(Sitting room in Neilson’s house. Margaret is seated doing fancywork. Helen comes in and Margaret rushes to meet her.)

Helen—Say, what’s up now that you had to have me come over in such a hurry? Have you any startling news? (Both go towards centre.)

Margaret—Oh Helen, I’m in a terrible fix and all over that awful letter you made me write to—

Helen—(interrupting indignantly.) I made you write!

Margaret—Yes, to Elizabeth—or Lizzie as I guess she’s called. Would you ever think she’d accept that invitation?

Helen—No, she hasn’t, has she?

Margaret—Yes, she has and here’s her answer. (shows her a letter written on some very brightly colored paper or wrapping paper.) Just look at the spelling and the style! Wouldn’t it crimp you? And just wait until I read it to you (begins to read, while Helen follows her over her shoulder and giggles all through the reading of it.)

(throws the letter down on the table in disgust and makes a face.) Isn’t that perfectly awful? That means she’ll be here to-morrow and oh, she must be dreadful! And what if she should tell dad about that awful letter we wrote! Oh, why did I do it, and whatever will I do? (Sinks down in chair and begins to cry.)

Helen—(going over and putting her arm around her.) Oh, cheer up! Things might be worse. You can manage to avoid the girls for awhile and you can give Lizzie books to read or something to keep her in the background and out of mischief.

Margaret—(drying her eyes.) It’s a good thing she isn’t coming today for you know I’ve invited Edith Browning for tea and I want to be on my best behavior and be as nice as I can so as to make a good impression. If Lizzie were here, I would be mortified to death. (bell rings behind stage.) Oh, there’s the bell. It’s too early for Edith. I wonder who it is. (goes to the door and looks out.) There’s Nora answering the door now. (throws up her hands in horror.) Good heavens, who can that awful person be!

Helen—What person? (Goes and looks too and giggles.) Goodness, I bet she’s escaped from some asylum. But listen, Nora’s going to settle her. (both listen at door.)

Nora—(behind the scenes) Yez can’t come in here. This is no place for the likes of ye. Ye’d better thry the asylum where ye belong.

Elizabeth—(behind the scenes) Yer’d better go there yerself. Let me tell yer that I kin come in if I want ter. I’ve come to visit my Uncle Jerry and yer needn’t think a red-haired freckled flip of a thing like yer can stop me. Now stop making a door of yerself and let me through or I’ll tell my cousin Maggie on yer.

Helen—Good heavens, here she comes! (Drags Margaret to front of stage where they both fall limp into chairs.)

Margaret—Merciful powers, it’s Lizzie! Isn’t she—(Elizabeth appears at door, dressed in a most ridiculous fashion and carries an old-fashioned telescope and a big satchel. Both girls sit staring at her.)

Elizabeth—(Rushing up to them and throwing down her telescope) Helloa, girls! Be one of youse my cousin Maggie? I’m Lizzie Norton. I got a chance ter come up a day earlier so I didn’t think it would make any odds. (The girls have jumped to their feet thunder-struck.)

Elizabeth—(looks from one to the other) Say, what’s the matter with youse? Be youse both deef and dumb?

Margaret—(extending her hand which Elizabeth seizes) I’m Margaret Neilson so I suppose you must be my cousin Lizzie. We were not expecting you until to-morrow. (Aside to Helen.) Oh, Helen, isn’t she perfectly dreadful?

Helen—(aside to Margaret) Well, I should say! And her clothes sure are the latest style as there’s never been any like them—yet!

Elizabeth—(tugging at the elastic on her hat) Well, youse didn’t tell me ter take off my hat, but I guess I’ll make myself ter hum. (Takes off her hat and throws it on the couch and stares around.) My, aint everything here perfectly grand! (Goes around the room.) Youse folks must be pretty stylish. Now, ter home us folks aint never seen such nice things. (Turns suddenly.) Say, how’s Uncle Jerry, Maggie?

Margaret—If you’re referring to my father, his name is J. Ernest Neilson, so please call him Uncle Ernest. As for myself, I detest the name of Maggie. Do call me Margaret.

Elizabeth—Oh, yer rather peppery aint yer? I’m sure Jerry is just as good a name as yer kin find anywhere. Why, we named our old white horse that and a better horse yer couldn’t have. As for Maggie, our black and white spotted cow is called that and she gives more milk than any of them. (Margaret looks more and more disgusted and Helen amused.) Say, aint you going to interduce me to your friend? At hum we always interduce everybody to everybody else.

