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BULLETIN
OF THE
STATE TEACHERS COLLEGE
KIRKSVILLE, MISSOURI
	
Vol. XXII JANUARY, 1922 No. 1	

PLAYS FOR GRADE CHILDREN
ISSUED BY
DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
EDITED BY 
C. M. WISE

PUBLISHED MONTHLY

Enterd as second class mail matter April 29, 1915, at the post office at Kirksville, Missouri,	
under the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912.

Accepted for mailing at special rate of postage provided for in section 1103, Act of
October 3, 1917, authorized July 26, 1919.



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46973



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BULLETIN
OF
STATE TEACHERS COLLEGE
KIRKSVILLE, MISSOURI

VOL. XXII. JANUARY, 1922 No. 1

PLAYS FOR GRADE CHILDREN
ISSUED BY
DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH
EDITED BY
C. M. WISE

CONTENTS
Plays in Primary Work – E. Louis Sublette	
The Whimper-Whinies – Lois Drake
The Seven Kings of Atherry – Leo G. Gosser
The Court of King Arthur - Francis Murrell
Boy Blue – C. M. Wise

PUBLISHED MONTHLY

Enterd as second class mail matter April 29, 1915, at the post office at Kirksville, Missouri, 
under the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912.

Accepted for mailing at special rate of postage provided for infection 1103, Act of 
October 3, 1917, authorized July 26, 1919.



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FOREWORD

This bulletin is published as a result of many complaints that there are few available plays within the range of children, and in response to countless requests for such plays. Most of the plays in this collection were written by students in classes in dramatic composition during the year 1921. The arrangement of the contents is intended to be approximately in the order of the difficulty of the various selections, and, resultantly, in the order of their adaptability to the various grades, beginning with the primary. It will be noticed that all of these plays are adapted from, or suggested by, stories, legends and pieces of literature and history. It was the editor’s purpose in selecting these types to present to teachers illustrations of what can be done in dramatizing such stories and such literary and historical themes. Resourceful teachers will find it easy to write other dramatizations for themselves, or, better, to have classes work out dramatizations as class projects.

It is pertinent to observe in passing that editors and publishers are beginning to take note of the paucity of children’s plays and to supply the need in this direction. The most recent publication of this sort is “A Treasury of Plays for Children,” edited by Montrose J. Moses, published by An excellent group of plays,', together with valuable suggestions on presentation, is called " ”published by	, edited by Knickerbocker. 

For a complete manual of direction, teachers are referred to the present editor’s Missouri Plays, which contains, besides the community life plays, A Little CHILD. Shall Lead Them, A Vision of the Homeland, The Rut, and five other plays, a comprehensive treatment of the problems of presentation.  

Copies of MISSOURI PLAYS and additional copies of this bulletin may be had by addressing the editor.

—C. M. WISE.



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PLAYS IN PRIMARY WORK

NOTE: TO secure material for the first division of this bulletin, the editor sought the advice of various primary teachers regarding the efficacy of different methods of procedure. The matter below is a portion of a letter from one of them, Miss E. Louise Sublette, a student of the Kirksville State Teachers College, who was at the time of writing teaching at Canton, Mo. Miss Sublette’s letter embodies, by implication, a fair concensus of most of the opinions and successful experiments of the other teachers consulted. 

“I have used for examples of dramatization in first grade the stories THE LITTLE RED HEN and THE GINGERBREAD BOY. These are good to start with because they have much repetition and because they require few properties. I am giving the exact conversation, including errors, so that the precise results obtained may be seen. 

“When the story is told the children always ask immediately to ‘play it.’ We then talk about the story for a few minutes to get the order of events, but not the exact conversation. If there are properties, the children find objects in the room to represent them. They arrange themselves on the ‘stage’ almost entirely without suggestion from me. In all the phases of the process I do not seek a finished product so much as the development that arises from spontaneous expression. If at any time during the playing the children get absolutely lost, I try to give only a small suggestion to get them on the track. I never interrupt if they leave out an event, but tell them afterwards. I have taken notes on more than one playing of the same story so that it can be seen that the lines given by the children are not memorized. Here is an indication of the steps of the process of giving the two plays named above, with the lines as nearly as I could record them while the children played.”

THE LITTLE RED HEN
A. Told story.
B. Talked about it with class.
C. Found properties—a cranberry for the wheat seed.
D. Chose characters.
E. Characters grouped themselves.
Hen—Cluck, cluck, cluck. (Finds seed.) Who will plant the seed?
Pig—Not I.

First Group
Hen—Who will plant the seed?
Cat—Not I.
Hen—Who will plant the seed?
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I will then. Who will thresh the seed?
Pig—Not I.
Hen—Who will plant the seed? (Here the children are obviously lost 
for a moment, but they recover the thread of the story a little later.)



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Cat—Not I.
Hen—Who will plant the seed?
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I’ll plant it myself. Who will thresh the grain?
Pig—Not I.
Hen—Who will thresh the grain? '
Cat—Not I.
Hen—Who will thresh the grain?
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I will thresh it then.
Hen—Cluck, cluck, cluck. Who will make the bread?
Pig—Oof, oof. Not I!
Hen—Who will make the bread?
Cat—Not I.
Hen—Who will make the bread?
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I’ll do it myself.
Hen—Who will eat the bread?
Pig—I will!
Cat—I will.
Dog—I will.
Hen—No, I’ll eat it myself.

Second Group

Hen—(Scratches around and finds seed.) Who will plant the seed? 
Pig—Not I..
Cat—Not I.
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I’ll plant the seed myself. Who will cut the wheat?
Pig'—I won’t.
Cat—Not I.
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I’ll do it myself. Who will grind the wheat?
Pig—Not I.
Cat—Not I.
Dog—Not I.
Hen—I’ll grind the wheat. Who will eat the bread?
Pig—I will.
Cat—I will.
Dog—I will.
Hen—No you won’t. I’ll do it myself.

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GINGERBREAD BOY

A. Told story.
B. Class discussed it.
C. Chose characters.
D. Decided that the underneath part of my desk would make a good oven.
E. Characters grouped themselves on “stage”.

First Group

Woman—I’d like to have a little boy.
Man—I should too.
Woman—I’ll make a gingerbread boy. (Makes him and puts him in oven. Boy jumps out.)
Boy—I’m a gingerbread man.
I can run away from you, I can, I can. (Runs to pig, cat, dog and hen repeating lines and each time adding name of persons from whom he has run. Runs to fox.)
Fox—No, you can’t run away from me—I’ll eat you. (In spite of the ferocious words of the fox, I had to insist on his chasing the boy. Finally he got down on his hands and knees and chased in a very realistic manner. When he finally caught the boy he surely “gobbled” him up.)

Second Group

Woman—I wish I had a little boy.
Man—I wish I had a little boy.
Woman—We’ll have to make one. (She does so, puts him in the oven and the two sit watching. The gingerbread boy “pops” out.)
Boy—I’m the gingerbread boy I am, I am, I am.
I can run away from you,
I can, I can, I can.
(Runs to pig, cat, dog, hen and repeats, adding each time names of persons from whom he had previously run away. Runs to fox.)
Fox—You cannot run away from me. I shall eat you. (Chases boy. This boy tripped and fell, giving the fox a chance to catch him and “gobble” him up.)
“In both dramatizations some events were left out, but both action and lines were natural. This is the favorite game of the children and they would ‘play’ stories all the time if I would let them. They have even asked to play songs. They are not in the least self-conscious, and when they dramatized a story before the high school assembly they did it as naturally as in their 
own room.”

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THE WHIMPER-WHINIES
By Lois DRAKE

(From Sarah Cone Bryant’s STORIES TO TELL THE LITTLEST ONES.)

NOTE: Obviously, this play could be used in the manner of THE LITTLE RED HEN and THE GINGERBREAD BOY, without accurate memorization. But since it lacks the childish pattern of repetition, it will be harder to do than the previous ones. If desirable, it can be memorized and used verbatim.

