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Title: Bird's nest, a fantasy in one act
Author: Tracy D. Mygatt
Release Date: April 11, 2023 [eBook #70524]
Language: English
Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIRD'S NEST, A FANTASY IN ONE
ACT ***
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BIRD’S NEST
A Fantasy in One Act
By
TRACY D. MYGATT
_Author of “Children of Israel,” “The Noose,”
“Good Friday,” “A Passion Play of Now,”
and other plays_
NOTE
The acting rights in this play are strictly reserved. Performances
may be given by amateurs on payment of a royalty of
five dollars ($5.00). Correspondence on this subject should be
addressed to WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY, Hamilton Place,
Boston, Mass. The professional stage rights are also strictly
reserved, and performances by professional actors, given in advertised
places of amusement and for profit, are forbidden. Persons
who may wish to produce this play publicly and professionally
should apply to the author, in care of the publishers.
[Illustration]
BOSTON
WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY
1922
BIRD’S NEST
CHARACTERS
GEORGE SANFORD _a bridegroom_
MARTIN DOAN _his man_
LYDIA }
RICHARD } _newly-married lovers_
SCENE.--The garden outside a cottage.
TIME.--A night in May.
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY TRACY D. MYGATT
_As author and proprietor._
_All rights reserved._
Bird’s Nest
Program of the first performance. The Village Studio Guild of Ogunquit,
Maine, July 28, 1921. Produced under the direction of Mr. Leigh Lovel
with the following cast:
GEORGE SANFORD, _a bridegroom_ _Ray P. Hansom_
MARTIN DOAN, _his man_ _Mr. Leigh Lovel_
LYDIA } } _Gladys G. Ascherman_
RICHARD } _newly-married lovers_ } _Richard Coolidge_
The music for the Minuet was composed for the performance by Mr.
Stanley Muschamp.
* * * * *
It was next produced by The Little Theatre of Denver, Colorado,
December 8th and 9th, 1921, under the direction of Park French, and
with the following cast:
GEORGE SANFORD, _a bridegroom_ _William G. Schweigert_
MARTIN DOAN, _his man_ _R. F. Willis_
LYDIA } { _Rose Moro_
RICHARD } _newly-married lovers_ { _Norman Ives_
The dance was directed by Miss Lillian Cushing.
Through the courtesy of Mr. Stanley Muschamp the very lovely music
composed by him for the original performance of “Bird’s Nest” is
printed. It can be bought of Walter H. Baker Company for 50 cents per
copy.
_To
FRANCES WITHERSPOON_
_who knew the little house for Bird’s Nest,
and whose fancy plaited straws with
mine in a May moonlight_
PLEASE NOTICE
The professional stage-rights in this play are strictly reserved by the
author. Applications for its use should be addressed to TRACY MYGATT,
in care of WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY, Hamilton Place, Boston, Mass.
* * * * *
Attention is called to the penalties provided by the Copyright Law
of the United States of America in force July 1, 1909, for any
infringement of the author’s rights, as follows
=Sec. 28.= That any person who wilfully and for profit shall
infringe any Copyright secured by this Act, or who shall
knowingly and wilfully aid or abet such infringement, shall be
deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction thereof
shall be punished by imprisonment for not exceeding one year or
by a fine of not less than one hundred dollars, or both, at the
discretion of the court.
=Sec. 29.= That any person who, with fraudulent intent, shall
insert or impress any notice of Copyright required by this Act,
or words of the same purport, in or upon any uncopyrighted
article, or with fraudulent intent shall remove or alter the
copyright notice upon any article duly copyrighted shall be
guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by a fine of not less than
one hundred dollars and not more than one thousand dollars.
Bird’s Nest
SCENE.--_A little low white cottage, approached by a
gravel-path which winds up from gray, moss-grown steps at_ L.,
_flanked by lilac-bushes. A sunken step leads across the tiny
pillared porch, twined deep with honeysuckle which, together
with the tall, recently-acquired French windows, stands open
into the living-room, dark now except for its moonlit shadows._
_At the rise of the curtain there is a moment in which the
dark and stillness permeate one; then there is a slight noise
overhead, an electric light flashes in the upper hall, and a
tallish, youthfully old figure that is_ MARTIN DOAN, _wearing
valet’s livery, can be made out, descending the little flight
of stairs just inside. As he reaches the bottom, the heavy
strokes of the clock in the church tower, faintly visible
in the middle-distance, begin to boom out midnight._ MARTIN
_pauses, listening. As the strokes proceed, he steps into the
open doorway, and peers into the garden._
MARTIN.
[_In soft unison with the bells._] Nine--ten--eleven--twelve----!
[_Then, snapping the profound quiet which succeeds the ending
of the chimes, there is an abrupt movement above stairs, and_
GEORGE SANFORD’S _voice, thick but vibrant with unwonted
excitement, calls_.
SANFORD.
That you, Martin?
MARTIN.
