<h2 id="c12"><br/>CHAPTER XII <br/><span class="sc">The Camp Fire Play</span></h2>
<p>By eight o’clock on Christmas evening
every seat in the Sunrise cabin
living room was filled except two,
and toward these the eyes of every girl
hidden behind the khaki curtain turned
questioningly for the last fifteen minutes
before their Camp Fire play was to commence.
However then, to Polly’s despair,
their last hope died away—the great lady
and the great actress in one—would not
form a part of their Woodford audience,
even her own Miss Adams had likewise
failed her.</p>
<p>Nevertheless their entertainment was to
begin promptly (on this Miss McMurtry
and Miss Dyer had both insisted), since
punctuality was so seldom a feature of
amateur plays they wished thus to show
one of the superior results of the Camp
Fire training.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div>
<p>A Camp Fire Morality Play: These
words were printed on the Christmas programs
and it was an old time morality play
such as we have seen and read in “Everyman”
that Polly and Betty had attempted
to write, assisted of course by both their
guardians and with suggestions from every
girl in the Sunrise club. Whether they
were successful in keeping close to the old
model was not so much their ideal as the
desire to show both by words and tableaux
the aims and the influence of the Camp Fire
organization, and what women have given
to the world since the primitive time when
human life centered about the camp-fire.</p>
<p>At a quarter past eight the curtain arose
slowly, showing the stage in semi-darkness
and representing a scene in a primeval
forest. In the corner is the bare pine tree,
the ground is strewn with twigs, fir cones
and needles, and there within the instant
the figure of a woman enters. It is Polly!
And because of her great disappointment
there is a tragic droop to her shoulders,
a pathetic expression in her great wide-open
Irish blue eyes. She had hoped so
much from Miss Adams’ promise and now—well,
she must not forget her part, she must
try to do her best for her friends’ sakes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div>
<p>Polly is dressed in a short skirt with
a fox’s skin fastened from one shoulder
to her belt, there are sandals on her
feet and her straight black hair is hanging
about her shoulders. Unhappy, she
gropes her way about the stage shivering
and finding nothing to do, no place in
which to rest herself. It is December,
the month of the long moon, and the
night promises to be bitterly cold. In
another moment there is heard from the
outside the crying of a child and next
“Little Brother,” very proud of his rabbit
coat and cap, runs forward throwing his
arms about the woman’s knees and evidently
begging for warmth and shelter. Still in
pantomime the mother mournfully shakes
her head, and with this Eleanor Meade
appears representing a primitive man and
carrying a brace of freshly killed game
over her shoulder. This he presents to the
child and the woman, but both of them
shake their heads and a moment later the
man drops despairingly down on the frozen
ground burying his face in his hands, the
child hiding between his parents for warmth.
However the woman does not cover her
face and by and by, picking up two dry
twigs from the ground, she begins in an
idle fashion to rub them together. Suddenly
there is a tiny spark of light and
then darkness.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div>
<p>It was a wise selection on the part of the
Sunrise club girls to have chosen 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 had also a face so vivid and so emotional
that to Polly’s own chagrin it was seldom
possible for her to hide from other people
what was going on in her mind. Now,
however, this characteristic was of excellent
service, for there was not a member of her
little audience who did not in this instant
guess the inspiration that had just been
born in the woman.</p>
<p>In a seat toward the back of the living
room, in as inconspicuous a spot as possible,
a fragile looking woman, an unknown
member of the small Woodford audience,
turned suddenly to the companion beside
her, nodding her head quickly. She had
a plain, yet remarkably youthful looking
face illumined by a pair of wonderful gray
eyes with an indescribably wistful and yet
understanding expression. And from now
on she watched the girl on the stage more
attentively.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div>
<p>Rising quietly, Polly seemed almost to
be holding her breath. Then with eager
fingers she can be seen searching along the
ground until by and by she has gathered
together a few twigs, and now kneeling
before them appears to be uttering a silent
prayer. A moment later and she picks
up her former sticks, again repeating the
rubbing of them together. For a while
Polly seemed to be unsuccessful in making
them ignite, so that in the background and
well out of sight the other Camp Fire girls
hold their breath with a kind of sick horror,
fearing that she is going to fail here and so
make a fiasco of the entire scene. But the
little waiting has only made the final result
more dramatic. There is a tiny flare of
light, and then 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 of yellow
flame and the instant after is across
the stage shaking the man by the shoulder
and drawing the child toward the blaze.
Together then they heap on more fuel until
a really splendid fire is a-light. (And for
fear any one may think that this fire in the
middle of the wooden platform would
probably have put an end to Sunrise cabin
it must be explained that a sheet of iron
had been fastened on the floor that the fire
might be built with entire safety.)</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div>
<p>Like a flame herself the woman then flies
from one home duty to the other, making
a bed of pine branches for the child near
the fire, appearing to roast the game for
her husband. Far better by her actions
than by any possible words Polly told her
story, until the curtain at last goes down on
the beginning of the first home with the
woman as its genius and inspiration.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div>
<p>But before the curtain has finally
descended, for a moment Polly’s attention,
as though drawn by an invisible magnet,
centered upon the face of a stranger in the
back of the living room beyond the more
familiar ranks of her friends; and with a
quick intake of her breath and a feeling of
thankfulness that her first trial is over and
that she is not obliged to speak, the young
girl recognizes the famous actress. She
is glad then that she had not known of her
presence sooner and also that her first
appearance before her has been made in
pantomime, for she guesses it to be a surer
test of dramatic ability than any recitation
an untrained girl might be able to repeat.