Characters
Peter Rabbit 
Mrs. Rabbit
Mary Rabbit
Bunny Rabbit
12 Whimper-Whinies

Scene

 (Living-room in peter Rabbit’s home. Mary Rabbit and Bunny Rabbit and Peter Rabbit are playing. There are a table, chairs, and three little cots in the room, and a large space unoccupied in the middle of the floor. The table is set. Mrs. Rabbit hustles in and out of the room putting things to eat on the table. Peter runs against a piece of furniture, while playing, and bumps himself. He begins to scream. Mrs. Rabbit comes running and Mary Rabbit and Bunny Rabbit gather around to see what hurts him so badly.)
Mrs. Rabbit—Whatever is the matter, Peter? (Peter continues to scream. Mrs. Rabbit dusts his clothes and looks him over carefully.)
Mrs. Rabbit—Where are you hurt, Peter? (Peter points to a place.) Why, you shouldn’t cry like that for a little bump. You have given mother a fright for nothing. Come now, eat your suppers. (She bustles to the table and the little Rabbits draw up their chairs. She gives each of them a bowl and some bread.)
Mary Rabbit—Oh, Peter, just see what a lovely piece of bread I have.(Mary leans over toward Peter and spills a little of Peter’s soup. Peter begins to scream again.)
Peter—Mary’s spilled all my soup. Mary’s spilled all my soup. Oh, dear.
Mrs. Rabbit—Peter, hush. Is all that noise because Mary spilled a little soup? I don’t see anything to cry about. There is plenty of soup. (Peter keeps on whining and crying.)
Mrs. Rabbit—Now, Peter, I have had just about enough of this whining and fretting. You children have been bad all day, and you are going to go to bed right away.
Peter—Oh, mother. I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay up a little while. Please, mother, oh, mother, please.

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Mrs. Rabbit—Peter, if you do not obey me at once, and without crying, you shall stay at home from the picnic tomorrow. (Peter stops crying, but his face still stays puckery. The little Rabbits all get ready for bed. Mrs. Rabbit tucks them in. To Peter she goes last.)

Mrs. Rabbit-Peter dear, if you keep on this way you will be fit only to go to Whimper-Whiny land; I should think you’d dream of the Whimper-Whinies tonight. Goodnight, little bad Peter. (She kisses him, takes the light, and leaves. The room is in darkness. Presently a dim light reveals a Whimper-Whiny in room near Peter’s bed. Peter opens his eyes, sits up, and sees the Whimper-Whiny. Whimper-Whiny is a queer little man with a very fed nose, twisted features, a whiny, squeaky voice, and eyes that continually run. He has short legs and a chunky little body.) 

Whimper-Whiny—I am waiting for you, Peter; I was sure you would come to be one of us.

Peter—But who are you?

Whimper-Whiny—Oh, I’m one of the Whimper-Whinies. I have come to take you to Whimper-Whiny land.

Peter—I don’t think I care to go.

Whimper-Whiny—Well, you’ll have to go, anyway. But I guess you will like it, for you are just like us. (He puts his hand on Peter, and Peter gets out of bed. The light follows the two until they are in a clear space where other Whimper-Whinies are gathered in a circle. These little creatures are all rubbing their eyes and bending over, crying, whining, and screeching.)
Peter—What are they doing?
Whimper-Whiny—Oh, just crying a pond.
Peter—Crying a pond! Why, what, do you mean?
Whimper-Whiny—(Crossly) I said “crying a pond.” If you don’t understand English I can’t help it, can I? (The circle breaks up and the little creatures come running to Peter and the Whimper-Whiny. Peter draws back, but they crowd around him and pull him along with them. He sees they have been standing around a little pool of water.)
Whimper-Whinies—You can help us now, Peter. We are making a new tear-pond. You see, we cry so much it is a pity to waste the tears, so we make ponds out of them. (They begin, to whine and scream and cry again, bending over so the tears drop into the pool.)
Peter—Oh, dear; oh, dear. This is horrid. This is awful. I think I don’t like Whimper-Whiny land.
Whimper-Whiny—Oh, but you must wait for luncheon. Then we will go on. (Peter sees the table as it was when he ate supper. The Whimper-Whinies come running and sit down at the table. Peter sits down with them. Pandemonium breaks loose. They grab the pitchers, fill their bowls, reach for bread, and keep up a constant whining and whimpering.)

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Whimper-Whinies—You have my milk.	
You have more bread than I.
I don’t want that bowl.
Give me that.
I want some.
Quit pushing.
(Peter takes some milk and starts to drink.)
Peter—Ugh! This milk is sour.
Whimper-Whiny—Oh, yes, it always is. We cry so much, you know, it sours everything here; there isn’t any sweet milk in Whimper-Whiny land-
Peter—I’m not going to. stay in Whimper-Whiny land. I’m going home.
Whimper-Whiny—No, you can’t. You must be one of us now.
(Peter gets up and begins to run. The Whimper-Whinies run after him and grab him. He falls down. Light goes off. Light comes on again, discovers everything as it was when Mrs. Rabbit put Peter to bed. Peter has fallen part way out of bed. Mrs. Rabbit comes in.)
Mrs. Rabbit—Oh, good morning, Peter dear. (Peter sits up and throws His arms around Mrs. Rabbit.) "
Peter—Oh, mother, dear, don’t let the Whimper-Whinies get me.
Mrs. Rabbit—(Begins to laugh.) I guess you did dream of the Whimper-Whinies.
Peter—-I don’t want-to go to the Whimper-Whiny land, mother.
Mrs. Rabbit—I should say not. And I don’t want you to. Let’s have a sunny face and a brave heart today, and never a whimper or a whine. Then you will not have to go to Whimper-Whiny land ever. (Kisses Peter.)
Peter—Yes, let’s. (He jumps out of bed.)

Curtain.

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THE SEVEN KINGS OF ATHERRY
BY LEO G. GOSSER 

Characters
Ould King Dennis.
Princess Biddy.
The six young Kings.
The tenant of King Dennis.

A room in the palace of King Dennis. Since Biddy is peeling potatoes it must be the kitchen. With her are the six young Kings. One of them is kneeling at her side holding a potato in readiness for her to take when she finishes the one she is paring. Another is kneeling on the other side with his hands outstretched to catch the peeling as it drops. The other four are looking on enviously. - She finishes one and is handed another by the kneeling fellow, King No. 1.

K. No. 1—Ah, me princess, here’s anither. (She takes it, holds her head up and looks very stern and dignified and says nothing. Ould King Dennis enters.)
K. D.—Biddy, whin’ll the meal be ready to sarve?
B.—Whin the pitaties get cooked.
K. D.—Be a-seein' thin, that they get cooked soon. Sure, hurryin’ should be aisy wid all the maids you have. (He smiles at the Kings and exit. Biddy drops her knife and all scramble to get it. The third king gets it. The fourth King snatches it from his hand.)
K No. 3—Be givin’ that back. Oi got it first.
K. No. 4—Oi’ll not do it. Oi’ve as much right to give to her as you.
K. No. 5—Quit yer sassin’ wan anither. Faith an’ naither wan o’ ye is fit to lie at her feet like dogs an’ look wanst at them two sthars which she calls her eyes; Oi’d betther be doin’ the givin’ av it to her mesel’.
K. No. 6—Hold on there. Oi’ve a worrd to be a-sayin’ about this. Me father was as good a frind av ould Dennis, her father, as was any av yer fathers, so Oi’m a-thinkin’ that me own roights in this case are quite as furrm as the bist av your’s in a matter o’ this kind. To sittle yer dispute you kin give it to me an’ Oi’ll let her have it.
K. No. 1—(Snatching knife and offering it to Biddy) Here is the knife.
K. No. 4—(Jerking him backwards to the floor) Oi guess you don’t (They all glare at one another. Enter King Dennis.)
K. D.—Bedad, an’ phwat’s all this?
B.—Nothing, father.
K. D.—Where do you think Oi’m afther kapin’. me eyes, me gurrl?
B.—In your head.
K. D.—None o’ your sass now, or Oi’ll be afther gettin’ a shillalah. Now,