[_Turning toward the cottage._] Yes, sir.
SANFORD.
[_Jovially descending the stairs._] Well, well, Martin, what have you
got to keep _you_ awake?
MARTIN.
[_Measuring a conscious distance in his voice._] I hardly know, sir! It
was such a night, sir! I was going to bring up the ear-trumpet----
SANFORD.
[_Joining_ MARTIN _on the doorstep, his too-well-fitting clothes making
an open secret of his stoutness_.] Well, well, did you think you’d
find it here, listening to those everlasting chimes? But I’m glad you
reminded me, Martin! I shouldn’t have slept a wink if I hadn’t known it
was all right, every way!
MARTIN.
[_Again turning to go in._] Yes, sir, I put it on the table with the
other packages----
SANFORD.
Thanks. [_Laying a protesting hand on_ MARTIN’S _arm_.] But don’t go in
yet, Martin! I--I want to talk.
MARTIN.
Yes, sir.
SANFORD.
[_Sentimentally looking up at the moon._] Just look at her! Isn’t she
splendid? Doesn’t she---- [_He breaks into a fat chuckle._] Now just
listen to that, will you? Don’t that show the state I’m in--callin’ the
moon “her” and “she”! Why, that’s what they say in the magazines. I was
readin’ one last night--[_With fatuous explicitness._] one of those
_love_-stories! Why, Martin, I haven’t said “her” and “she” for forty
years!
MARTIN.
[_Dutifully._] Yes, sir.
SANFORD.
[_Testily._] Well, don’t that show----?
MARTIN.
[_Dreamy eyes on the cedar over the cottage._] The moon’s beautiful,
sir!
SANFORD.
[_With a pitying snort._] Beautiful! Why, Martin, beautiful’s no word
for it! She--she’s elegant! Magnificent--er--“magnifique,” I think
the French would call it! Such a romantic language, French! Mrs.
McCormorant’s kept a French maid for years! But of course you couldn’t
be expected to know, or--[_A sentimental hand on his heart._] or
feel----!
MARTIN.
[_Suddenly attentive._] Not a pain, sir, in your heart?
SANFORD.
[_Starting irritably._] Pain?--in my heart? What are you talking about?
MARTIN.
Beg pardon, sir, but I understood the doctor said----
SANFORD.
Damn the doctor! Don’t you know I only went to satisfy Evelina--Mrs.
McCormorant? Why, I never was fitter in my life! But she does love me
so--[_Sighing._] and I her! I her! Ah, Martin, again that is something
_you_ cannot understand--when two hearts beat as one! [_Scornfully, as_
MARTIN _says nothing_.] I suppose you’d think it was a disease!
MARTIN.
Sir----?
SANFORD.
[_Holding him as both look into the garden._] Ah, no matter! Just
think, Martin, this time to-morrow night we shall be here--she and
I--here in the Bird’s Nest---- [_Chuckling._] Ha-ha--not bad, that,
considering the nest-egg! I whispering sweet nothings into her little
sea-shell ear!
MARTIN.
[_Edging away._] Beg pardon, sir, but shall I fetch the ear-trumpet up
to your room?
SANFORD.
[_Seizing him suspiciously._] Eh? Now what did you mean by that, I’d
like to know?
MARTIN.
[_Impeccably._] Why, I thought you wanted it, sir!
SANFORD.
Yes, yes, I wanted it, but you see--I’d just been saying--er--I’d just
been alluding--[_As_ MARTIN _regards him_.] oh, damn it, no matter! No
matter!
MARTIN.
Shall I fetch it, sir?
SANFORD.
[_Reluctantly turning indoors with him._] I suppose so! But mind,
if ever I find you insinuating things about Mrs. McCormorant’s
deafness--oh, well, you may take your month’s pay and clear out! Why,
it might gum the whole game!
MARTIN.
Yes, sir. In fact, sir, as you mentioned it, and a similar thought
being in my own mind----
SANFORD.
[_Hastily._] I’m not mentioning anything, Martin--and neither are
you!--Assuredly not the night before my wedding!--when you know
perfectly well, or would, if you had the least touch of romance--that
I’m all of a flutter inside! [_As they step, fumbling a little, into
the living-room._] Now where’s that confounded button? This jumpy
moonlight makes everything disappear!
[MARTIN _switches on the light, which illumines the old
spinnet_, L., _and the portrait of an elderly woman in crude,
modern evening dress, which hangs upon the wall_.
MARTIN.
Here, sir----! [_Going to the table_, C., _on which are several
ear-trumpets_.] Now you’ll be able to see which ear-trumpet’s the best,
sir!
SANFORD.
[_With a grunt, surveying the instruments before him._] Oh, you
unwrapped them!
MARTIN.
Why, yes, seeing how important it was for to-morrow! I was very
careful, sir----
SANFORD.
