?

The Abbot. A hundred pounds.

Lord Justice. Make it two hundred.

The Knight. No, nor nine hundred. Ye shall not have my land! Here, Sir Abbot, are the four hundred pounds. Had you been less covetous, I would have given interest. Now, get you gone, all of you; and learn to deal more justly and kindly with those in need. [They go out.]

Lady Lea (entering). Oh, my dear husband! how glad I am to hear your voice again.

The Knight. Happy am I to see you and to be at home again. I must tell you how kind Robin Hood has been to me.

Lady Lea. Robin Hood your friend? Is he not the outlaw of the forest?

The Knight. Yes; but he is kind to all who are unhappy or oppressed. He saved me from leaving England and gave me money to redeem my land.

Lady Lea. How I long to thank him for his goodness to you.

The Knight. In a year we will go to him and repay the four hundred pounds.

Lady Lea. I shall be glad to see him and his merry men, and try to thank them all.



WILLIAM TELL

A STORY OF SWITZERLAND. A.D. 1307

PERSONS IN THE PLAY—WILLIAM TELL; LEWIS, HIS SON; ALBERT, HIS SON; ANNETTE, HIS WIFE; LALOTTE, HIS NIECE, GESSLER, SOLDIERS

SCENE I.—At Tell's Home

Albert. Lewis, doesn't the quail smell good?

Lewis. Yes, I wish I could have some of it!

Lalotte. Hush! the quail is for your father.

Albert. I know that, Lalotte; but I am hungry, and I like quail.

Lalotte. Your father will be cold and hungry, for he has been on a long journey.

Albert. But perhaps he will not come. Mother, mother! may we have the quail if father is late? It is done now, and it will not be good if it is cooked any more.

Lalotte. Hush, you greedy boy! If I were your mother, I would send you to bed for thinking of such a thing.

Albert. You are not the mistress. You are not the mistress, and I shall not go to bed because you say so!

William Tell (at door). But you shall go to bed, young man, if your Cousin Lalotte tells you to do so. Take them to bed, Lalotte.

Albert. Oh, father! We were only joking.

Lewis. Please, father, don't send us to bed.

William Tell. I must, my boy, because it is late, and I have news for your mother. Good night, my sons.

Boys. Good night, dear father.

[They go out with Lalotte.]

William Tell. Thy father's news is not for young ears.

Annette. There is a sadness in thy voice, and trouble in thy face! Tell me what has happened to thee! Wilt thou not trust me?

William Tell. Yes, my Annette! Thou hast ever been a good wife and faithful friend. Why should I conceal my deeds from thee?

Annette. What hast thou done, my husband?

William Tell. Perhaps thou wilt blame me.

Annette. Nay, for thou art a good man, and whatever thou doest is right in my eyes.

William Tell. Thou knowest how our foreign rulers oppress the good people of Switzerland?

Annette. I do, but why should we poor peasants worry over the affairs of the nobles?

William Tell. But they are our troubles, too. So to-night I have met with three and thirty men, brave and loyal hearts, who have sworn to resist our oppressors and free our land from tyranny.

Annette. But how can three-and-thirty men think to conquer the armies of foreign tyrants?

William Tell. Sometimes great events are brought about by small means. All the people in their hearts hate the false ruler of our poor country, and many of these will willingly die for her sake.

Annette. Thou art brave, my husband, but what can so few do?

William Tell. Think of it! The father of one of our band has just been put to a cruel death. No man knows where the tyrant will strike next. Perhaps Gessler will pick me out for the next victim.

Annette. Thee! What charge could he bring against thee?

William Tell. He could say that I am the friend of my country, which in the tyrant Gessler's mind is a crime.

Annette. But Gessler will never hear of us, humble peasants. He is too far above us to care what we think.

William Tell. Not so, my dear wife. Gessler will not permit us to hold our thoughts in secret. He has a plan to discover our inmost thoughts.

Annette. What plan can he make to read our minds?

William Tell. A clever plan to tell a freeman from a slave. In Altdorf, our capital city, he has set up a pole. Upon the top of this pole he has put the cap of the Austrian king and has ordered every man to take off his hat as he passes by, to show that he yields to the Austrian rule. Is not this a brave plan? He who obeys the tyrant is a slave. Wouldst thou have thy husband doff his cap to his country's tyrant?