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me b’ys, it’s quite plain an’ certain that there’s trouble a-tween you. Is it not the truth that Oi’m shpakin’?
K. No. 1—Can you blame us?
K. D.—Musha, it’s a quare thing intirely, that men like women better than one anither. Begob, it’s my belafe that there’s not the differ av a cold pitaty bechune thim all whin it’s a question av marryin’ wan av thim, an’ if the whole worruld knew the same, it’s few hurted heads there’d be along o’ the women.
K. No. 2—We are only our father’s sons.
K. D.—Thrue, an’ your fathers were the bist friends ould Dennis, iver had an’ so Oi hope their sons will ever be. But it must be the divil’s own job that’s a-makin’ ye all fall in love wid Biddy.
K. No. 1—Beggin’ yer majesty’s pardon but Oi don’t think the divil had a finger in it at all. It was nathure that did it. Fur how could any young man wid a roight heart kape from lovin’ her, an’ she wid her foineness av form an’ figger. She’s tall as a sargent an’ straight as a gun, an’ her eyes are as blue as the shky an’ they shine like the shtars. An’ her hairs, just look at ’em, are threads av gold. Thruly Oi could swear in the name av all the saints that she is the beautifullest women iver seen in Atherry.
K. No. 3—The invy av the others fur her is beyond all understhandin’, for whin she sets foot outside the dure the wimmen all watch her like kites becaze av her beauty an’ she all dhressed fine as a fiddle, wid a grane silk gown, an’ a blue bonnet with yellow ribbons, an’ a shtring av gold beads the size av plums ’round her neck.
K. No. 2—Thrue all that is, but she’s cowld, cowld as a wet Christmas.
K. No. 4—She doesn’t shpake often, but when she does speak to us, the tongue that’s in her head is like a sting nettle an’ lashes ’round like a throut on land.
K. D.—This all sounds very well, but Oi’ve no patience wid this quarrelin’ because av her. Bedad, there’ll be trouble if it keeps on thish-a-way. Clear out o’ here now an’ Oi’ll shpake to the gurrl. (The six young kings go out. The ould king lights his pipe and smokes. Biddy picks up a broom and starts for the kitchen.)
K. D— Biddy.
B.—What, father.
K. D.—Come here to me.
B.—Sure how can Oi? Oi’m busy.
K. D.—Phwat’s that you’re at?
B.—Oi’m afther shwapin’ the kitchen.
K. D.—Lave aff. Come to me at wanst.
B.—Very well, father.
K. D.—Now see here, me gurrl, them young chaps’ fathers was the bist of me friends an’ whin Oi first saw the b’ys afther you Oi’ll confess Oi was

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moighty pleased to be findin’ out that Oi had such a likely daughter. Manny’s the toime when Oi knew that they were in the kitchen that Oi’ve had my sup by mesel’ to lave you alone, an’ whin Oi saw them a hangin’ over the wall av the garden beyant or peepin’ through the hedge Oi’ve let on not to parceive thim; an’ whin they folleyed you to church, Oi was proud as a paycock to see thim a-sittin’ behind you wid their crowns in a row under the sate. But whin they kept a-comin’ ivery night in the week an’ drinkin’ me whisky an’shmokin’ me bist terbakky, more-betoken, whin they begun to be oncivil to aich other, Oi says to mesel’, “Bedad, there’ll be throuble if it kepes on thish-a-way. ”
B.—(Tossing her head) But how does all this consarn me?
K. D.—(Sternly) Oi’m wantin’ to know phwat you’re goin’ to do in regards av the young Kings.
B.—(Pretending not to understand him) Phwat’s that you’re sayin’, Father?
K. D.—(Very sternly) O’m wantin’ to know phwat you’re goin’ to do in regards av the young Kings.
B.—'Troth, then, oi dunno.
K. D.—Do you mane to marry thim, at all, at all?
B.—Not all o’ thim.
K. D.—Well, which wan o’ thim?
B.—How can Oi tell?
K. D.—Has any o’ thim axed ye?
B.—Hasn’t they all?
K. D.—An’ which wan do ye love besht?
B.—Sure how do Oi know?
K. D.—Go along wid ye. Wid yer cool face an’ decayvin’ manner ye are more throuble than tin b’ys would be. Go an’ get the supper an’ verra soon be a-gettin’ your moind made up. (Exit Biddy. King Dennis sets his crown over one ear and scratches his head.) May the bad imps get me if Oi iver want anymore daughthers. (He smokes and scratches his head more. Suddenly his face brightens. He jumps up, and seizing his crown, waves it in the air and calls.) Biddy, Biddy, come in here. (Biddy comes in presently.) Where’s the young men?
B.—(Quite innocently) What young men, father?
K. D.—The six Kings, av course.
B.—Out in the kitchen.
K. D.—Me gurrl, since you don’t know which wan you love why don’t you jist pick the bist man o’ thim?
B.—Which is the bist man o’ thim?
K. D.—That’s jist phwat Oi don’t- know, but surely you ought to know- you’re wid ’em so much.

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B.—Oi’ve no way av tellin’ betther than ye, but Oi’ll tell ye what ye moight do. We moight let thim thry themselves out in sphorts an’ thin Oi could say who Oi’d marry.
K. D.—’Tis a bright gurrl ye are in shpite av all the throuble you are to me. Oi knew you could think oup a plan if Oi’d only sthart you thinkin’. Now sthep out an’ tell the young men to sthep in. (Exit Biddy and presently the young men enter.) Now see here, me young felleys, since all av ye can’t marry Biddy, an likewise she can’ marry all av ye, she wants to marry the best wan, as is natural an’ proper for a young lady. So in order that she may tell which av ye is the bist, ye ought to thry to surpass yerselves in sphorts which ye conduct wid yerselves in her prisence. Does the proposition sthrike ye as bein’ a good an’ fair wan?
K. No. 1—It suits me. (Turning to the others) Does it be a-suitin’ the rist o’ yez? (They all nod.)
K. No. 2—Whin an’ where shall it be?
K. D.—If ye wish, now an’ in this very room ye can rastle. What do you say?
All—Agreed.
K. D.—Be a-makin’ ready an’ Oi’ll call Biddy in. (They make ready and he calls Biddy in. They each go up to her and she smiles and whispers with each of them.) : When Oi’ give the worrd ye can be afther beginnin’. Ready, fall to each ither. (They wrestle among themselves but no one individual seems to be winner. They tug and struggle and pant. While they are about this Biddy slips out.)
K. No. 1—Oi’m the winner!
K. No. 2—’Tis shpakin’ thru a hole in the top av yer hat ye are. It’s quite plain to be seen that Oi’m the bist man.
K. No. 3—Shweet Biddy is mine.
K. No. 4—The divil you say. Oi’m standin’ on me legs firmer than any av ye.
K. No. 5—What iver the resht av ye may be sayin’ ’tis evident that Oi’m the king av the shports this day.
K. No. 6—Well, Oi niver would have balieved that Oi could win the princess so aisy.
K. D.—Blaithershin, now it’s worse than iver.
K. No.' 1—God save yer Holiness!
Other Kings—God save yer Holiness!
K. No. 1—Now will you be askin’ dear Biddy to give me her hand?
Other Kings—He’s aff his head. (They all turn to where Biddy had been standing but fail to see her.) Where is she?
K. D.—She was here only a bit ago. Perhaps she’s only stepped into the kitchen. Oi’ll call her. (He goes out calling, “Biddy, Biddy”. The

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young kings eye one another. Presently Dennis returns much crestfallen.) She’s not to be found. 
Kings—What, where is she? 
K. D.—Devil a wan o’ me knows. 
K. No. 2—Sure it’s jokin’ ye are wid us. 
K. D.—Faix, Oi’m not! Bad cess to the thrace av her that’s been seen this last quarter av an hour. 
K. No. 3—An’ has it been that long since she left ,us? 
K. D.—It must have been, an’ her best gown is gone. 
K. No. 1—An’ where has she gone? 
K. D.—Tare an’ bounds, amn’t Oi ignorant entirely? (Wrings his hands with grief.) Och, Biddy, Biddy, how could ye sarve me so? (The young Kings put their heads together and talk in low and ominous tones. They seem to be getting angry.) 
K. No. 2—(Acting as spokesman for the group) It’s desayvin’ us ye are, ye outprobious ould villin’. 
K. No. 5—Musha, thin, bad cess to ye, bring out the Princess an’ let her make her chice bechune us, or it’ll be the worse fur ye, ye palaverin’ ould daddy long-legs. 
K. D.—God bechune us an’ harm, sure d’ye think it’s makin’ fun av ye Oi am, an me only the day before yesterday, a-shpendin’ five pounds fur terbakky an’ whisky fur yer enjoyments. Faix, she’s gone. 
K. No. 5—Where to? 
K. D.—Divil a know Oi know. 
K. No. 5—Thin we’ll be a-seein’ if ye can’t find out. Tomorry whin ye rise to take your walk on the roof you can look an’ see all around your castle our banners a-wavin’, our swords a-flashin’, an’ hear our trumpets. Come let’s go get our armies. 
Other Young Kings—We’ll see, we’ll see! (They start out talking angrily. As they are about to exeunt the ould king’s tenant puts his head in  
at the door.)	 
T.—God save yer Holiness! 
K. D.—God save ye kindly, my man. Come on in. An’ phwat are ye arbringin’ now? Some more seaweed fur me garden? 
T.—Yis, an’ something else as well. Where are the six kings? 
K. No. 6—Here we are. Phwat do ye want, ye blaggard? 
T.— (Questioningly) Are these thim? 
K. D.—This are thim. 
T.—(Turning to the six Kings) Oi’ve a message fur yez from the young princess. (They all stop and crowd around to listen.) She sint her rispects an’ bid me tell ye she was afther kapin’ her word an’ lettin’ Yer Honors know who she was goin’ to marry. It’s the King av Galway that’s in it, if it’s

