The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows
Page 12
CHAPTER XII The Camp Fire Play
By eight o'clock on Christmas evening every seat in the Sunrise cabinliving room was filled except two, and toward these the eyes of everygirl hidden behind the khaki curtain turned questioningly for the lastfifteen minutes before their Camp Fire play was to commence. Howeverthen, to Polly's despair, their last hope died away--the great lady andthe great actress in one--would not form a part of their Woodfordaudience, even her own Miss Adams had likewise failed her.
Nevertheless their entertainment was to begin promptly (on this MissMcMurtry and Miss Dyer had both insisted), since punctuality was soseldom a feature of amateur plays they wished thus to show one of thesuperior results of the Camp Fire training.
A Camp Fire Morality Play: These words were printed on the Christmasprograms and it was an old time morality play such as we have seen andread in "Everyman" that Polly and Betty had attempted to write, assistedof course by both their guardians and with suggestions from every girl inthe Sunrise club. Whether they were successful in keeping close to theold model was not so much their ideal as the desire to show both by wordsand tableaux the aims and the influence of the Camp Fire organization,and what women have given to the world since the primitive time whenhuman life centered about the camp-fire.
At a quarter past eight the curtain arose slowly, showing the stage insemi-darkness and representing a scene in a primeval forest. In thecorner is the bare pine tree, the ground is strewn with twigs, fir conesand needles, and there within the instant the figure of a woman enters.It is Polly! And because of her great disappointment there is a tragicdroop to her shoulders, a pathetic expression in her great wide-openIrish blue eyes. She had hoped so much from Miss Adams' promise andnow--well, she must not forget her part, she must try to do her best forher friends' sakes.
Polly is dressed in a short skirt with a fox's skin fastened from oneshoulder to her belt, there are sandals on her feet and her straightblack hair is hanging about her shoulders. Unhappy, she gropes her wayabout the stage shivering and finding nothing to do, no place in which torest herself. It is December, the month of the long moon, and the nightpromises to be bitterly cold. In another moment there is heard from theoutside the crying of a child and next "Little Brother," very proud ofhis rabbit coat and cap, runs forward throwing his arms about the woman'sknees and evidently begging for warmth and shelter. Still in pantomimethe mother mournfully shakes her head, and with this Eleanor Meadeappears representing a primitive man and carrying a brace of freshlykilled game over her shoulder. This he presents to the child and thewoman, but both of them shake their heads and a moment later the mandrops despairingly down on the frozen ground burying his face in hishands, the child hiding between his parents for warmth. However the womandoes not cover her face and by and by, picking up two dry twigs from theground, she begins in an idle fashion to rub them together. Suddenlythere is a tiny spark of light and then darkness.
It was a wise selection on the part of the Sunrise club girls to havechosen Polly O'Neill to represent the mother of all the Camp Fire women,for though she had when needful the Irish gift of expression, she hadalso a face so vivid and so emotional that to Polly's own chagrin it wasseldom possible for her to hide from other people what was going on inher mind. Now, however, this characteristic was of excellent service, forthere was not a member of her little audience who did not in this instantguess the inspiration that had just been born in the woman.
In a seat toward the back of the living room, in as inconspicuous a spotas possible, a fragile looking woman, an unknown member of the smallWoodford audience, turned suddenly to the companion beside her, noddingher head quickly. She had a plain, yet remarkably youthful looking faceillumined by a pair of wonderful gray eyes with an indescribably wistfuland yet understanding expression. And from now on she watched the girl onthe stage more attentively.
Rising quietly, Polly seemed almost to be holding her breath. Then witheager fingers she can be seen searching along the ground until by and byshe has gathered together a few twigs, and now kneeling before themappears to be uttering a silent prayer. A moment later and she picks upher former sticks, again repeating the rubbing of them together. For awhile Polly seemed to be unsuccessful in making them ignite, so that inthe background and well out of sight the other Camp Fire girls hold theirbreath with a kind of sick horror, fearing that she is going to fail hereand so make a fiasco of the entire scene. But the little waiting has onlymade the final result more dramatic. There is a tiny flare of light, andthen bending over her pile of twigs the woman lights the first Camp Fire.She guards it with her hands until there is a crackle and many spurts ofyellow flame and the instant after is across the stage shaking the man bythe shoulder and drawing the child toward the blaze. Together then theyheap on more fuel until a really splendid fire is a-light. (And for fearany one may think that this fire in the middle of the wooden platformwould probably have put an end to Sunrise cabin it must be explained thata sheet of iron had been fastened on the floor that the fire might bebuilt with entire safety.)
Like a flame herself the woman then flies from one home duty to theother, making a bed of pine branches for the child near the fire,appearing to roast the game for her husband. Far better by her actionsthan by any possible words Polly told her story, until the curtain atlast goes down on the beginning of the first home with the woman as itsgenius and inspiration.
But before the curtain has finally descended, for a moment Polly'sattention, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, centered upon the faceof a stranger in the back of the living room beyond the more familiarranks of her friends; and with a quick intake of her breath and a feelingof thankfulness that her first trial is over and that she is not obligedto speak, the young girl recognizes the famous actress. She is glad thenthat she had not known of her presence sooner and also that her firstappearance before her has been made in pantomime, for she guesses it tobe a surer test of dramatic ability than any recitation an untrained girlmight be able to repeat. If she had the necessary temperament somehow inthe scene just past it must have revealed itself.