Annette. Never! I should despise thee, couldst thou do it!

William Tell. That is my own brave wife! Thou speakest as a free woman, the mother of free children, should speak. And our children shall be free! When I go to Altdorf I shall refuse to obey the order of Gessler and all Switzerland shall know that William Tell will not bow to a foreign tyrant.

Annette. But why go to Altdorf, my husband? Thou knowest the power of Gessler and his cruelty!

William Tell. Wouldst have me a coward? No, dear wife. When my business calls me to Altdorf I shall go and in all ways act as a free man, loyal to my country and afraid of no one.

Annette. Thou art a brave man, my husband, and I honor thee.

SCENE II.—Altdorf: The Market place

WILLIAM TELL, ALBERT, SOLDIERS, GESSLER

William Tell. Come, my son, I have sold the chamois skins, and now I must buy the things your mother wished me to get for her.

Albert. And, father, please buy some toys for little Lewis.

William Tell. You are a good boy, Albert, to remember your little brother. We will go to the shop across the square and look there for toys.

Soldier. Halt, man! Salute yonder cap!

William Tell. Why should I salute a cap of cloth?

Soldier. It is the cap of our emperor. If you do not honor the cap, you are a traitor.

William Tell. I am no traitor, and yet I will not bow down to an empty cap. I am a true Swiss and love my country.

Gessler. Ha, ha! Then we have a traitor here who will not yield to our emperor! Arrest him, my men; and we will teach him his manners. Who is this man?

Soldier. His name is William Tell, my lord.

Gessler. Insolent traitor! Bind him well.

Albert. Oh, father, I am afraid. Do not let the soldiers take me.

William Tell. Be calm, my son. No harm will come to thee.

Gessler. Indeed, and is this your son? Has he come to mock the cap of our royal master, too? Seize the boy and bind him to yonder tree.

William Tell. What will you do with the boy? Does a captain war with a child?

Gessler. We shall see. I hear you are a famous shot, William Tell, and handle well the bow and arrow. We shall soon know your skill. Have you a good arrow in your quiver? Perhaps you can shoot an apple from the head of your child.

Soldier. Where shall I bind the boy, my captain?

Gessler. To yonder tree. If his father shoots the apple from his child's head, he shall go free. If he fails he must die. Are you ready?

William Tell. Rather would I die than risk killing my eldest son. Let him go, and take my life.

Gessler. That I shall not do. You must both die unless you save your lives as I have said. Will you try the shot or are you afraid?



William Tell. Bind the boy's eyes, I beg. He might move if he saw the arrow coming, and my skill would be in vain.

Gessler. I am willing, for well I know you cannot cleave the apple at that distance.

William Tell. Tyrant! I cannot fail now, when my son's life depends upon me. Stand perfectly still, my brave boy, and father will not hurt you. Now I pray for strength—my trusty arrow must not fail me! There! [He shoots.]

Soldier. See, my captain! The apple is split! That was a fine shot!

Gessler. Yes, it was a good shot, and I did not believe anyone could make it. I suppose I must set you free. But why have you that other arrow in your hand?

William Tell. To shoot you with it had I killed my darling boy.

Gessler. Seize him, my men!

William Tell. Never! Come, Albert! This arrow for him who stops me!

Soldiers. He has escaped!



TIME AND THE SEASONS

Father Time. I must call my children together and give them orders for the New Year. Open the door, my servants, and let the Seasons appear.

Spring (entering). Here I am, Father Time. What are your commands for your youngest daughter?

Father Time. Welcome, my dainty Spring! It is your duty to call the gentle rains to fall upon the thirsting ground. Yours is the pleasant task to paint the blades of young grass a delicate green. You call the birds back from the south and rouse all nature from her winter sleep. The winds blow freshly over the earth; the clouds move here and there, bringing the rain; and the bulbs, hidden under the soil, slowly push their leaves into the sunlight. What flowers will you bring to deck the earth?



Spring. O Father Time! Look here upon my pretty flowers! Here is the snowdrop, so white and brave. It pushes its head up through the snow, which is no whiter than its own petals. And here I have a bunch of crocuses, blue, yellow, white, and of many colors. Aren't they pretty amid the grass? Then the gorgeous tulips, holding their heads so high, making the earth brilliant with their gay, bright colors. I think the golden daffodils and sweet narcissus are my favorite flowers, though I am very fond of what the children call spring beauty.