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plazin to ye, an’ she says she’ll sind yez a bit av the cake. Oi met her only a bit av a while ago ridin’ wid him on a side car an’ she had a bundle undher her arrum. Divil a taste av a lie’s in it entirely. (Ould Dennis and the young Kings look at one another foolishly.) 
K. D.—She’s decayved the whole av us. Sure it must have been the King o’ Galway that she’s been a-lovin’ all the toime instead o’ wan o’ yez. 
K. No. 5—Bad cess to the gurrl, an’ it’s blessed fools we was fur belavi n’ her. 
K. No. 1—Sure she thought the most av me, fur she whispered to me that she hoped oi’d bate yez. 
The Other Five Kings—Begob, she towld that to me. (They scratch their heads.) 
K. D.—An’ phwat’s the good av fightin’, bein’s as we’re all in the thrap at wanst. 
The Six Kings—Thrue fur ye! We’ll have it out wid the King o’ Galway! (They wave their swords and start out.) 
K. D.—(Arising and preparing to go out with them) Now we’ll all go into the kitchen an’ have the bit an’ sup an’ make a threaty forninst the King o’ Galway. It’ll be a great war but quite sure it is that our. siven armies will bate him out av the counthry intirely. But it’s my conceit that yez, at least, are all fools to be afther fightin’ consarnin’ wan woman whin the worrld is full o’ thim, an any wan competint to give a man plenty to think av, bekase whin she gives her attintion to it, any woman can be the divil complately.

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THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR
By Francis Morrell 

Characters
King Arthur Sir Kay
Sir Launcelot Sir Bois
Sir Geraint A Page 
Two players taking the parts of Hugh and Saladin. 
Three chamberlains.
Other knights in the audience room.

King Arthur is seated at the head of the table. All the Knights are about. A knocking is heard from without and the page goes to find the cause. Page returns.

Page—Sir Bois, a man at the door desires to speak with you. (Sir Bois leaves, returning immediately.)

Sir Bois—My lord king, a band of wandering minstrels at the door desire an audience. They wish to present before this company a play of chivalry, which they declare to be pleasant and joyous, full of goodly teaching and excellent adventure.

King—(Turning to knights) You hear this request. What is your pleasure? Shall we admit these players and while away an hour in listening to their tales? 

Sir Lancelot—A good jest with goodly teaching intermingled sounds well, Sire.

Sir Geraint—If it tell of arms and chivalry it will please me passing well.

King—And me likewise. Sir Kay, bring these men into our presence.

Sir Kay leaves, returning with a player in a long cloak and hat in hand. The player kneels and does homage to the King, then arises.

Player—Most noble King and Knights of the Table Round, I thank you for your courtesy. If it please you, I will here, with others of my band, enact a tale of long ago, a tale of chivalry. In faith it is a goodly play and has given pleasure to many an audience. Therefore I have your Majesty’s approval?

King—It is granted. Proceed.

Player leaves and returns with another of his band. He has thrown off his cloak, stands clad in armor. The knights draw back, leaving space for the two.

Player—Noble King and Knights of the Round Table, ye see me here in the guise of one Sir Hugh of Tabarie, a gallant Knight of chivalry, who fared forth to Jerusalem where he was made King of that city to defend it from the Saracens. And this, my companion, takes the part of Saladin, a king well known to all, a right great lord and a most loyal Saracen, who ruled

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that land in paynimry; a cruel lord who often did great harm to our folk, through pride of heart and evil will. A battle has been fought and by ill fortune has Sir Hugh fallen into the hands of Saladin. Six days he has been a prisoner and now Saladin has ordered him brought into his presence. Here begins our play. 

Saladin—By Mahomet, I’m glad of thy taking, Hugh; and now I promise thee one thing—it was settled in the Council of all the Moslem sovereigns yester eve—either thou shalt die at our hands or thou shalt buy thy life and freedom at great ransom. 

Hugh—Since you give me choice, I choose to pay the ransom, providing I have the wherewithal to pay. 

Saladin—Yea, thou shalt give over to the Council of the Kings, one hundred thousand besants. 

Hugh—Ha, Sir, that I could not do if I were to sell my lands and offer all my goods. 

Saladin—’Tis a pity then, for thou wouldst do well to save thy life; and only thus may it be saved. The treasury must see one hundred thousand gold besants before ever thou goest free. 

Hugh—By what means, Sir? Here I am a prisoner. 

Saladin—I have often heard of the fellowship of Christians; how high they prize each other, especially if they be knights. Thou art a valiant man, of great hardihood and mighty chivalry. Would thy lords deny thee a gift to buy thee back. Surely no man of goodly heart would refuse a paltry few besants to save thee from the cruel fate of an untimely death. 

Hugh—’Tis not for lack of heart, Sir King, my fellow knights would fail to buy me back. ’Twill be, if it be so, for lack of, gold, of which ye heathen seem to have no lack—although of the heart of which ye speak, ye seem to have but little. If the Lord of all the Saracens will permit, I will send messages to the Christian knights at once. 

Saladm-v-Aye, I have sent that word in a message yester eve that they may see how high we prize thee. But now, since thou must bide here for a time, I have a dear request to make of thee.  

Hugh—It is not a custom to make requests of prisoners—rather to give commands. 

Saladin—Ah, Hugh, I love thy pride, and I did somewhat test thee to prove that thou wouldst not even cringe from death. But that is past. I pray thee, lay aside hard thoughts, for truly I have something to ask thee. 

Hugh—I gladly answer to thy courtesy, Saladin. 

Saladin—I am fain to know, Sir Hugh, of the Order of Chivalry, of your brotherly love and of how knights are made. 

Hugh—Faith, Sir, this I cannot reveal. 

Saladin—And why? 

Hugh—I will tell thee. The holy Order of Knighthood would be to

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thee of no good, for thou holdest an evil law and a false faith and to cover it with knighthood would be as if to throw a web of silk over an evil smelling heap. It were no good. No man could compass it. And if it were possible, yet would I dare not do it, for sore blame would rest on hie for the deed.

Saladin—Not so, Hugh. No blame will be thine, for thou art my prisoner, and what I command thee thou must do, however little thou like it.

Hugh—Sir, if I must do this thing, and thou no just refusal will accept, I will do it without further talk.

Hugh—(Turning from Saladin to the King and audience) So now, my lords, Sir Hugh did perform such acts as were needful in the preparation of a Knight in those days. He made him dress his hair as became a Christian, He made him enter a bath and Saladin questioned the significance of such acts as we shall show you. (Turns to Saladin.)

Saladin—And what does this bath signify?

Hugh—It meaneth that ye should come forth from it pure and free from felony and sin and full of courtesy. In honesty and good will and kindliness shouldst thou bathe, and come forth in kindliness to all the world.

Saladin—By Mahomet, this beginning is most beautiful.

Hugh—Then thou must be clothed in white, as I now clothe thee. Take not this thing lightly, for this white garment with which I now clothe thee gives thee to understand that even as you have been made clean of all guilt, so every knight should endeavor to keep himself clean and stainless.