Margaret—I beg your pardon. This is my friend, Miss Helen Montgomery. (Helen raises her hand very high and Elizabeth pulls it down and shakes it heartily.)

Elizabeth—Please ter meet you, Helly. I suspect I’ll get real acquainted with yer before my visit’s over. Yer don’t look quite as stuck-uppish as my cousin there. (Margaret makes a face while Helen laughs.)

Helen—I feel greatly complimented, I’m sure. (Aside) She’s summed up Margaret pretty well for a green country girl.

Elizabeth—(examining the girl’s clothes) Say, girls, yer dressed up mighty swell. Be yer going to a party?

Margaret—(proudly) Why, no, these are just our every-day clothes.

Elizabeth—(in surprise). You don’t say! (Smoothing down her own dress proudly.) Don’t you like my new dress? (Margaret looks disdainful.) I was bound to have Susannah make it stylish and put in all the pleats and frills she could. I think she made a real good job of it, don’t youse?

Helen—(sarcastically) Why, yes, I think it is beautiful (looking at Elizabeth’s hat) and what a lovely hat you have and so becoming. (Turns her back to laugh.)

Elizabeth—(getting the hat and turning it around in her hand) Yes, I think it mighty nice and so should it be for it was awferlly expensive. I paid $1.98 for the shape itself at (names a local milliner) and I trimmed it myself. (Puts it back on sofa. Helen and Margaret sit down.)

Helen—(aside) It wouldn’t need a detective to make that discovery, that’s one thing sure.

Elizabeth—(unfastening satchel and taking out a gaily colored centre-piece) Now, I’ll jest set down and work at this centre-piece. (Sits down in rocking chair and works.) I’m going to give it to you, Mag—Margaret, I mean, for yer parler table.

Margaret—(aside) Oh, gee, imagine that on our highly polished table. I guess it will be more likely to adorn the attic. (aloud) Oh, that’s very nice of you. By the way, how did you find your way here?

Helen—Oh yes, how did you when you had never been in the city before?

Elizabeth—Well, now, I did have a mighty hard time of it at first. I asked one of them policemen if he could tell me where Uncle Jer—where Mr. J. Ernest Neilson lived and he just laughed at me. (She keeps rocking.)

Helen—Well, I should think he would. Didn’t you know any better than that?

Elizabeth—(still sewing) Why, I was told that them policemen could answer any kind of a question. At hum everybody knows where everybody else lives so I thought it would be the same here. (Both girls laugh.) Anyway he asked what his address was and I showed him the top of yer letter.

Margaret—(in horror) You didn’t show him my letter!

Elizabeth—Sure and he must have got a good squint at what was in it, too, for he looked so funny. Well he told me to get into one of them street car things, and the feller who was all dressed up in brass buttons and took the tickets told me when to get into another so it was real easy. But I think the people here are dreadfully imperlite. They kept giggling and giggling. I asked one what the joke was and she grew awfully red and didn’t answer. I think it’s mighty rude not to tell other folks the joke, why down to hum—(looks up just as the girls are turning up their noses). Say, what’s the matter with your noses? Have they nervous twitches in them? Get a bottle of Dr. Cure-all’s syrup of tar at (name of local druggist) and it will soon stop that for it cured my cold. (Rising and throwing fancy work on chair.) Laws a me, I’m awfully thirsty. Where’s the kitchen (goes towards door, Margaret starts up). Never mind coming. I’ll just use the dipper so you don’t need to get me a glass.

Margaret—Well, tell Nora to get you a drink. (Exit Elizabeth). Oh Helen, I never saw anybody so common—

Helen—(interrupting). Why she’s the most uncommon specimen I ever met in all my life.

Margaret—(proceeding)—and horrid before—and oh, (jumping up in consternation), I forgot all about Edith coming. She’ll be here soon now and I simply must get Lizzie out of the way before she comes. Oh Helen, (putting her arm around her), hurry up and think up something to help me out of this hole.

Helen—(aside), And she was so grateful when I tried to help her the last time. But she’s in a pretty tight box now so I guess I’ll have to try and patch it up. I wish her important ancestors had given her some brains. (Aloud.) Oh, tell her—tell her—. Now let me think (thinks for a minute and suddenly grabs Margaret’s arm). I have it. Tell her that you know she must be very tired after her long journey and that you’re sure she would like to rest and have tea quietly in her own room. Nora could take it up on a tray. Lizzie will think it’s so considerate of you, I’m pretty sure, and the novelty of having things sent up to her might appeal to her. Let’s try it anyway.