Father Time. I see, my daughter, that you love all your flower children, and that is right. All are beautiful, each in its own way. And now tell me what joys do you bring to the little children of the earth?

Spring. All the children love me. They hunt for the first flowers, they welcome the first birds returning from the south, and they prepare the garden for the seeds of flowers and vegetables. The boys play marbles everywhere, and run and laugh, filling their lungs with my life-giving air. The organ grinder plays for the children and they dance on the sidewalks, singing and calling out in delight. The trees put forth their tender leaves. The sun fills the air with golden warmth, and the world seems full of promise.

Father Time. Well done, my daughter. And now, my daughter Summer, tell me your plans for the year.

Summer. Dear father, I delay my coming until Spring has prepared the way. The air must be soft and warm to please me, and the earth must be prepared by the rains and the warm rays of the sun. The colors of my flowers are deeper and richer than those of sister Spring. I bring the lilies, the peonies, and the poppies. Best of all, the glowing roses open at my call, and fill the air with perfume.

Father Time. And the children, my fair daughter, what do you bring to them?

Summer. The dear children! I think they all like my sunny days and the long time for play. For July and August in many countries are given to the school children for their play time. Then they go to the seashore and play in the water and the sand; or to the country, where the green grass, the farmyard animals, and all the country games delight them.

Father Time. Children are so fond of play and the long summer days out-of-doors that I wonder what they think of you, my older daughter, Autumn?

Autumn. Children do like to play and I am glad they get so well and strong with the vacation my sister, Summer, gives them. Yet all children like to learn, too. We must not forget that. What joy it is to read the beautiful stories that great men and women have written for them. What delight they have in learning to write, to sing, to draw, and to make pretty objects of paper, clay, and wood.

Father Time. Yes, that is true, but have you no pleasures out-of-doors for them?

Autumn. Some people say my days are the most pleasant of the year. The gardens have many beautiful flowers, and the fruits are ripening in the orchards and vineyards. The apples hang red on the boughs, and children like to pick them and eat them, too! I have the harvest moon, the time when the farmers bring home the crops ripened by August suns, and the earth seems to gather the results of the year's work, the riches of field, orchard, and meadow. The squirrels gather their hoard of nuts and hide them away for their winter's food. Gay voices of nutting parties are heard in the woods, and all the air is filled with songs of praise and thanksgiving for the bounty of the year.

Father Time. Your work is surely one of worth and I rejoice with you, my daughter, in your happiness. You are a true friend of men, showing them that honest effort and its work will always bring proper reward. Now, my merry laughing child, what have you to tell us?

Winter. Some people think I am your oldest daughter, Father Time, but they forget that two of my months are always in the New Year. Although my hair and garments are white, the cold is only outside; my heart is warm. Have I not jolly St. Nicholas who never grows old? I cover the earth with my warmest blanket of softest snow, softer and whiter than ermine, and all the tender flowers sleep cozily and warm until sweet Spring awakes them. The children get out their sleds and skates, and the merry sleigh bells ring. What fun it is to build the snow man, and even if the hands get cold, the eyes shine brighter than in warm days and the cheeks are rosy as the reddest flower. "Hurrah for Winter!" shout the boys. The merriest holidays I have when all hearts are gay and filled with loving care for others. I would not change, dear Father Time, with any of my sisters. I say good-by to the passing year and welcome the new year. If the old year has had troubles and sorrows, all the people turn with hope to the new, and call to one another the wish, "A Happy New Year to all!"

Father Time. I am glad you are contented with the work you have to do. And now, my daughters, I must send you out upon your travels all over the world. May your coming bring peace; joy, and prosperity to all mankind!



THE GINGERBREAD MAN

PERSONS IN THE PLAY—THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN, THE GINGERBREAD MAN, THE BOY, THE FOX, CHILDREN, MEN, THE FARMER

SCENE.—Home of Little Old Woman

Little Old Woman. Now all my housework is done I think I will make some gingerbread. There is nothing quite so good for lunch as warm gingerbread and a glass of milk, or a cup of hot tea. I can make pretty good gingerbread, too, all of my friends say. Here is the flour and butter and molasses and milk. Now it is all ready to put into the pan. But I made too much this time. What shall I do with it? Nothing must be wasted in a good cook's kitchen. Oh, I know! I'll make a cunning gingerbread man for the little boy who lives next door.