Saladin-It is good teaching.

Hugh—Now I give thee this scarlet robe.

Saladin—I marvel much. Why this garment?

Hugh—This robe betokens that you must hold yourself in readiness to shed your blood for the defense of the holy church. This I give you to understand by the scarlet color.

Saladin—Much I marvel and admire.

Hugh—Now I put upon your feet black foot-gear. This should remind you to hold death ever in remembrance, for ye walk ever towards death. So remember the earth from which you came and to which you must return, guarding yourself that you do not fall into pride, for pride must have no place within a knight.

Saladin—All this is very good to hear.

Hugh—Rise now and I will gird thee. (Puts on a white girdle.) Sir, by this girdle you are to know that you are to keep your flesh clean and steadfastly to hold your body pine. (Putting on spurs) Take these spurs and remember that as you would have your steed obey thee, as you would that he be prompt, swift and gentle, so shall your vows bind thee.

Saladin—This likes me well.

Hugh—(Giving him a sword) I give thee this sword to guard against the attack of the foe. It is two edged, as you see; this giveth thee to understand

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that a knight should always have justice and loyalty. Such is the work of mercy.

Saladin—With all you have said thus far, I agree with my whole heart. Such teachings I would gladly follow. Is there ho more to be done?

Hugh—Yes, Sir, but this one thing I dare not do.

Saladin—And what may it be?

Hugh—To give the accolade; the stroke which maketh a man a knight.

Saladin—And what does it betoken; this stroke which thou hast given me not?

Hugh—Sir, it is the reminder of the knight who brought the man to the altar and invested him and ordained him a knight. But I will not give it to you if I lie here in prison forever. By me that stroke shall not be laid.

Saladin—Sir Hugh, I am glad and thank thee for what thou has done for me. Now I will call my chamberlains and Councilors. (Claps his hands and six men in Moslem garb enter and seat themselves. Saladin sits at their head in a great chair. Hugh sits at his feet.) Sit not there, Sir Hugh, but here beside me. (Takes his hand and seats him in chair beside him.) Know you, my-chamberlains, that I hold this man in great honor? He is a man of valor and worth beyond any I have seen. Therefore I make this promise, my friends. Sir Hugh, if any of thy men are taken in battle if thou dost come and plead for them, they shall go free. Thou shalt ride through my land peacefully and no man shall do thee harm.

Hugh—This deed is truly merciful, but do you forget that I am a prisoner?

Saladin—Such as thou, Sir Hugh, can never be a prisoner long. It would not take a Christian heart to know that.

Hugh—(Springing to his feet) Then, Saladin, if such a plight as mine would touch the.heart of any man, it must touch thine. Thou hast told me to beg a ransom. I beg it of thee.

Saladin—But your freedom is not mine to give. It was decided in the Council of Moslem Kings that thou shoulds’t pay one hundred thousand besants. I am but one of them.

Hugh—Nay, Saladin, I do not ask you to break your vows to the Council, I ask you to help me make up my ransom by giving me gold. So didst thou tell me to ask of every worthy man and thou art the worthiest I have met.

Saladin—(Laughs) By Mahomet, thou art aS shrewd as thou art brave. I am trapped in my own words. (Bring forth a bag and pours into Hugh’s hands fifty thousand besants.)Now you shall ask of these chambelains the remainder. They are both rich and worthy. (Hugh kneels before each chamberlain in turn.)

Saladin—Lords, give us money wherewithal to ransom from the Council of Kings, this Christian Prince.

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Chamberlain I.—Indeed, ’twould be a shame for so goodly a man to die for lack of money. Gladly, I give ten thousand besants.

Chamberlain II.—(Sullenly) This business I do not understand but I give thee a thousand pieces.

Chamberlain III.—Thou shalt never say the Moslems have not generous hearts. Here is the remainder.

Hugh—Gallant Sirs, I thank thee. In the Christian camp I shall tell of your kindness. And men shall never cease to tell of the noble deed of Saladin and his lords. (They bow and retire amid applause from King Arthur and his Knights.)

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BOY BLUE
(A Play in One Act)
By C. M. WISE

NOTE: The music for the songs and both the music and steps for the dance were composed for the author by Miss E. Louise Sublette.

Characters
Prolog.
Boy Blue,
Paul, his father.
Mary, his mother.
Toro, his toy dog.
Scalibro, his tin soldier.
Catapult, the sheep.
The Little Fairy Dancer.

Prolog
(To be spoken before the rise of the curtain.)

I, who speak to you, must speak as an un-named voice. I speak for all authors of plays, for their faith, their longing, their anxiety to be understood. Because the writer of plays cannot stop his narrative to explain and interpret, my un-named voice must explain to you that this play is one version of the age-old why-question with which humanity plies the universe. In an uncertain way, the play answers the question.

With the perennial human refusal to admit any worst possibility, such as failure, oblivion, loss of identity, or annihilation, and with that unreasoning human hope that seems indeed to spring eternal, our play-folk smile through tears at us, who tearfully smile back.

Centrally placed in our play-world is Boy Blue. He is first our very own Boy Blue, but somehow is he also the Boy Blue of childish song.

Then there are the Toy Dog and the Tin Soldier. They are at first just toys, somehow they have souls as well,—-at least, other selves.

The Little Fairy Dancer is in the play too. She gets in by the law of association, we may suppose.

Perhaps that is the way the sheep gets in.

The Angel was the second thought of a strange, sweet-minded grown child who was a great poet. His first thought was of a scythe-bearing angel, but his second thought was of a singing angel.

The Father and Mother in this play are sure of such a few things! Of grief alone are they sure. And of a tendency to renounce all claim to surety. And withal are they sure of a perennial human refusal to admit any worst possibility, such as failure, oblivion, loss of identity, annihilation—but we have said all that before!.

At first the play world is the most unwordable place in the world—a home. It has a hearth and a little bed. The play ought to make us know whatever else is there.

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Then the play-world changes to a land of fairy, where toys’ souls are. Maybe pets’ souls. And children’s while they aren’t creating some brief gladness on earth. And knowledge and certainty. It has a haycock in it. Doubtless other things. Let us take notice of what is there. 
Let us start the Play.

The glowing hearth, the little bed with the Peter Rabbit coverlet turned back. The father and mother, young, at newspaper and needle work by the library lamp. Boy Blue at the fire. His Teddy-Bear sleeping garment is open at the back. He is engrossed with his toes. 

The Mother—(She has been watching him quite as much as working. With tender, indulgent laughter. ) Look. (She speaks in undertone, softly nudging her husband.) 

The Father—(Laughs softly.) Inspecting his toes. Interesting how the remnants of babyhood cling to him, isn’t it?  

The Mother—(She moves over beside her husband and clasps his arm with both hands. She is uncommonly pretty in this pose. He would throw an arm around her and kiss the sweet-serious mouth and half knitted brow were it not that that might stop her from some further pretty gesture. Such  things are worth waiting for.) Remember the first time he did that? Five months old. At six he put them in his mouth. 

The Father—And now he’s more than six years old, isn’t he? 

The Mother—Nearly seven! Six years and eleven months next Wednesday. 

The Father—Old accuracy! (He banters, but he knows why. mothers remember so well.)  

The Mother—Old scamp! (Perhaps she makes him pinch himself, or muss his own hair. Most likely she doubles his fist and makes him bump his own nose. He is immensely pleased. It was worth waiting for. Now he had just as well follow the earlier impulse and gather her to him. The little unusual demonstration is over for this time.) 

The Father—By the way, I’ never told you—it was that grave, experimentally scientific manner of his in regard to the toes that first suggested to me the idea of making a scientist of him. (Fathers can contemplate their offspring with as ponderous a gravity as mothers, on occasion.) 

The Mother—Oh, Paul, if only we can! A great scientist to relieve suffering, to lighten labor, to—well, to make people happier,—but you do think we can, don’t you? 

Paul—Of course; Given (He laughs a little) a passable ancestry, it’s mainly in the training. And we’ll give him that. 

The Mother—Yes (positively). 

Paul—But Mary, I’ve wondered what we’d do if—if— 

Mary—(With wise seriousness) I know dear. I thought of that long ago—more than seven years ago. We’d have to go on, Paul.