Margaret—All right. I’d try anything. (Elizabeth appears.) But here she comes now. (Elizabeth comes toward centre and Margaret goes to meet her and puts her arm around Elizabeth’s waist). Oh Lizzie, I know you must be pretty tired after your long journey. I think perhaps you had better rest quietly until tea time. Then I’ll tell Nora to fix you up a nice dainty tray and you’ll be under no nervous strain at all.

Elizabeth—Me tired after that speck of a ride on the train! Why I’ve saw me walk five miles ter town and go home and milk ten cows and not be a bit the worse for it. And talk about nerves. Well I may be nervy but I aint got them nerves that make people act like sillies. Now I’ll just go up and put on my red chiny silk dress Susannah fixed up that stylish with yeller bows and six frills and point de spit lace. It will only take me a few minutes and I’ll be down in lots of time for supper. (Gets valise and goes towards exit, then stops at one end of stage), (Aside), I guess it’s time that I ended this farce. I think I’ve given my dear cousin a pretty strong jolt, judging from her face and actions. Gee, she’s the limit all right. Anyway, I had better change into a decent dress as I would hate to offend Uncle Jerry—I mean Uncle J. Ernest Neilson (exit Elizabeth).

(Margaret sits moodily in chair with head propped on knees. Helen sits toying with some fancy work.)

Helen—For goodness sake, Margaret, cheer up, you’re not dead yet!

Margaret—I wish I were. What am I going to do? and Edith is due any minute. I wonder what made Lizzie strike today.

Helen—(explosively) Well, do you know, I like her!

Margaret—(in surprise) Do you really? Well, I believe I do myself. There’s something rather refreshing about her and she’s so frank and good-natured. She doesn’t bear the least grudge for that horrid letter we sent. Perhaps she doesn’t see anything wrong with it though. Oh, whatever made me do it? I feel as mean as dirt everytime I think of it. I’d give anything if I had never written it.

Helen—Yes, I guess it was pretty shabby, but what’s done cannot be undone. Anyway, I don’t suppose she knows enough to take offense at it. (Starting up.) Oh, I have an idea!

Margaret—(moodily), I notice that you do catch on to one once in a while. Well let’s hear it.

Helen—(aside in disgust) Now, wouldn’t that crimp you! She couldn’t find an idea all by herself in a thousand years. (Aloud). Why, I was just thinking that Lizzie would look quite pretty if she had a decent dress to wear and was fixed up some. Now, what’s to hinder you lending her one of your pretty dresses and doing her hair in some becoming fashion? I bet she wouldn’t look bad at all.

Margaret—Why, she wouldn’t. I’ll go right up now and do it (starts toward exit), or she’ll be coming down in some awful concoction of a dress. Oh, dear, I feel awfully nervous.

Helen—Did you hear what she said about nerves? The very idea, when nerves are all the go now. (Bell rings). Oh, there’s Edith now. I wish she had stayed away for half an hour longer.

Margaret—So do I. And however will I manage to fix Lizzie up now?

Helen—Talk for a few minutes and then excuse yourself and I’ll entertain Edith until you come back.

Margaret—(warmly) Helen, you’re a dear and just full of ideas. I don’t know what I’d do without you. (Goes out).

Helen—(aside dramatically), Behold the expanding of Miss Margaret Neilson’s character. She is actually wakening up to what I am trying to do for her and has even expressed one grain of gratitude. Well I guess I’ll hang on to the grain, perhaps it will sprout. (Sees Lizzie’s hat and fancy work.) Goodness I’d better get these out of sight or they’d be a sure giveaway. (Runs and thrusts fancy work under a cushion and throws hat behind couch. Margaret appears arm in arm with Edith who is well but quietly dressed. Helen goes to meet them.)

Margaret—You know Helen Montgomery don’t you, Miss Browning?

Edith—Oh call me Edith, it’s more sociable and I’ll call you Margaret. Why yes, (shaking hands with Helen), I have met you several times, haven’t I? Coming to a new city it takes a person quite awhile to get acquainted, but I’m managing not too badly.

Helen—Why, I should say not. You have made hosts of friends already from all accounts.

Edith—Yes, everybody has been awfully kind to me and then I’d met several people when I was at Erskine. (All girls take seats, Edith sitting where she can see the exit by turning slightly.) I hope you girls weren’t expecting me any sooner. I had some shopping to do and that delayed me.

