, and
what's left over is pitched _en masse_ into the next one. If there is any
difficulty in closing the trunks he don't waste time in trying to
re-arrange the things. There is such beautiful simplicity in all pa's
actions, he just gets up and walks--well, perhaps stamps a little on the
contents, until the lid closes quite nicely, for he is a very quick
packer, is pa, though it's just possible that his method in some degree
may explain his generally rumpled appearance on the stage. What should
_you_ think about it, girls?"

The old gentleman was always very kind to me and had the oddest pet name
for me I ever heard. He used to hail me with: "Where's my crummie girl?
Well, Crummy, how are you?"

In answer to my amazed look, he explained one day that it was a Yorkshire
term, and meant "plump or round faced." The only time he ever cursed me
was when he gave me the cue in the wrong place, as he openly admitted,
and I went on too soon in consequence. Aside, he swore so the air seemed
blue--my legs shook under me. I did not know whether to speak or not. He
rose, and putting his arm about me, he led me off the stage (I was
playing his daughter), and as we crossed the stage, this is what he
said--the words in parentheses being asides to me, the other words being
aloud for the audience:

"(What in h--ll!) My little one! (you double d----n fool!) My bird, what
brings you here? (Yes, what the blankety, blankety, blanknation does
bring you here, crummie girl?) Get back to your nest, dearie! (and stay
there, d----n you!)" as he gently pushed me off the stage. Next day when
the prompter showed him his error he admitted it at once.

He knew much sorrow and trouble, and before that last long streak of good
fortune came to him, in New York, in "Hazel Kirke," he knew a time of
bitter poverty. Eliza had died--a sweet and noble woman--and the loss was
terrible to him. I was just winning success in the East when I was
dumfounded one day at seeing Mr. Couldock standing, bowed and broken,
before me, asking me for help.

A star--dear God! could such things happen to a star? I was so hurt for
him, for his broken pride. When I could speak, I simply told him my
salary, and that two (my mother and myself) were trying to live on it.
"Oh!" he cried, "crummie girl, why don't you demand your rights; your
name is on everyone's lips, yet you are hungry! Shall I speak for you?"

Poor old gentleman, I could not let him go empty away. I took one-hal