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Paul—Go on? Yes. How?
Mary—We’d have to see that the suffering was relieved, the labor lightened, the people made happier anyway—someway.

Paul—I’ve always thought the people who founded the University in memory of their little child had the right idea. (She nods, far-gazingly.) But (shaking off gloomy thoughts) isn’t it about (glancing at Boy Blue) the chronologically appropriate era for FILIUS NOSTER to go to s-l-u-m-b-e-r?

Mary—Yes. Boy Blue. (Boy Blue hears, but he knows only too well what it means, and so he pretends he does not hear;. It is not really deception; it is a game—a delicious game if one’s parents are in the right temper, and if one does not keep it. up too long. Boy Blue bends farther over his scientific inquiry. He knows he can tell by the tone of the next speech whether this is a favorable evening for a game.) Boy Blue. (It is still his mother. The more peremptory tones of his father have not joined in, as they sometimes do. His little test has produced favorable results. He turns slyly and peeps. They, in their softened mood, cannot resist smiling. They even glance at each other with a bit of pride in his sweet naughtiness. He laughs aloud rougishly.)

Paul—Bedtime, Boy Blue.

Boy Blue—(Shakes his head exaggeratedly. Grins.) Don’t want to go to bed, Daddy.

Paul—It’s eight o’clock, son boy.

Boy Blue—But I’ve got spine ’portant business to ’tend to. (He imitates his father’s starting-to-the-office tones.)

Paul—(Inveigled) For instance?

Boy Blue—This. (He sweeps his day-time clothes together from the floor and piles them on his bedside chair. The only noticeable article of apparel is a cap with a drooping gay feather. There is also a horn on a belt. He places these on the top of the heap.)

Paul—Marvels, Mother, Boy Blue is getting orderly.

Boy Blue—And this. (He makes a flying leap at his father, clasps his neck and hugs mightily. Then he reaches for Mary, pulls her into the circle of his arms, strains to embrace them both, and kisses each in turn.)

Mary—Boy Blue was always impartial with his caresses.

Boy Blue—I like both of you.

Paul—Growing up, mother. When a lad changes his word to LIKE, he’s getting -toward the great self-consciousness of boyhood.

Boy Blue—My boy blue cap and horn are close, ready for morning.

Paul—Funny notion of his, this identifying himself with all the Boy Blue rhyme-stories he hears. I never heard of a child asking to be called by a nursery rhyme name before.

Mary—But I think it’s a sweet idea—though somehow a little sad. (She

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banishes the momentary gloom.) Let’s see these buttons, Boy Blue. (She begins to button the back of Boy Blue’s sleeping garment.)

Paul—Can’t we make these togs button in front? So big a boy ought to have them where he could do them himself.

Mary—Oh, Paul, I want one thing left.to do. It’s all that is left of the sweet bothers I had when he was a baby.

Paul—There are a few things left, little Mother. Now we’ll admit the clothes found a haven on the chair there; but how about the toys? (He points to a soldier and a dog by the fire.)

Boy Blue—I’ll put ’em away when I’ve had my story. What’s my story tonight, mother?

Mary—Another echo from babyhood, Paul?

Boy Blue—Tell me a story, Mother. (He settles into her lap. Paul turns off the reading lamp.)

Mary—What shall it be?
Boy Blue—About when you were a little girl.
Mary—I’ll tell you a dream.
Boy Blue—Oh, I had a dream last night.
Mary—What did you dream?
Boy Blue—I dreamed I told myself a story.
Mary—What was it about?
Boy Blue—Oh, I didn’t hear it.
Paul—Didn’t hear it? How did you know you told it?
Boy Blue—I just felt it.
Paul—That’s Irish enough for you, Mother. A perfect paradox.
Boy Blue—Tell me your dream, Mother.

Mary—I dreamed I saw a great College, standing on a high hill, and on the hillside, under big trees, grazed a flock of sheep and a herd of cows, round and round a huge haycock. When I came near, the sheep and cows turned and ran, away and thru the fence, the cows into a grain field and the sheep into a meadow; and they all disappeared. I went on up to the College and found my Boy Blue’s toy soldier, big as a man, standing on one side of the door, and his toy dog, life size, on the other side. Inside were rooms and rooms filled with glass tubes and bottles and shiny machines and instruments. I seemed to remember then that I was hunting Boy Blue, who was a great grown lad, but there were no people there to tell me where to find him. Suddenly I saw coming toward me a beautiful angel, singing a song, and before I could ask, the angel said, “Where should Boy Blue be but under the haystack fast asleep?” And the angel smiled and I laughed and started out to the haystack—and woke up.

Boy Blue—And I slept on?
Mary—I guess so.

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Boy Blue—And nobody to mind the sheep.
Mary—Under the haystack fast asleep.
Boy Blue—(Diving for his bed and covering to his chin) Here’s my haystack.
Paul—Toys, son.
Boy Blue—That’s right. (Sits up, looks sidewise rouguishly.) How about a little back ride, Mr. Daddy?

Paul—You young rascal! (He catches the boy to him, hoists him to his back, and they have a tremendous romp, Boy Blue riding on Paul’s back and his shoulders, once standing up for a dizzy moment—(Mary gasps, once riding Paul as a hands-and-knees broncho. This ride ends by the broncho’s bucking the rider into bed. Boy Blue hurls his pillow at Paul, and Paul throws it back; then he straightens the covers over Boy Blue.) There. Probably this bedtime procedure isn’t according to the books, but apparently it meets local approval, Mother.
Boy Blue—Toys, Daddy.
Mary—And prayers, dear.
Boy Blue—(He climbs out and goes to Mary.) Mother, I’ve thought what the story was that I told myself.
Mary—What, dear?

Boy Blue—(Dreamily) I told myself once ’pon a time a little boy lived ’way, ’way off, I think in fairyland, with nobody but his pets and toys—just like my Toro and Scahbro, there, only the toys could talk—I think Toro and Scahbro can understand, Mother. They just can’t talk. Once I thought I saw Scahbro open and close one of his eyes at the little fairy dancer on the mantel there, and I’m sure Toro wants to chase the calico cat.

Mary-—Yes, dear, but your dream?
Boy Blue—Oh! Well, ’nen sometimes the little boy’d get tired of living in just fairyland, and an angel’d sing a magic song, and he’d come to the world and be somebody’s little boy for—oh, for maybe seventeen years—or seven, and he’d go back again to fairyland—and—and—why, I guess I didn’t dream any more. Maybe the little boy didn’t die and go to heaven like other little boys, but just went to fairyland.
Mary—What a strange idea, Boy Blue. It’s just a dream. Say your prayers now.
(He says his “Now I lay me,” then goes and carefully places the dog and soldier on a chair by the fireplace, patting each lovingly.)
Boy Blue—Toro (to the dog) you stand there, and Scahbro (to the soldier) you stand here. ‘Now don’t you.go till I come, and don’t you make any noise.’ (Then he climbs into bed and Mary tucks him in. Once settled, he turns sleepily.) Maybe 1111 dream how it is to mind the sheep and to sleep under a haystack and hear an angel sing. (He suddenly reaches his arms for her and then for Paul, embraces and kisses them both, sinks back.)

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You sing me a song, Mother. (Mary sings softly, more softly still as he closes his eyes.)

I stand on the sand of a sunlit strand,
By the marge of a sun ki sed ea;
And my hand parts the band of gold-tinged sand
That parts my realm from thee.

Come sleep on the deep where the soft waves creep,
Where the sweet warm wavelets smiles;
Come be brave, come and lave in the warm, fragrant wave;
Come dream on my fairy isles.

Come play day by day with my fairies gay 
On the isles of fairy land.
And at night by the light of the sweet starlight 
Come sleep on this fairy strand.

Paul and Mary stand, arms about each other, smiling almost tearfully down on him as the firelight dims quite out. In the soft darkness a voice of an angel sings. Perhaps we see the angel dimly. The angel sings one stanza of the song Mary just sang.

I stand on the sand of a sunlit strand,
... By the marge of a sunlit sea;
And my hand parts the band of gold-tinged sand 
That parts my realm from thee.

When we can see again, Paul and Mary are gone; the bed has disappeared, and in its place is a haycock, under which sleeps Boy Blue. The walls are no longer of a room, but suggests trees and fields. Images of toys and nursery rhyme folk lend their suggestion to the scene.