Yes, yes, it would never do to let her go to church with her trumpet
broken. Dear, dear, such an unfortunate accident--and the day before
the wedding! Here, let’s bring it all into the garden---- [_As_ MARTIN
_obeys him, and as they carry the little table just outside_.] Not to
hear the vows---- [_Sentimentally._] “Till death do us part!” [_Then,
practically, to_ MARTIN.] Look here--before I go upstairs, let’s try
them out---- [_Giving_ MARTIN _the rope end of one of the trumpets_.]
You go over there--[_With a gesture, right foreground._] and say
something!
MARTIN.
[_Dubiously preparing to obey._] But _you’re_ not deaf, sir!
SANFORD.
[_Slightly dashed._] No, I’m not deaf--but it might give us an idea----
[_He backs away from_ MARTIN.] There! Now try it!
MARTIN.
[_On a low note._] You’d best go to bed, sir!
SANFORD.
[_With an irritability that shows he has heard._] I can’t hear a word!
MARTIN.
[_As before._] You wouldn’t want rheumatism on your wedding day! You
know what the doctor----
[SANFORD _puts down the trumpet crossly, jerks the other end
from_ MARTIN, _lays the instrument on the table, and hastily
selects another_.
SANFORD.
Here--let’s try this one--and change places with me--and you hold the
thing-um-a-bob to your ear! [MARTIN, _with a faint shrug, complies, so
that he stands where_ SANFORD _has been standing, therefore facing the
garden. As the arrangement is completed_, SANFORD _begins, speaking
sentimentally into the tube_.] Do you know, they say the Bird’s Nest
was built for lovers! Can you hear?
MARTIN.
[_His eyes on the garden._] So I have heard, sir!
SANFORD.
[_Practically._] That’s good! [_Suppressing a yawn._] Then I guess I’ll
give her this one--it’s too late to try ’em all!
MARTIN.
[_Suggestively._] Best try if I can hear the story, sir!
SANFORD.
The story? Oh, yes! [_At first he speaks into the tube, but as he
continues, he seems to forget his original purpose, becoming engrossed
in his subject._] Well, I had it from the man I bought Bird’s Nest of,
a year ago, before I put in the improvements. Queer! I don’t believe
I’ve thought of it since that day! And I asked him why he didn’t put
it in order himself, and he--he said that years ago his father was
planning to bring his bride here when----
MARTIN.
[_As_ SANFORD _breaks off_.] Yes, sir?
SANFORD.
[_Beginning to laugh softly, as at a delicate joke he does not himself
understand._] Why, he could! He simply couldn’t! You see--Bird’s Nest
was built for lovers----! [_As_ MARTIN _says nothing_.] Lovers, Martin!
Why don’t you laugh? Don’t you see the joke?
MARTIN.
[_Gravely._] No, sir. Is the story a joke, sir?
SANFORD.
The story? Dear, no! A ghost-story, Martin--think of that! Brrr-rrr!
[_With a mock shiver, lowering his voice in coarse joviality._]
Spooks--haunted! Nobody but me’s had the nerve to think of living
here for fifty years and more! Afraid the visitors mightn’t approve.
Visitors--ha-ha! Bear in mind, Martin--Bird’s Nest was built for
lovers. [_As_ SANFORD _begins to laugh again_, MARTIN _regards him with
a curious look. He is still laughing when the grandfather clock in
the parlor begins to strike midnight_. SANFORD, _himself again, starts
violently, takes a step toward_ MARTIN, _then, as if rooted to the
spot, stands listening. The face of_ MARTIN, _too, has changed. Pallor,
first, then, as the clock strikes on, light, reflected as from some
deep centre within, covers his face. He casts one anxious glance at his
master; then, as if surrendering himself to his profound absorption, he
softly crosses to the porch and peers out._ SANFORD, _as the strokes go
on_.] Whatever made you wind up that damned old clock, Martin?
MARTIN.
[_At the door._] I didn’t wind it!
SANFORD.
You must have! It hasn’t struck since I took the cottage!
MARTIN.
[_Turning and regarding him significantly._] But it is striking, sir,
isn’t it? Striking midnight?
SANFORD.
[_Abruptly._] So you have heard the story?
[_Without looking at him_, MARTIN _steps further into the
garden where white moonlight now floods gravel-path and steps.
Then, a note of repressed triumph in his voice._
MARTIN.
Yes, sir----! Ten--eleven--twelve----! [_Then to himself, on a low note
of joy._] Ah----!
SANFORD.
Built for lovers----! Well, why not? Why not? Ain’t love the strongest
thing in the world?--Stronger than death?
[_As_ MARTIN, _incapable of answer, stares into the garden_,
SANFORD, _with a grunt, turns inside, and laboriously begins
the ascent of the little staircase. Once he pauses and throws
back a condescending glance. Perceiving it lost on his
abstracted servant, he resumes his journey, and presently
passes out of sight into the rooms above. There is a moment of
pregnant silence. Then, with a smothered cry_, MARTIN _steps
swiftly forward, and, arms extended in a poignant, yearning
gesture, seems to greet the two persons who, unaware of him,
are rounding the path to the garden. As, very close to one
another, they come onward to the cottage, his arms drop, and
as they mount the little steps, he withdraws into the shadows
of the hedge. At this, the small feminine figure in the
colonial flowered lavender and quilted poke-bonnet, slips her
little black-mitted hand even more closely into the arm of her
grave young escort. He wears a coat of deep bright blue and
snuff-colored trousers; a high white stock is about his throat;
on his head, a square hat._
LYDIA.