Margaret—Oh, that’s all right, but we were just saying we wish you’d hurry up so that we could have a nice, long chat about everything before supper, so—

Helen—(interrupting) Oh, Edith, do tell us about some of the jolly times you had at Erskine College. I’m just aching to hear about them. (Draws chair closer to Edith).

Margaret—Yes, please do! (Draws her chair closer).

Edith—Why, I could tell you lots, but really I wouldn’t know where to begin and once I began, I wouldn’t know where to stop. For one thing we used to have midnight suppers whenever one of the girls would get a box from home. We’d all meet in one room and have nothing but candles for a light and when we heard anyone coming, we would have to blow them out, quick as wink. Oh, but it was exciting when we heard any footsteps outside! There’d be a wild scamper, I can tell you.

Helen and Margaret—I guess there would be. What would you do?

Edith—Everybody would grab the first thing that came handy and we’d make ourselves as small as possible. We’d squeeze four or five into bed with the eats and a few under while the rest would get into a closet. One of the girls would snore and the teacher would think she was asleep and pass on. It was pretty hard on the eats, though, being grabbed in such a hurry and getting all crushed up, but then it was lots of excitement and fun.

Helen—What else did you do?

Edith—Well, we put on some pretty good amateur plays. Beth Norton, was simply grand in anything like that. Say, (with enthusiasm) you just ought to know Beth. She’s the dearest girl out. Everybody raved over her at Erskine. She was just bubbling over with fun and mischief and kept things lively all the time. She was so good-hearted and kind too and had the most forgiving nature. One girl said she was so full of fun that there wasn’t a speck of room for spite to lodge in.

Margaret—She must be lovely. I’d like awfully well to meet her.

Edith—Well, I don’t see why you couldn’t for I just got a letter from her and she said she was going to visit me in a couple days. She said she was visiting some snobbish cousin of hers who needs to be taken down a peg or two. I’d love to see her do it, but I wouldn’t like to be the cousin, I can tell you.

Margaret—No, nor I either, but those people who put on such airs ought to have it taken out of them some way or other. I wonder who she is.

Edith—I don’t know. Beth wouldn’t think of giving her away. (Helen stares fixedly at Margaret and nods. Margaret rises).

Margaret—I wonder if you’d excuse me for a few minutes. I have some things I must attend to.

Edith—Why of course. Don’t hurry back. (Gazes at Margaret starting to go out. Elizabeth appears at exit very daintily dressed.)

Edith—(rushing past Margaret seizes Elizabeth and hugs her), Why Beth, you dear girl, (pulls her towards centre), wherever did you come from? The girls were just saying they didn’t know you. (Margaret and Helen both stand in amazement.) That’s funny.

Elizabeth—Oh, helloa Edith! I didn’t know you knew my cousin. I’m just staying here until to-morrow and then I’m going to your place for awhile.

Edith—(aside in horror), So this Margaret Neilson is the snob Beth is to take down a peg. Good gracious, but I’ve put my foot into it. (Edith and Beth go to one side and eagerly converse in low tones).

Margaret—(to Helen), Lizzie, Beth Norton! Why whatever does it mean anyway? (thinks), How can she be one and the same person? Oh, oh, I see it now. The names are both nicknames and I never imagined my cousin Elizabeth was the much talked of Beth. And so I’m the snob that Edith said Beth was to take down a peg! (Pauses) And the worst of it is I know I deserve it after that horrible letter. I don’t deserve to have her ever speak to me again.

Helen—But, whatever did she mean by dressing up like that!

Margaret—Why, don’t you see? Didn’t you say that when she acted, she had all the professionals beaten to pieces? Well, she’s acted that country gawk I inferred in that letter to take me down that peg. Gee, she’s taken me down a whole bunch of them. And oh look how we treated her since she came. Oh, Helen, I’m so ashamed. I wish there was a hole in the floor so that I could crawl into it.

Helen—(aside), Thank goodness, she’s admitted that much. There’s hope for her yet. (Aloud.) We both acted awfully mean and for my part I’m going to take my pill and swallow it.

Margaret—I will too. It’s mighty bitter, but the worse the medicine tastes, as a rule, the better are the results. I’ll never—(Elizabeth comes up to her).

Elizabeth—Well, Mag—Margaret, I guess it’s up to me to explain. You see when I got your letter which showed me so plainly that you considered any person brought up in the country was some sort of a curiosity and nothing but an ignoramus, I thought I would come and explain to you that the farmers of today are among the best educated and most wealthy people there are and their daughters are receiving the very best advantages that can be gotten. But when I read your letter over, I couldn’t resist the temptation of acting the awkward gawk of a specimen you expected. Did I succeed?