Boy Blue awakes slowly, comfortably, smilingly. He is fully dressed, in the traditional garments of the Boy Blue of nursery rhyme. He is maturer than in the earlier scene—“a great grown lad.” His feathered cap and horn round out the costume. He sits up, rubbing his eyes.

Boy Blue—Is it morning? Where are my cap and horn? (Feels for them.) My, I’m sleepy, Scalibro! I wonder how long I’ve slept this time I—Where are you Scalibro? (He raises his horn and blows. Without sounds an answering snare drum. With the stiff motions of a jointed doll, a man-sized tin soldier enters, contoured strangely like the one of the fireside , scene. He plays a march for himself, and executes military maneuvers in all his movements. He salutes briskly, if stiffly and clankingly.)

Boy Blue—Scalibro, how long have I been asleep?
Scalibro—Do you mean, sir, how long have WE been asleep?
Boy Blue—Oh, I’d forgotten you were asleep too. How long has it been?

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Scalibro—And Toro’s been asleep, too," sir.
Boy Blue—Yes, yes. We’ve all been asleep. I think I asked, How LONG have we all been asleep?
Scalibro—Oh, no, sir. I misdoubt we’ve ALL been asleep, sir. From the appearance of the meadow and corn, I should say the cows and sheep have been awake the whole seven years, sir, and eating with coming appetites.

Boy Blue—Oh, they’ve been taking advantages, have they? Toro! (At the sound, one hears in the distance the joyous yip—yip ofa dog.)
Scalibro—I think you asked how long we all, excepting the cows and sheep, had been asleep, sir.
Boy Blue—No, no. I didn’t ask. And you didn’t tell me. But I heard a mention of seven years.

Scalibro—Oh, sir, that was but a rough guess, sir. I hadn’t consulted my calendar, sir. I always consult my calendar when we feel this strange drowsiness coming on us. Let me look at it. (He begins to do so.) Remember the sleep we had in King Arthur’s time? SEVENTEEN years. Ha! I can see that round table yet—(He is interrupted here by the bow-wowing entrance of TORO. Toro rides a little four-wheeled platform, as in the beginning, but is what shall we say?—dog-size. He moves by kicking along with one foot. He fawns his master, but growls jealously at Scalibro.) If you please, sir, will you be so kind as to kick that animal, sir? He’s been nipping pieces off my leg again, sir.

Boy Blue—Toro, those cows and sheep have been poaching again. I’ve been sensitive about having them out visiting the neighbors’ fields over since folk made that “come-blow-your-horn” rhyme about me three hundred years ago. Go bring the cows up under the trees, and the sheep too. Bring old Catapult in for a minute.
TORO—Bow	wow—wow. (Exit.)
Scalibro—(Emerging from a profound study of his calendar) Nearly seven, sir. Six years and eleven months next Wednesday, sir. I always try to be exact, sir, because in the army	
Boy Blue—Six years, eleven months next Wednesday. Where have I heard that before?
Scalibro—Do you mean where have we heard it before, sir?
Boy Blue—No fooling, old comrade. I’m in earnest.
Scalibro—(With instant change of mood) Yes, sir. I only meant, sir, that I’m always proud to think that wherever you’ve been and whatever you’ve seen or heard I’ve been there and seen and heard it too.
Boy Blue— I know Scalibro. Where HAVE we heard those exact words before?
Scalibro—Pardon my observing, sir, that it has always been a little hard for you to remember when you—when WE, first wake up. Don’t you recall, sir,a gentleman, a fireplace, myself, rather—er—shorter than now and unable to talk at all, a bed, a beautiful lady?

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Boy Blue—Mother!
Scalibro—Yes, sir, that is what you always called them.

Boy .Blue—Always? Perhaps. But—I loved this one. I’d like to see her. I’d like to hear her talk and sing. (He speaks hazily, with dawning memory.) And I’d like to—to romp—with HIM. Scalibro!
Scalibro—(Saluting) Yes, sir.

Boy Blue—Go at once—I can’t, unless the angel sings, and I never know when that will be—go at once to them, and come back to me—tell me how they are. Why, they may be grieving. Their plans—my leaving may have torn their lives asunder. It might happen so.

Scalibro—Indeed, sir, you’re probably right. Something they said last night makes me think they counted greatly on making a wonderful man of you. I caught the word “scientist,” and was considerably disturbed, sir, because—I don’t know any officer of that name in the army, sir. And then they spoke in a way that you did not understand,—because—if you’ll pardon me, sir, you were too young—trying to think out what they’d do with their lives if the angel song came, sir. They had hopes that some sort, sir, but not very clear ones. I fear they’re grieving now, as you say, sir.

Boy Blue—Then go at once, Scalibro.
Scalibro—Yes, sir. (Salute, drum tune, military maneuvers, exit.)

Boy Blue—(Instantly without sounds a mighty clatter of dog barkings, sheep bleatings, and the cow bawlings, combined with the jangle of sheep and cow bells. Eventually there comes in a sheep, old Catapult by name, moving on a wheeled platform like that of Toro. Catapult backs in shaking his head and keeping a horn aimed at Toro, who follows barking.)

Toro—Here he is, master. And the cows and the other sheep are under the trees, as you ordered.
Catapult—And I think the hair on your shoulder is a little disordered where I pillowed my head a moment, eh? Baa—a—a-a (He makes a feint at Toro.)
Toro—Woonh, woonh, would you now? I’d hate to get my teeth full of wool, but Boy Blue—There, there! that will do.
Catapult—See (accusingly at Toro)!
Toro—(Also accusingly) Aha! Master, order me to do something else. Shall I bring old Brindle Moo in? I like a little beef with my mutton.
Boy Blue—Now, now. I’m not in a mood for foolery. (Both animals quiet down, especially Toro.) Toro, I do have an order for you.
Toro—Give it to me, master.
Boy Blue—Go to the place where we were—while—while we slept. Go quickly and return and tell me what you see.
Toro—Yes, Master. (Starts.)
Boy Blue—Wait. You will probably meet Scalibro on the way back.

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But your news will be later than his. Don’t stop to quarrel with him, but keep on going. And pay no attention to any rabbits by the way.
Toro—No, Master, but if you please, there was a cat on the mantel, a most tantalizing cat, who kept safely out of reach yet was always daring me to—
Boy Blue—No, Toro. Not this time. Tell me of mother of the people. Hurry.
Toro—Yes, Master. Yip, Yip. (He goes.)
Catapult-I’d offer to go along, Master, but he’s more fleet than I. My strong point is head-work.
Boy Blue—I had meant to scold you and Brindle Moo and the rest for damaging the neighbors’ meadows and cornfields—Jack Sprat and his wife have both complained more than once. You should both look out. You are fat and Brindle Moo is lean, and you know the Sprat family’s likings.
Catapult—I’m sorry, Master—at least for myself. But Brindle Moo, now, is terribly greedy. And she’s sarcastic too. She’s been criticizing my winter flannels. Now I’m sensitive about them, and she’d better be sensitive about my best horn—
Boy Blue—I know, I know. But I’m too worried to scold either of you. (He paces nervously.)
Catapult-I forgot again. I’m sorry.
Boy Blue—Never mind. Look out and see if you see Scalibro.
Catapult—(Obeying) I think I hear him, (From the distance a drum beat.) Yes, he’s coming.
Boy Blue—But his beat is not so brisk as usual. I’m afraid his word is bad. (Scalibro enters, sad of demeanor.) What news? How are they?
Scalibro—Sad, sir.
Boy Blue—Yes, but do they hope? What do they do?
Scalibro—They sit by the fireplace, but the fire’s out. By the, little bed, but it’s empty.	
Boy Blue—Do they speak?
Scalibro—They weep, sir.
Boy Blue—No words?
Scalibro—She—your-—your mother, sir—
Boy Blue—Yes, yes.
Scalibro—She only said, “No bothers at all. No nightdress to button up the back. The toys put in their place by the hearth forever. ” And she dropped tears on Toro and me—our other selves, you know. And he-sat bowed.
Boy Blue—Scalibro, your news is sad, but you’ve brought it faithfully like a good comrade. Will you go again? Your report will be later than that Toro is bringing.