[_With clear approval, as_ MARTIN _vanishes_.] That was very polite of
him, dear Richard! Quite as if he understood the circumstances.
RICHARD.
[_Ardently._] Yes, yes, but pray do not let us think of that now, my
darling! We are home--at last!
LYDIA.
[_Caressing the lace ruffle on his sleeve._] Yes, of course, dear
Richard! But [_With vague unrest._] we must be particular about the
people--I fear he is not the only one about!
RICHARD.
Must we think of them at once? Couldn’t we just settle down?
LYDIA.
[_Rapping him playfully with her little prayer-book._] Settle down?
Without knowing who’s about? The idea! Do you think my mamma brought me
up to be that kind of a housekeeper?
RICHARD.
[_With a courtly bend._] I’m sure you’re the best housekeeper a man
ever had!
LYDIA.
[_Sweeping him a courtesy._] Thank you, thank you, dear Richard!
[_Then, suddenly picking up her long flowered skirts so that the
lavender clocks twinkle above the little slippered feet._] And I’ll
prove it to you! [_Puzzled, half to herself._] Though I don’t know
why I said that about the people a minute ago. Things puzzle me so
sometimes. I’ll race you to the kitchen--though it’s unladylike, I
suppose, to run--but I do want to make you a pasty. Mamma always made
them for my papa, and my marriage being so near, she taught me last
week. I made them perfectly yesterday!
[LYDIA _breaks into a run_; RICHARD _catches her wrist,
and together they are running into the cottage, when the
ear-trumpets on the table meet their astonished eyes_.
RICHARD.
[_Pausing and examining them._] Lydia! What are they? What on earth can
they all be?
LYDIA.
[_Laying down her prayer-book and just touching them._] I haven’t
the--the ghost of an idea! What do you think they are, Richard? You’ve
studied so much,--wouldn’t the Rev. Mr. Heathcote have prepared you for
them?
RICHARD.
[_Fingering them cautiously._] He might have, I suppose, but I don’t
believe I ever got that far advanced!
LYDIA.
[_Penitently._] That’s because I interfered with the pursuit of your
studies, dear Richard! If you hadn’t stopped to marry me----
RICHARD.
Ah, Lydia, that’s the best thing my poor old tutor ever did,--marrying
us to-day!
LYDIA.
[_Suddenly drawing very close and laying her little hands on his breast
in a sort of piteous daring._] To-day? Oh, Richard,--there’s the queer
feeling again--it comes and goes! But if it was to-day,--[_Very
poignantly._] Oh, Richard, why were we so long getting home?
RICHARD.
[_Caressing her gently._] It was that little spill we had, my darling!
That’s why you’re still a little shaken. I feel much the same way
myself! Ajax was trotting along nicely and, after all, it was hardly
strange how frightened he became at that steam-car!
LYDIA.
[_Ruefully._] Poor little pony! I should think they might have waited
for their old experiment till after our wedding! One thing, I am sure
that when Papa informs Mr. Van Beuren about the accident, he will
put a stop to any such ridiculous practises! [_Tossing her curls._]
Steam-cars, indeed!
RICHARD.
[_Thoughtfully._] I suppose so. And yet, of course it isn’t as if it
had been a serious accident! Ajax stopped as soon as we upset! [_He
bends over her with sudden anxiety._] You--you’re quite sure it didn’t
hurt you, my darling?
LYDIA.
[_With a little laugh._] Why, Richard, you’ve asked me that a hundred
times! Of course it didn’t hurt! I was just a bit frightened--more
for poor little Jaxy than myself. How he did run! That steam-car made
such a queer noise--and moving that way without a thing to make it go.
Positively creepy, I call it! [_Rousing herself._] But my frock’s all
right! There’s only this----
[_She pushes back her bonnet and clustering curls to show his
concerned eyes a tiny mark over her left temple._
RICHARD.
[_Bending and kissing it._] Kiss it and make it well! [_He plays a
moment with her curls; then, gravely._] Dearest Lydia, how thankful I
am it was nothing serious!
LYDIA.
[_Nestling close._] And how thankful _I_ am for _you_! Just what you
showed me? No more?
RICHARD.
[_Pointing to an imperceptible stain on his plum-colored waistcoat._] A
mere scratch!
LYDIA.
[_Softly._] Dear Richard--will you not think me foolish if----
RICHARD.
[_Taking her face between his hands._] If what, Pet? Is it being my
wife makes you so afraid of me? Indeed I’ve never noticed such behavior
before!