Where is my knife? Now roll the dough very thin, cut out the round little head, then the neck, now the two arms, now the little fat body, and last the legs with high heels on the shoes. Well, this certainly is a fine little gingerbread man. I think I'll make a little hat with a wide brim. Now I'll put two currants for his eyes, two for his nose, three for his cute little mouth, and six for the buttons on his coat.

Then I'll sprinkle sugar and cinnamon over him and put him in the oven to bake.

Let me look at the clock. It is half past eleven. At twelve the gingerbread man will be baked, ready for the little boy when he comes home from school.

Well, I've washed the dishes, and set the table for my lunch, and it is now just twelve o'clock. I'll open the oven door and see if my gingerbread man is ready.

Oh! what was that! Why, it is the gingerbread man!

Gingerbread Man. Yes, it is the gingerbread man, and now I'll go and see the world.

Little Old Woman. Go! you mustn't go! You belong to me.

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Little Old Woman. There he goes, out of the door, just as if he were really a little boy, and not made of something good to eat! Come back; come back!

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Little Old Woman. I know I can't run as fast as he can. There he goes out of the gate. There are some men who are working in the street. I'll ask them to catch him. Help! help me catch the gingerbread man!

Men. Yes, ma'am. Where is he? Oh, there he is, the little rascal! We'll catch him.

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Men. Well, there he goes and he does run fast! Come, let us run after him!

Little Old Woman. Oh, I know the men can't run as fast as he can, and they will never catch my gingerbread man! Here are the children coming from school. I'll call them. Children, children!

Children. Yes, little old woman, here we are. What did you call us for?

Little Old Woman. Oh, my dear children, see the gingerbread man I made for the little boy next door! There he goes running as fast as he can, and I can't catch him!

Boy. And the men are running after him, and they can't catch him either. Just watch me, little woman, I'll catch him for you.

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man.

Girl. I have my roller skates on. Perhaps I can catch him!

Little Old Woman. I'm sure you can, my child.

Girl. I'll try. Look out, Mr. Gingerbread Man!

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Little Old Woman. There he goes, and none of them can catch him. Now he is near some farmers. I'll call on them to help me. Farmer, farmer, will you please help me catch the gingerbread man? There he goes over your wheat field.

Farmer. Yes, indeed, we'll help you. Here, you gingerbread man, keep out of my wheat field! Come, men; run after him and catch him.

Men. We'll catch him before he gets to the fence.



Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ah! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Little Old Woman. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! there he goes into the wood, and no one can run fast enough to catch him.

Farmer. I'm sorry, madam, but we must go back to our work on the farm.

Boy. Hark! listen! don't you hear the little gingerbread man calling?

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!

Little Old Woman. Yes, he is calling to us from the wood. I thank you, children, and now we will go home.

Gingerbread Man (in the wood). Ah, ha! and they didn't catch me! and now I am free to play in the wood. What a pleasant place!

Mr. Fox. Well, what sort of a funny little man is this?

Gingerbread Man.

Ah, ha! ah, ha! catch me, if you can! You can't catch me, I'm a gingerbread man!

Mr. Fox. Can't I? Well, I have caught you; and now let me see if you are good to eat. First, I'll try one of your arms. That tastes good!

Gingerbread Man. I'm going!

Mr. Fox. And now the other arm!

Gingerbread Man. I'm going!

Mr. Fox. Now for the leg.

Gingerbread Man. I'm going!

Mr. Fox. Really, Mr. Gingerbread Man, I think you are very good eating for a hungry fox. Now I'll taste the other leg.

Gingerbread Man. I'm going!

Mr. Fox. Now for your round little body.

Gingerbread Man. I'm going!

Mr. Fox. There is not very much left. Just your head for the last mouthful.

Gingerbread Man. I'm gone!

Mr. Fox. Yes, you're gone; and a very nice meal, Mr. Gingerbread Man.



THE GOOD FAIRY

SCENE I.—In the Wood

The Good Fairy. At last I am in this wood where I must save the Lady Alice from danger. How dark it seems here after the bright light of my skyey home. Surely I shall be glad to return to the courts of fairyland. Yet it is pleasant to be of service to the young and innocent, to those who are good and true. Some there are on earth who do not love the truth, who do not do the things that are honest and kind, and they must be punished. Kind and gentle deeds must be rewarded with our help.