If she had the necessary temperament
somehow in the scene just past it must have
revealed itself.</p>
<p>But now an intermission of twenty
minutes passes and the second act represents
a scene wholly different from the
first, for now the stage is intended to present
as nearly as possible the picture of an ideal
home. It was difficult to portray, of course,
but then the bigger things must always be
trusted to the imagination, for this home
was not intended to suggest merely a single
home but a kind of universal and representative
one. There were beautiful pictures
in it and soft rugs and many books
and windows everywhere, supposedly letting
in all the possible sunlight, while over in
the corner the solitary pine tree still stood,
but now covered with many white candles,
although none of them were yet a-light.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div>
<p>Then the door opens and the first spirit
of the home enters. This is Esther Clark
wearing a kind of blue tunic with a silver
band about her unloosened red hair. With
swift steps and busy fingers she moves
about, bringing a bunch of winter roses to
a table, putting fresh logs on the fire, drawing
chairs nearer to the inspiring blaze,
which is now no longer a primitive camp
fire but a great, hospitable open hearth.</p>
<p>Then Esther goes to the front of the
stage and waits there for a moment in
silence before beginning her speech, and
there are but few persons watching her who
have yet guessed what spirit she is illustrating.</p>
<p>Esther is awkward and not handsome;
nevertheless, because she has a clear and
beautiful speaking as well as singing voice
she had been chosen for this particular part.
Now she is plainly heard throughout the
room.</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“I am Work, the great Mother Spirit of the earth.</p>
<p class="t0">I have borne many children with a fairer fame,</p>
<p class="t0">Service, who is my daughter with a gentler name.”</p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div>
<p>And here Nan Graham in a yellow costume
with her black hair flowing over her
shoulders and her dark eyes shining walks
forward and takes her place at one end of
the stage just a little back of the speaker,
followed by Eleanor Meade in a white robe
with a wreath of laurel on her head and a
scroll in her hand, who is seen by the
audience as Esther continues:</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“Knowledge, who needs no word of mine to prove her worth,</p>
<p class="t0">Beauty that shall not fade, surely it lives through me</p>
<p class="t0">In music, books and art, a noble trinity.”</p>
</div>
<p>Then Betty Ashton, whom there is no
difficulty in recognizing as the spirit of
Beauty, approaches the front of the stage
in a dress of some soft silvery material with
three stars in her hair and stands beside
Eleanor.</p>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“And Health and Happiness, would they deny their birth?</p>
<p class="t0">Then let them seek it in some nobler form than mine,</p>
<p class="t0">The quest is everlasting but the choice is thine.”</p>
</div>
<p>Sylvia and Beatrice Field then advance
together and take their places in the center
of the group, Sylvia as Health dressed in
the green of the open fields and Beatrice
in deep rose color.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">“Trustworthiness and Sympathy dwell by my hearth</p>
<p class="t0">With Purity; we are the graces of the home.</p>
<p class="t0">And yet there is one other fairer still to come</p>
<p class="t0">Whose handmaids are these spirits named above;</p>
<p class="t0">To her alone I yield my gracious place,</p>
<p class="t0">The inspiration of the home—the world—is Love!”</p>
</div>
<p>While Esther has been finishing her verse,
Juliet Field has come forth to portray the
spirit of Trustworthiness in a dress of deep
violet, carrying a sheath of purple lilies.
Meg, with her charming face so full of
humor and tenderness, is the embodiment
of Sympathy, and Edith Norton as Purity
has her long fair hair falling almost down
to her knees and wears a dress of the palest
green—like Undine when she first comes
forth from the sea.</p>
<p>And now a crescent has slowly formed
about the figure of Esther who is a little
in advance of the other girls, but now as
she speaks the final word—Love—she steps
quietly backward and Mollie O’Neill as
the spirit of Love occupies the center of the
stage. She has never looked half so lovely
in her life as she does to-night. Her gown
is of pale pink, she has a wreath of roses
in her black hair, her usually too grave
expression is illumined by a smile born
partly of fear and the rest of pride, which
has nothing to do with her own appearance,
but is a kind of shadowy pleasure in the
beauty and the significance of the tableau
surrounding her.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div>
<p>From his place behind the curtain Billy
Webster wonders how he was ever able
even at the beginning of their acquaintance
to confuse the twin sisters. Polly in all her
existence has never looked so pretty as this
and 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 drop on this second scene in the
Camp Fire allegory.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div>
<p>In the last act the Christmas tree is all
a-blaze with pure white candles and silver
tinsel and above it is suspended a great
silver star, while the girls in their many
colored costumes are seen dancing before
it. Then at the close of the dance Polly
again enters. She is to recite the epilogue,
to make plainer the ideals of the Camp
Fire. But some change has come over her
since the first scene, her color is entirely
gone, her eyes are rimmed and, worst of
all, she feels that a deadly weight is settling
on her chest and that her voice is nowhere
to be found. She is having an attack of
stage fright, but Polly does not yet know it
by that name. The truth is that she has
grown desperately tired, the strain and
excitement of waiting after the long day’s
pleasure with the very foolish thought
that her fate is probably to be decided by
one person’s judgment of her abilities has
proved too much for her. She tries pulling
herself together, she sees many eyes turned
up toward her, with one face shining a
little farther off like a star. Polly opens her
mouth to speak, but there is a great darkness
about her, the world is slowly slipping
away. She puts out both arms with a
pathetic appeal for silence and patience
and then suddenly some one is holding her
up and the other girls are forming a rainbow
circle about her so that she is safely hidden
from view.</p>
<p>For in a flash Betty Ashton has guessed
at Polly’s faintness, has signaled her companions
and then reached her first, so that
the curtain finally fell on perhaps the
prettiest scene of all.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
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