LYDIA.
Don’t laugh, dear Richard! I know I was never very religious! It is
so good to be alive! [_With a little shiver._] Alive----! Alive----!
Religion is just for poor sick dead people, but----
RICHARD.
What, Lydia?
LYDIA.
Well, on Sunday, would you send a messenger to the Rev. Mr. Heathcote
and have him offer that--that thanksgiving in the prayer-book about
a safe return? [_With a desperate little sob._] Oh, Richard, I--I
couldn’t bear to have been hurt in the runaway--Not to be here, alive
and happy, in Bird’s Nest----
[_She stops, panting, and he gathers her into safe, protecting
arms._
RICHARD.
But we are in Bird’s Nest, my dearest! We are! We are!
LYDIA.
[_Looking up from his breast in frightened appeal._] Of course we are!
But I’m glad to have you tell me so! You see, Richard, long before I
was a married woman--one afternoon last spring it was--an old gipsy
woman came to our house one day, and she read my palm--Mamma was
out--or she never would have permitted it!--And she told me----
RICHARD.
What did she tell you?
LYDIA.
She said--“It will end where it began!”
RICHARD.
[_With a laugh, though his eyes are troubled._] Was she referring to my
Greek? That ended where it began!
LYDIA.
[_Seriously, as they pass through the open door into the little
parlor._] Mamma thought it meant my marriage! She consulted the Vicar,
but he was too highly educated to believe in such “nonsense,” he
called it! And I was always so happy--in spite of sister Eliza’s being
so much prettier than me--don’t you think so, Richard?
RICHARD.
[_Indignantly._] Eliza! Flibbertigibbets! Why, you’re the prettiest
girl in the world! [_Turning her to the tall mirror at the side of the
room._] There! See for yourself----!
LYDIA.
[_Smiling._] How on earth can you think so? [_Then she goes close
and examines the cut for herself._] Lucky my hair curls, isn’t it?
This horrid little mark will never show. Now poor sister Eliza--of
course she is much prettier than me, Richard--but her hair’s straight
as a poker, and do you know, whenever she tries to have curls, she
invariably burns it!
[RICHARD, _taking a turn about the room, during the last
speech, has now brought up before the full-length portrait of_
MRS. MCCORMORANT _that hangs upon the wall. Her pink satin and
the diamond pendant about her substantial neck shine bright in
the electric lamp beneath the portrait._
RICHARD.
Well, speaking of beauty---- [_Confronted by the sight of the lamp, he
touches the bulb gingerly._] Good gracious! Glass all round the lamp!
How on earth would the smoke get out? And a string--oh, heavens----!
[_As he puts out the light._] What have I done?
LYDIA.
[_Helplessly, at his side._] Oh, Richard----!
RICHARD.
[_Accidentally pulling the light on again._] How very strange!
LYDIA.
[_Breaking into a peal of delicious laughter, as the picture flashes
again into view._] Richard! My heavens! Did you ever see such clothes?
She must have got them out of the Ark!
[RICHARD _surveys the portrait with frank disgust, and
then lets his eyes rest on his little bride with patent
satisfaction_.
RICHARD.
Poor thing! I shall never complain again about women changing the
fashions! What else was there for her grandchildren to do?
LYDIA.
[_Scornfully._] Grandchildren! Why, Richard, I’m sure Grandmamma never
wore such a frock! [_Pointing to the portrait._] She must have been a
great-great, at least!
RICHARD.
[_With decision._] And not on my side! Possibly yours, Lydia?
LYDIA.
Not at all! [_Puzzled._] But if she isn’t on yours, Richard----? [_A
fear which she vainly tries to repress suddenly thrilling her voice._]
But she must be on yours! Else why is she here?
RICHARD.
I tell you she _isn’t_, Lydia! [_Then, as_ MARTIN _softly emerges from
the shadows where he has been watching them_.] Look! There he is again!
Who can it be?
LYDIA.
[_Tugging at his arm, fascinated by the portrait._] Oh, Richard, dear
Richard, I--I don’t like to look at her! It frightens me!
MARTIN.
[_Approaching the door, and looking within._] I beg pardon, sir, but
did you call?
RICHARD.
[_Looking from_ MARTIN _to_ LYDIA.] Call? No!
MARTIN.
[_Regarding_ LYDIA _fixedly_.] Nor you, Madam?
LYDIA.
[_Beckoning_ MARTIN _to her with sudden decision_.] Yes! Do you know
who that lady was?
MARTIN.
Why, that, Madam, that is Mrs. McCormorant!
RICHARD.
“Is”! And what a name! “Mc” what? We never had such a name in our
family!
LYDIA.
[_Impatiently._] You’ve already said she wasn’t in your family! And she
certainly wasn’t in mine! [_She turns peremptorily to_ MARTIN.] Will
you please tell us who she was? And why her portrait is here?
MARTIN.