Here in this dark grove dwells Comus, an evil spirit, who loves not the good. Here he finds the unlucky traveler and takes him to his court. There he offers him food and a pleasant drink. But in the glass is a potion which drives memory from the mind and makes one forget home and friends. Then the unhappy traveler loses his human head and must have the head of some animal or bird. Comus enjoys seeing his victims act like wild and foolish animals or the forest.

In this dangerous wood the Lady Alice and her brothers are wandering, and my duty it is to protect them from the evil Comus. Hark! I think I hear the noisy band. Here will I hide and listen.

[Comus and his crew enter; men and women with animal heads.]

Comus. Now the sun has gone from the western heavens and the star of night shines over us. This is the hour we love the best. All the serious, wise old people who love the day and its work are weary now and have gone to bed. We who love fun and a merry dance, we wake when the sky is flecked with golden stars. Now the moon calls the fairies from brook and fountain to play their merry games and sing. These are the joys of night in our dark and secret grove. Come, make a merry ring and dance. No care have we nor fear. We will dance and sing until the first ray of light is seen in the east.

[They dance until Comus speaks.]

Comus. Break off! break off! I hear a footstep not our own approaching this place. Run to your places lest you frighten the traveler whoever it may be.

[They disappear.]

I believe some maiden approaches. I will weave my spells and appear to her in the dress of a shepherd and she will not be afraid. Here she comes. I will step aside and learn how she happens to be alone in my grove.

[Comus hides.]

Lady Alice (entering). I thought I heard the sound of noisy merrymaking,—with music as if many were dancing. Here was the sound, but here I see no one. Alas! I should be sorry to meet rude youths, but where can I go, what can I do, left alone in this dark and gloomy wood? O my brothers, where are you? When they saw me wearied, unable to go farther, they left to find me nourishment and shelter, promising soon to return. Truly they must be lost in this vast forest. O dark night, why have you stolen the way from them and left me alone and helpless? Helpless? No, not helpless, for the good mind has helpers ever present in pure-eyed Faith and white-handed Hope. I will pray to God, who will send me a guardian to guide me to my home. What is that light I see? My brothers seek me and I will sing to them. Perhaps they are not far away and will hear my voice.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell, Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy Narcissus are? O if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!

Comus (to himself). What sweet song is this? Can any mortal sing with such charm and beauty? Such sacred and home-felt delight I never heard till now. I'll speak to her, and she shall be my queen.

Comus (dressed as a shepherd). Hail, fair goddess! for you must be more than mortal, to sing such sweet and wondrous strain.

Lady Alice. Nay, gentle shepherd. I sang not as loving my own voice, and praise is lost that falls on unattending ears. Stern necessity compelled my song.

Comus. How comes it, Lady, that you are thus alone?

Lady Alice. My brothers left me upon a grassy turf. Darkness came upon the grove, and I fear they are lost.



Comus. Were they men full grown or still young?

Lady Alice. Young and fair my brothers are.

Comus. Two such I saw, so lovely in their youthful grace I thought I looked upon some fairy scene. If these are the lads you seek, we can easily find them.

Lady Alice. Gentle villager, quickly tell me the shortest way to them!

Comus. Due west it lies.

Lady Alice. To find it out, good shepherd, would be too difficult in this darkness to a stranger.

Comus. I know every step, fair lady, for I live close by and daily tread the path in caring for my sheep. Gladly will I conduct you and find your brothers if they are still in this grove. Till daybreak you can rest in a cottage near by, where you will be safe until you wish to travel on.

Lady Alice. Kind shepherd, I take your word, and gladly go to the shelter you mention. Kindness is often found in lowly homes. Lead on, and I will follow.

Comus. This way, fair lady!

SCENE II.—Another Place in the Forest

Elder Brother. How our steps are stayed by the darkness of the night and of the forest. Would that the moon and stars would pierce the clouds! If only we could see some faint glimmer of a candle in some lowly hut that would guide us on our way.

Second Brother. Or hear the folded flocks, or sound of village flute or song, or if the cock would crow the watches of the night! Where can our dear sister be now? Does she wander in the deep grove, or against the rugged bark of some broad elm lean her head in fear? Perhaps even while we speak she is the prey of some savage beast!