Margaret—Succeed! Oh goodness, it was awful. (Sinks into a chair and starts to cry), Oh, Liz—Beth, I mean. I know I’ve been as nasty and snobbish as I could. And you don’t know how mean I’ve felt ever since I wrote that awful, awful letter. I’ve wished again and again that I’d never been so rude and horrid. Will you ever forgive me? (Cries).

Elizabeth—(Putting her arm around her), Oh, cheer up, Margaret, of course I’ll forgive you; you just need some of your notions changed. That’s all. And when it comes to forgiving, perhaps I’d better ask you to forgive me for playing such a trick on you. (Aside, laughing), But, gee it was the best fun I’ve had for ages. Their shocked faces! (laugh), their turned up noses, (laughs), their open disgust. Oh glory, it was worth a circus to see them.

Edith—Well, let’s forget everything that’s been done and said and begin all over again. I think we’ll be great friends. Let’s shake over it. (She takes Helen’s hand, Elizabeth takes Margaret’s and they stand with crossed hands in front of stage).

Elizabeth—Oh girls, see how our hands are crossed; I wonder who’s going to be married first.

CHRISTMAS AT PUNKIN HOLLER. A new Christmas play by Elizabeth F. Guptill that abounds in clean, wholesome fun from beginning to end. It depicts the trials of the teacher of an old-fashioned “deestric school” in conducting the last rehearsal for the Christmas Entertainment. Some of the pupils are in “custom,” as big Jake puts it, and “Sandy Claus” is there. The children go through their parts with gusto and more or less success. May be given in any schoolroom by any number. Easy to produce. Costumes simple. Children and grown-ups will be delighted with CHRISTMAS AT PUNKIN HOLLER. Price, 15 cents.

A TOPSY TURVY CHRISTMAS. Another new Christmas play by Elizabeth F. Guptill. It is decidedly humorous from start to finish. The characters are strong and at every turn of the play there is a happy surprise for the audience. The children are tired of “minding,” and the everything being “just so,” so they start to find a place where they will find things different. They find it in Topsy Turvy Land, where they have strange experiences. When at last they have a Topsy Turvy Christmas, they are ready to go home and be satisfied with things just as they are. May be given in any schoolroom by any number of children not less than fifteen. In two short scenes. This clever play will prove a sure winner wherever produced. Price, 15 cents.

CHRISTMAS AT McCARTHY’S. Elizabeth P. Guptill. Here is a new Christmas play for the older children and as many young children as are available. It combines in a marked degree the gentlest pathos and the most sparkling humor. Several nationalities are represented in the tenement and there is opportunity for the introduction of specialties if desired. Circumstances cause Elsie, the tenement orphan, to believe Jimmy, the newsboy, will buy her a Christmas present, and it seems it is up to Jimmy to do it. Christmas is an unknown quantity at the tenement, but all agree that Elsie must not be disappointed, and plan to have one somehow. The entertainment is given by the “inhabitints thimsilves,” at McCarthy’s. In the midst of the fun, Elsie’s lost father walks in, and the finale is a general rejoicing. Price, 25c.

CHRISTMAS DIALOGUES. By Cecil J. Richmond. A book full of the choicest new and original dialogues for Christmas, parts for both boys and girls being well provided for. Some are for the little folks, in rhyme, some are for intermediate grades, and others for older children. Every dialogue in this book is decidedly to the point and easy to prepare. They will delight young and old alike. Contents: Is There a Santa Claus? 2 small children, Santa Claus and chorus; Herbert’s Discovery, 2 boys; The Christmas Dinner, 2 little girls, 1 larger girl and 2 boys; Playing Santa Claus, 1 small and 2 larger boys; A Double Christmas Gift, 2 small girls, 2 larger girls, and 3 boys. Price, 15 cents.

EVERGREEN AND HOLLY—SONG AND DRILL. By Elizabeth F. Guptill. A drill for any even number of boys and girls, or all girls. The girls carry garlands of evergreen while the boys carry wreaths of the same. After a spectacular drill and fancy march they all sing a beautiful Christmas song, which accompanies the drill. Following the song they wind a spiral to the center of the stage, unwind same and march off. Complete instructions are given. It is the best Christmas drill ever published; easy to produce and decidedly novel. Price, 15 cents.

PEARL’S CHRISTMAS. Original, pleasing and interesting Christmas dialogue with an excellent moral, for 3 boys and 4 girls. Price, 5 cents; seven copies, 25 cents.

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