But now an intermission of twenty minutes passes and the second actrepresents a scene wholly different from the first, for now the stage isintended to present as nearly as possible the picture of an ideal home.It was difficult to portray, of course, but then the bigger things mustalways be trusted to the imagination, for this home was not intended tosuggest merely a single home but a kind of universal and representativeone. There were beautiful pictures in it and soft rugs and many books andwindows everywhere, supposedly letting in all the possible sunlight,while over in the corner the solitary pine tree still stood, but nowcovered with many white candles, although none of them were yet a-light.
Then the door opens and the first spirit of the home enters. This isEsther Clark wearing a kind of blue tunic with a silver band about herunloosened red hair. With swift steps and busy fingers she moves about,bringing a bunch of winter roses to a table, putting fresh logs on thefire, drawing chairs nearer to the inspiring blaze, which is now nolonger a primitive camp fire but a great, hospitable open hearth.
Then Esther goes to the front of the stage and waits there for a momentin silence before beginning her speech, and there are but few personswatching her who have yet guessed what spirit she is illustrating.
Esther is awkward and not handsome; nevertheless, because she has a clearand beautiful speaking as well as singing voice she had been chosen forthis particular part. Now she is plainly heard throughout the room.
"I am Work, the great Mother Spirit of the earth. I have borne many children with a fairer fame, Service, who is my daughter with a gentler name."
And here Nan Graham in a yellow costume with her black hair flowing overher shoulders and her dark eyes shining walks forward and takes her placeat one end of the stage just a little back of the speaker, followed byEleanor Meade in a white robe with a wreath of laurel on her head and ascroll in her hand, who is s
een by the audience as Esther continues:
"Knowledge, who needs no word of mine to prove her worth, Beauty that shall not fade, surely it lives through me In music, books and art, a noble trinity."
Then Betty Ashton, whom there is no difficulty in recognizing as thespirit of Beauty, approaches the front of the stage in a dress of somesoft silvery material with three stars in her hair and stands besideEleanor.
"And Health and Happiness, would they deny their birth? Then let them seek it in some nobler form than mine, The quest is everlasting but the choice is thine."
Sylvia and Beatrice Field then advance together and take their places inthe center of the group, Sylvia as Health dressed in the green of theopen fields and Beatrice in deep rose color.
"Trustworthiness and Sympathy dwell by my hearth With Purity; we are the graces of the home. And yet there is one other fairer still to come Whose handmaids are these spirits named above; To her alone I yield my gracious place, The inspiration of the home--the world--is Love!"
While Esther has been finishing her verse, Juliet Field has come forth toportray the spirit of Trustworthiness in a dress of deep violet, carryinga sheath of purple lilies. Meg, with her charming face so full of humorand tenderness, is the embodiment of Sympathy, and Edith Norton as Purityhas her long fair hair falling almost down to her knees and wears a dressof the palest green--like Undine when she first comes forth from the sea.
And now a crescent has slowly formed about the figure of Esther who is alittle in advance of the other girls, but now as she speaks the finalword--Love--she steps quietly backward and Mollie O'Neill as the spiritof Love occupies the center of the stage. She has never looked half solovely in her life as she does to-night. Her gown is of pale pink, shehas a wreath of roses in her black hair, her usually too grave expressionis illumined by a smile born partly of fear and the rest of pride, whichhas nothing to do with her own appearance, but is a kind of shadowypleasure in the beauty and the significance of the tableau surroundingher.
From his place behind the curtain Billy Webster wonders how he was everable even at the beginning of their acquaintance to confuse the twinsisters. Polly in all her existence has never looked so pretty as thisand probably never will, and then Billy comes to his senses in a hurry,realizing that it is now his duty to assist in letting the curtain dropon this second scene in the Camp Fire allegory.
In the last act the Christmas tree is all a-blaze with pure white candlesand silver tinsel and above it is suspended a great silver star, whilethe girls in their many colored costumes are seen dancing before it. Thenat the close of the dance Polly again enters. She is to recite theepilogue, to make plainer the ideals of the Camp Fire. But some changehas come over her since the first scene, her color is entirely gone, hereyes are rimmed and, worst of all, she feels that a deadly weight issettling on her chest and that her voice is nowhere to be found. She ishaving an attack of stage fright, but Polly does not yet know it by thatname. The truth is that she has grown desperately tired, the strain andexcitement of waiting after the long day's pleasure with the very foolishthought that her fate is probably to be decided by one person's judgmentof her abilities has proved too much for her. She tries pulling herselftogether, she sees many eyes turned up toward her, with one face shininga little farther off like a star. Polly opens her mouth to speak, butthere is a great darkness about her, the world is slowly slipping away.She puts out both arms with a pathetic appeal for silence and patienceand then suddenly some one is holding her up and the other girls areforming a rainbow circle about her so that she is safely hidden fromview.
For in a flash Betty Ashton has guessed at Polly's faintness, hassignaled her companions and then reached her first, so that the curtainfinally fell on perhaps the prettiest scene of all.