[_Watching_ LYDIA.] Why, Madam, Mr. Sanford had it put here to surprise
her, her becoming his bride in the little church here to-morrow!
LYDIA.
[_With a great effort._] His bride--to-morrow?
RICHARD.
[_Gravely._] Then she’s alive?
MARTIN.
[_Looking from one to the other._] Why, yes, sir, to be sure she’s
alive!
RICHARD.
[_Puzzled._] But her frock? My wife was quite certain, and so was I,
that her frock was--er--well, I don’t like to say anything against the
lady, but, well, you know, rather old-fashioned, to say the least!
[_With an admiring glance at_ LYDIA’S _panniers_.] You can see--there’s
rather a difference----!
MARTIN.
[_With the ghost of a smile._] There is, indeed, sir! [_Resuming,
practically._] But I have often heard Mr. Sanford say, sir, that all
Mrs. McCormorant’s gowns are in the height of fashion!
LYDIA.
[_Prettily nettled._] I trust you don’t mean to imply----
MARTIN.
[_Courteously._] I imply nothing to your disfavor, Madam----!
LYDIA.
[_Restlessly._] Of course her frock is of no consequence--nor her being
married--but--why should her portrait be here--[_A sudden break in her
voice._] here in Bird’s Nest?
RICHARD.
[_With a note of authority._] Yes, that’s what we don’t care for! Why
should her portrait be here, in our parlor?
MARTIN.
[_Simply._] Why, so they can both admire it, I suppose, sir, after she
comes to live here to-morrow!
LYDIA.
[_Falling with a cry into_ RICHARD’S _arms_.] Oh, Richard! I--I feel
faint!
RICHARD.
[_Tenderly carrying her to the garden bench_, MARTIN _following them_.]
There, there, my darling! [_On his knees, to her._] Shall I fetch your
salts?
LYDIA.
[_As she clings to him_, MARTIN, _regarding both, a faint, quizzical
sadness in his eyes_.] No, no, it’s not my salts I need! Oh, what did
he say, Richard? What did he say?
RICHARD.
[_Caressing her gently._] It was nothing, my darling! We--[_Vainly
trying to repress a quiver in his voice._] we must have misunderstood
him!
LYDIA.
[_Softly repulsing him, sitting bolt upright._] No, I don’t think
so! I---- [_Suddenly she hides her face in her hands, in an agony of
remembrance._] Oh, Richard, don’t you know? We’ve been mistaken before
about--about Bird’s Nest?
RICHARD.
[_Helplessly, as he rises._] My dearest Lydia----!
LYDIA.
[_Jumping up and confronting_ MARTIN _with the piteous dignity of her
little clasped hands_.] You said just now that--that [_With a gesture
toward the portrait._] lady was alive--and going to be married, and
that she--that they--plan to live here, in Bird’s Nest?
MARTIN.
[_Very low._] Yes, Madam!
LYDIA.
[_Drawing herself up._] But doesn’t she know that Richard and I are to
live in Bird’s Nest?
MARTIN.
[_Very gently._] Are you sure, Madam?
LYDIA.
[_She looks long into his troubled, wistful eyes; then pitifully._] We
were to live here! [_Impetuously._] Oh, don’t you know? We were to live
here--and then--then Ajax was frightened by the steam-car, coming home
from church this afternoon, and ever since----
MARTIN.
[_Softly, as_ LYDIA _stops, unable to proceed_.] The folks about here
always say Bird’s Nest was built for lovers!
LYDIA.
[_In a low voice._] The folks? Since when have they said that? I never
heard it!
MARTIN.
[_With a long look._] No, Madam,--it was not--in your day! [_Then,
softly to himself, looking from_ LYDIA _to_ RICHARD.] Built for
lovers----!
LYDIA.
[_As before._] And are they--lovers?
MARTIN.
Mrs. McCormorant is very rich.
RICHARD.
[_Shocked._] You keep saying, “Mrs.”! She has been married before?
MARTIN.
Just so! An attractive woman some think, sir, in spite of her deafness.
RICHARD.
But why should she be deaf?
LYDIA.
[_With sudden petulance._] What does it matter whether she’s deaf or
not when----
MARTIN.
[_Imperturbably to_ RICHARD.] It’s merely her age, sir----! Sixty-three
she is, but----
RICHARD.
Good God! It’s impossible! It’s unnatural!
MARTIN.
[_Watching_ LYDIA _narrowly_.] She took a great fancy to Bird’s Nest
the day Mr. Sanford brought her over! It makes them both feel quite
young again, so they say!
LYDIA.
[_Under her breath._] Young! Sixty-three----! I’m not eighteen----!
MARTIN.
[_Watching her as before._] Haven’t old people a right to happiness,
Madam?
LYDIA.
[_Irrelevantly, a passionate ring in her voice._] The folks about here
say Bird’s Nest was built for lovers!
MARTIN.