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Scalibro—Of course, sir. And if you will pardon me, I saw the—thelittle fairy dancer is still there, and—
Boy Blue—Spend a little time with her. It will give you more opportunity for observation.
Scalibro—Thank you, sir. Ah—Should you like me to make up with Toro, sir? I’m afraid our quarreling sometimes annoys you, sir.
Boy Blue—Well, thank you, old comrade. But you must go now. (With smart salute, Scalibro wheels and drums himself out.)
Catapult—(Rubs against Boy Blue.) Master, I could stop butting at Brindle Moo. I really don’t mind her gossip a great deal. It’s only that about the flannels that—
Boy Blue—(Smiling a little) Old rascal, your sympathy is good, anyway. (Noise of Toro coming) Here comes Toro. What did you see? Don’t tell me they’re still bowed and weeping.
Toro—No, they walk about, with strange, unsmiling faces. Boy Blue—Do they weep?
Toro—Sometimes, in each other’s arms. Then she goes to the place where your clothes are and lifts up a nightdress, and hides her face in it; and he pushes the chair with us—Scalibro and me—on it a little nearer the hearth and walks away with hurt eyes.
Boy Blue—Do they speak?
Toro—He does, Master. He speaks of a College on a hill, to teach people how to relieve suffering, to lighten labor, to make the world happier. And she half-listens and says that once she thought of it but that now can not understand the reason of anything, neither why you are gone nor why the future holds any good!—that she can not think. But the talk seems to comfort them.
Boy Blue— Do you think—
Toro—I think time will help, Master.
Boy Blue—I wonder if Scalibro will not be back soon?
Toro—Shall I go see, Master?
Boy Blue—Yes. (Exit Toro)
Catapult—Toro is nearly always right, Master. Time will help.
Boy Blue—I hope so. I will believe so. (Enter Toro.)
Toro—I thought I heard him, but it was only the cows and sheep moving about. Old Brindle Moo is getting restless, but the sheep won’t go away without a leader.
Boy Blue—(Dully) Very well.
Toro—Master, would it please you if I should stop chasing cats. (Boy 
Blue only reaches out to pat Toro’s head; Scalibro’s drum is heard. Boy 
Blue blows. The drum sounds louder. Scalibro enters, triumphant, flamboyant, jubilant.)
Boy Blue—What news? (Eagerly.)

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Scalibro—Grand news, sir. Let me tell it all, sir.
Boy Blue—Please do.

Scalibro—Well, I went and entered my other self, there on the chair by the fireplace, just as I did before—and just as Toro did, I suppose (Toro nods)—and they came and stood looking down. I just thought hard how much you wanted them to take heart again even though you had to go away, and I believe I thought it so hard I made them think it, for he said, “How sturdy and stanch the little dog stands, and how firm the soldier’s hands grasp his musket. It almost seems as if they are trying to ‘carry on’ as Boy Blue might have wanted them to do. Can’t we?” And she replied, “Yes, Paul. Let’s work and earn money and build in Boy Blue’s memory a College on a high hill under big trees. And”—this seems strange to me, sir—she said, “Let’s always have a flock of sheep and a herd of cows to graze under the trees. And on one side of the College door let’s have a statue of Boy Blue’s tin soldier, and on the other side a statue of his toy dog, to remind us always of the constancy in them that gave us new hope. And inside, we shall have rooms for learning, and laboratories for experiment, so that great scientists 2- may find out how to relieve suffering, to lighten labor, and make the world happier.” And he answered, “Yes. Give the scientiests time and they will do all these things.” And I didn’t wait to hear or see more, but marched at double-quick, sir.

Boy Blue—My Mother! How like her! And my—my father! The best I’ve ever had! Bravo! both! And Scalibro, you’re the best old comrade one ever had and you too, Toro, and you, Catapult, old hard head. And now—it may seem strange, but you understand don’t you, that we just must celebrate. (Here follows an ad libitum pandemonium of Boy Blue’s horn, Toro’s barking, Scalibro’s drum, and Catapult’s baa-ing and bell-ringing.) I almost forgot to give credit to old Brindle Moo for our good fortune, but doubtless she deserves credit. Isn’t she to graze with old Catapult’s flock beneath the trees? Bring her in.

Scalibro—Beg pardon, sir but Brindle Moo has forfeited her rights, I’m afraid, sir. As I came in I saw her heading straight for Jack—for Mr. John Sprat’s cornfield.

Catapult—Master, I feel so jubilant I confess to a desire to be a bit wicked—no, not that, but delicately humorous. I should like your permission to go down to that cornfield and gently butt that Brindle Moo person clear over the stone wall back into her pwn pasture. May I?

Boy Blue—Go, and more power to your—antlers. Just don’t tear your winter flannels. (Exit Catapult.)

Toro—Master, I’d like to celebrate too—that is I’d like you to order me to celebrate. That odious cat seemed to know I was under orders not to take time to chase her, and she followed me half-way home making unkind remarks about my family and about my personal appearance. Please, please order me to go and chase her.

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Boy Blue—Nothing finer. Chase her up the tallest tree in fairy land. (Exit Toro.)

Scalibro—Pardon, sir, but I feel lake cutting a bit of a dash myself. You recall, sir, that you gave me your kind permission to spend a little time with the—the little fairy dancer. Well,—ah—we became engaged in an—an intimate conversation, and did not quite finish by the time I had to leave; and so she offered—I mean, consented, to—-to walk a piece with me, as they say, sir—only, we came so fast, I had to carry her most of the way, and—well the fact is, sir, she’s waiting just outside, and if you’d be so kind as to give me your consent, we’d like to do our celebration by dancing a bit. If there’s one thing better than marching, it’s dancing, sir.

Boy Blue—Nothing would please me more, old comrade. (Scalibro marches to the door and ushers in the Little Fairy Dancer, fight and airy. Music. They dance, he keeping the rhythm with march steps, she pirouetting around him, under his musket, etc. Part of the time he keeps time with his drum. As the dance draws to a close, the fight dims. Boy Blue sits by the hay cock, yawns. Scalibro notices him, loses interest in the dance. The Little Fairy Dancer dances out and, with a fight-blown kiss, away. Scalibro approaches Boy Blue.)

Scalibro—If you—if we are going to—to sleep again, sir, I’d best take a look at my calendar, so we’ll know how long we’ve slept this time. (He takes out calendar.)

Boy Blue—I suppose so. (Yawns.) I wonder who my mother will be this time and-what she will be like. And will—my father—like—to romp? (Music begins—the music of the angel song. Scalibro takes his stand on guard. Boy Blue grows drowsier. Scalibro sleeps on his feet. The light dims out with the dying song.

“Now we land on the sand of a sunlit strand,
By the marge of a sun-kissed sea.
And my hand parts the band of gold-tinged sand 
That parts my realm from thee.”

When the scene comes once more slowly into view, it is the room of the beginning of the play—except that the little bed is gone. Mary, gently aging and graying, stands looking down on the little chair where still stands the tin soldier and the dog. Paul, gently aging also, comes in.

Paul—My dear. I’ve the greatest news. We were right to give our scientists time, even though it took the half of our seventeen years. Listen. In our College on the hill they have made the world’s greatest discovery. It will relieve suffering, lighten labor and make all the people of the world happier.

Mary—And our Boy Blue did it all, through us, just as if he—he had not gone away.

Paul—We carried on.

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Mary-—Because these little folk here carried on and gave us courage. (She fondles the dog.) Covered with dust, isn’t he?
Paul—And the soldier is red with rust.
Mary:—‘Time was when the little toy dog was new.'
Paul—‘And the soldier was passing fair.’
Mary—‘And that was the time when our little Boy Blue kissed them and 
put them there. ’
Paul—Seventeen years.
Mary—But they stand sturdy and stanch.
Paul—And they haven’t made any noise.
Horn (5).	
Drum (6).	
Horn (7).

NOTE:—The musical passages for the horn and drum, numbered to correspond to the numbers in the text, will be found on a following page with the music for the dance and the songs.

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Dance IN D Minor.
Tempo de Valse
E. Lewis Sublette




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2. Da Capo Al Fine
Voice
The Angels Song
E. Lewis Sublette
Violin
Horn and Drum Parts
Horn (1) Drum (2) Horn (3) Horn (4) Horn (5) Drum (6)



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(Back Cover)