ad yet another surprise for me. He said: "I wanted, too, Clara,
to make you a little present, to give you a keepsake that would last long
and would remind you daily of--of--er the years you have passed in my
theatre."

He drew a small box from his pocket. "A good girl and a good actress," he
said, "needs and ought to own a--" he touched a spring, the box flew
open--"a good watch," he finished.

I gave a cry, I could not realize it was for me--I _could_ not! I clasped
my hands in admiration instead of taking it, so, with his thin, sick
man's fingers, he took it from its case and dropped it in my lap. I
caught it then, and "Oh!" and again "Oh!" was all that I could cry, while
I pressed it to my cheek and gloated over it.

Literally, I could not speak, such an agony of delight in its beauty, of
pride in its possession, of satisfaction in a need supplied, of gratitude
tremendous and surprise immeasurable were more than I could find words
for. If you are inclined to think this exaggeration, remember how poor I
was--had always been; remember, too, there were no cheap watches then;
this was of the best make and had a chain attached as well; then think
how great was my need of it for the theatre, day and night, and for
traveling. By my utter inability to earn such a thing measure my joyful
surprise at receiving it, a gift.

It was one of the red-letter days of my life, the day I owned a watch. My
thanks must have been sadly jumbled and broken, but my pride and pleasure
made Mr. Ellsler laugh, and then the carriage was there, and laughter
stilled into a silent, close hand-clasp. As I opened the door of the
dusty old hack, I glanced up and saw the first star prick brightly
through the evening sky. Then the hoarse voice said, "God bless you!" and
I had left my first manager.

As I stepped out of the carriage at the depot, glancing up again I saw
the sky sown thick with stars, like a field of heavenly daisies. I smiled
a little at the thought, then suddenly _drew my watch_ to see the time,
and hurried to my train. Thus grateful for a kindly send-off, made happy
by a gift, I turned my back upon the old, safe life and brightly,
hopefully faced the new. For I was young, and therefore confident; and it
is surely for the old world's need that God has made youth so.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH

My first Humiliating Experience in Cincinnati is Followed by a
Successful Appearance--I Make the Acquaintance of the Enthusiastic
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