[_Gravely._] Quite so, Madam! [_With an old-fashioned bow._] I am
glad to have seen you, Madam--I had heard--so much. But I must go
now. I have to make sure Mr. Sanford has taken his medicine before
retiring--his heart’s not just right.
RICHARD.
[_In a level voice._] Mr. Sanford, I presume, is the bridegroom?
MARTIN.
[_Withdrawing with grave courtesy._] Er--yes, sir! And somewhat excited
over to-morrow.
[MARTIN _steps into the cottage, putting out the electric
lights and goes upstairs_.
LYDIA.
[_Regarding his retreating figure._] A nice-appearing old man, Richard!
[_She comes quite close to him; then, softly._] I’m glad he’s not being
married to-morrow!
RICHARD.
[_Starting._] What do you mean?
LYDIA.
[_Practically._] Well, I prefer their being horrid--like that man and
that dreadful woman in the house! [_Reminiscently._] I couldn’t help
being sorry for the gentle lady that was here,--oh, you know, quite a
while ago!
RICHARD.
You mean the one they called “Virginia”? That was visiting Bird’s Nest
before he brought her here to live?
LYDIA.
Yes, Virginia! But he didn’t really love her! We couldn’t have had
_them_ about! What a cold she took that night! [_Placidly._] I guess it
settled on her lungs right away! [_With a little smile._] They weren’t
here when we came back.
RICHARD.
[_A trifle uncomfortably._] I know----!
LYDIA.
And another year--that dark beauty. He was speaking a foreign tongue
to her when we came. “Celeste,” I think her name was. I think it is a
French name. With what I had picked up at the Academy for Young Ladies,
I could easily see they were planning to settle right here in a few
weeks. She didn’t love him at all! [_With a mischievous laugh._] Do
you remember how frightened she was, Richard? [_Smoothing her little
panniers._] Big women are always such cowards!
RICHARD.
[_As before._] Yes, of course,--but----
LYDIA.
[_With a touch of asperity._] What is it, Richard?
RICHARD.
You--we’ve upset the plans of a good many people, haven’t we?
Need we bother any more about them? [_Gently._] We have each
other--to-night----!
LYDIA.
[_With infinite wistfulness._] Ah, Richard! Richard! You are only a
man----! [_Very low._] No one must live here! Don’t you understand?
RICHARD.
[_Started._] You mean--else we couldn’t come back?
LYDIA.
We couldn’t come back! Just think, Richard--[_Caressing him gently._]
we couldn’t come back----! We’d wait all the long, long year, and
then--when to-night came--we couldn’t come back----!
RICHARD.
[_Drawing her passionately into his arms._] Oh, my darling! But we
_must_ come back! It is what we _live_ for! It----
LYDIA.
[_Gravely._] Just so, Richard! I know you always agree when
you--remember----!
RICHARD.
[_Regarding her with sudden anxiety._] Do you think you can manage it?
The lady isn’t here--this time.
LYDIA.
But he’s here! And do you know, Richard, in spite of what Mamma has
always taught me, I hardly think men are a bit braver than women!
RICHARD.
Oh, Lydia, you really think not!
LYDIA.
[_Teasing him._] Really, really, dear Richard! But, oh, look at that
moon! Isn’t it a shame to worry about anything with that over our
heads? Oh, Richard, I want to dance. If there were only music!
RICHARD.
[_Falling into her mood._] Why not make it yourself? The spinnet is
there--[_Pointing within._] your papa’s wedding present--he thought you
would like it the first night! Look, Lydia, how clear it stands in the
moonlight!
LYDIA.
[_Running into the house._] I could play the minuet! [_Seating herself
at the spinnet, she plays a few bars of a minuet with delicate,
old-fashioned precision_, RICHARD, _who has followed her, leaning over
her. Presently, she stops, and wheels abruptly about._] But, oh, that
isn’t enough! [_Jumping up, she drags him after her to the garden._]
Come, Richard! Back to the garden! I want to dance!
RICHARD.
[_As they pass outdoors._] But the music, dearest Lydia! I can never do
the steps without the music! Don’t you remember how you laughed at me
that time last week?
[_Without answering_, LYDIA _places both herself and him in
position for the minuet. Then, with low conviction._
LYDIA.
There will be music, dear Richard! Don’t you remember--it used to
go---- [_Humming the minuet under her breath._] this way----? [_And
presently, as if encouraged by her voice, the garden becomes full
of throbbing fiddles and horns, as, with stately courtesy, she and_
RICHARD _dance in and out among the flower-beds. A few moments pass;
then, at a sound within the cottage, they stop dancing, and as_ GEORGE
SANFORD, _this time in dressing-gown and slippers, slowly descends the
staircase, the music quivers away, though still heard now and again, as
at greater distance._ LYDIA _softly draws_ RICHARD _aside_.] Sh--this
must be he!
RICHARD.
[_In a slightly nervous whisper._] After all, Lydia, this is my house!
Had I not better call him out and have done with it?
LYDIA.
[_Watching Sanford._] Sh----!