Elder Brother. Cease, brother, to dream of evils that may not be. No good can come from false alarms. I do not believe my good sister has lost herself in fear. Her faith will keep her calm.

Second Brother. I do not fear the darkness and the fact that she is alone. But I do fear some harm may come to her from rude wanderers in the wood.

Elder Brother. Yet I believe she is so good and true that evil has no power to harm her. All powers of good surround her and drive evil away. But list! Some faint call sounds on my ear.

Second Brother. Yes, I hear it now. What should it be?

Elder Brother. Either some one lost in this wood, like ourselves, or else some roving woodman, or perhaps some robber calling to his fellows!

Second Brother. God save my sister!

Elder Brother. Who comes here? Speak! Advance no further!

Spirit (as a shepherd). What voice is that? Speak once again.

Second Brother. O brother! 'tis my father's shepherd, sure.

Elder Brother. Are you Thyrsis? How could you find this dark, secluded spot? Why did you come?

Spirit. To find out you. But where is your lovely sister? Why is she not with you?

Elder Brother. Without our fault we lost her as we came.

Spirit. Alas, then my fears are true!

Elder Brother. What fears, good Thyrsis?

Spirit. I have long known that this wood was held in the power of an evil spirit, and this evening as I sat me down upon a bank I heard most lovely strains as if an angel sang. Listening, I knew it was your sister's voice. I hastened to her and heard her tell Comus of you whom she had lost. To you I came that we may save her from the evil spirit of the wood.

Elder Brother. Let us hasten to attack him with our swords.

Spirit. Alas! Your bravery I praise, but it is vain. The evil charm of Comus can be broken only by a wondrous plant. See, I have it here. With this will we overcome his fairy spells.

Elder Brother. Thyrsis, lead on! And some good angel bear a shield before us!

SCENE III.—The Palace of Comus

Comus. Drink, Lady, of the wine. You are faint and weary, and this will refresh you. Do not refuse!

Lady Alice. Never will I drink the potion in that glass. You may control the body, but my free mind you can never bind.

Comus. Why are you angry, Lady? Here is a place filled with all delight.

Lady Alice. Is this the cottage you told me of, the place of safety where I could rest. None but good men can offer good things. I will never drink what you offer. What monsters are these? I pray Heaven guard me!



Comus. Dear Lady, stay with me and be my queen. Here may you reign over all my kingdom. See what royal robes are mine, what jewels, what costly tables and shining gold and silver. No sorrow shall you know, but only joy and pleasure.

Lady Alice. Cease your words. You cannot move the mind guided by honesty and truth. You cannot frighten me, for well I know goodness is stronger than evil, truth is more powerful than falsehood. The pure heart cannot be harmed.

Comus. Cease, cease! all this is foolishness. Be wise and taste. All trouble will be forgotten. Come, I insist!

[The brothers rush in and drive Comus and his crew away. But Lady Alice is entranced and cannot move.]

Spirit. Have you let him escape? You should have seized his wand. Without that he has no power, but now we must have help to release your sister from his wicked power. The goddess of our river Severn, the lovely Sabrina, has power over all the enchantments of Comus. Her will I call.

Sabrina fair, Listen, where thou art sitting, Goddess of the silver lake, Listen and save.

Come from your home in the coral caves of the sea and help this lovely maiden in distress.

Sabrina (entering).

From off the waters fleet, Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head That bends not as I tread; Gentle swain, at thy request I am here!

Spirit. Dear goddess, we implore your powerful aid to undo the charm wrought by the enchanter on this maiden.

Sabrina. 'Tis my greatest joy to help the pure and good. Gentle Lady, look on me. Thrice upon thy finger tips, thrice upon thy lips, I sprinkle drops from my pure fountain. Then I touch this marble seat and break the spell. All is well. Farewell.

Spirit. Fair Sabrina, for this aid I pray that all the pretty rills will never cease to flow into your broad river. May your banks ever be fair with groves and meadows sweet, while all men shall praise you for your gentle deeds. Farewell. Now, Lady, let us hasten from this grove. Your parents await their dear children, and we must hasten ere they become alarmed over your delay. Thanks to your pure heart and the aid of the fair Sabrina, you have come safely through the enchanter's wood.

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Transcriber's note

The following change has been made to the text:

Page 25: "Dolly" changed to "Dollie".

THE END