[_For a moment_ SANFORD _pauses at the table, outside, bright
in the moonlight; picks up the ear-trumpet; with it, he heavily
proceeds into the garden; then looking at the moon_.
SANFORD.
[_With his fat chuckle._] Ah, romance! All very well for young folks.
But [_Tapping the ear-trumpet._] she’ll hear my vows all right with
this! And romance comes easy at $100,000!
RICHARD.
[_Indignantly._] Lydia! It’s desecration. Let me challenge him and end
it!
LYDIA.
[_A restraining hand on his arm._] Hush! Leave it to me---- And
that---- [_Pointing to the ear-trumpet._] He said that was to hear his
vows with. How very strange!
SANFORD.
[_Plumping down on the bench near him._] ’Might as well stay here.
’Can’t sleep a wink.
RICHARD.
[_Tears in his voice, as he feels the hour going._] Lydia! It’s our one
night! Make him go away!
LYDIA.
[_Softly._] Ah, if he’d go away! [_Louder._] If he’d burn that picture,
and pack right up, and go away from Bird’s Nest, and never come back!
SANFORD.
Damned pretty little house for Evelina and me! Damned lucky to get it,
and so cheap, too! [_With another chuckle._] Some clever Johnny must’ve
made up that yarn about the ghosts to pull the prices down! Ghosts!
Ha-ha-ha! When I sell, I’ll sell high! I can swear I’ve never seen ’em!
LYDIA.
[_Distinctly, as she emerges from the shadows, and sweeping him a
mocking courtesy._] I suppose you don’t see _me_, sir?
RICHARD.
[_In a frightened whisper._] Dearest Lydia, pray be careful!
[LYDIA _steals behind_ SANFORD, _jerks up the trumpet, and,
holding it to his ear_.
LYDIA.
[_Mischievously._] There, sir! Is it only your bride who can’t hear?
[_With a sleepy gesture_, SANFORD _brushes away the trumpet,
which falls to the ground_.
SANFORD.
[_With a yawn._] Ah, never mind. Too much work--pick it up.
LYDIA.
[_Slipping around in front of him._] Come, Richard!
RICHARD.
[_Joining her somewhat hesitantly and taking her outstretched hands._]
Is it quite safe, do you think?
LYDIA.
[_To_ SANFORD, _dosing on the bench_.] We don’t want to hurt you, sir.
Say it with me, Richard----
LYDIA _and_ RICHARD.
[_Repeating together._] But Bird’s Nest is our very own! Will you
go away? You don’t love your bride! And you know---- [_With low
intensity._] _Bird’s Nest was built for lovers!_
SANFORD.
[_Sleepily._] $100,000, by George! That’s enough to make up for a whole
lot! And Bird’s Nest----
[_His head drops forward with a jerk. For an instant_, LYDIA
_bends and peers close into his face. Then, with a quick sigh
of relief._
LYDIA.
Come, Richard! Let us finish our dance.
[_Again, invisible violins take up the tune for the minuetting
lovers, and it is perhaps guided by this that_ MARTIN, _a
moment later, wistfully reënters the garden. But once there, he
goes swiftly to_ SANFORD _and bends over him_.
MARTIN.
[_After a quick glance._] Dead! Oh, my God! [_For a moment, with
incredulous eyes, he watches the delicate, rhythmic bending and
swaying of the young forms; then, with a smothered cry, he rushes
forward and raises indignant hands to stop them. And as, in their
grave and gay abandon they dance on_, MARTIN, _seeming to derive
fresh support from the backward glance he flings the body, tries to
catch_ LYDIA _by her curls_. MARTIN _indignantly_.] How dare you, you
little--little----
[_But, untouched_, LYDIA _glides past him, her light laughter
mingling with the wind. Then, as_ MARTIN _slinks back, beaten,
his eyes full of wonder, an impalpable tremor passes over the
garden. The violins fade; the moonlight shivers blue and chill,
and_ LYDIA _runs with a cry to_ RICHARD.
LYDIA.
Oh, my dearest--not yet! Not yet!
RICHARD.
[_Tremulously, holding her fast._] We had just begun! We had waited a
whole year!
LYDIA.
[_In a panic of longing._] Oh, Richard! Richard! The church clock has
struck! In a moment---- [_Pointing a trembling finger within._] our
clock!
RICHARD.
[_As the whirring noise begins that precedes the stroke._] My
darling--next year----
LYDIA.
[_As before._] Oh, stop it! Stop it! [_Her head against his breast._]
Oh, Richard, I--I haven’t seen the nursery yet!
[_Then, as the clock strikes ONE, her features change. She
gathers up her little prayer-book, slips a decorous, mitted
hand within the arm he gravely offers her, and together,
passing_ SANFORD’S _body without a glance, they turn away down
the little path_.
MARTIN.
[_Stepping forward and leaning over the body._] Too bad! [_Then, his
eyes young and wistful as they follow the retreating figures._] But
Bird’s Nest was built for lovers!
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