f act three, now a weeping drudge, she trailed
off the stage, with the maudlin owner of the catsup bottles staggering
ahead. Then Rosie and Teenie, holding the hands of their two virtuous
youths, recited in unison a little verse bearing upon the unwisdom of
being a haughty belle and marrying the victim of a catsup bottle.

Though the little scene was well-meant, and held within its simple
story a deep truth, the incongruities of it, chiefly those contributed
by the childish actors, might have made the dialogue extremely
laughable had it not been for the acting of the leading lady.
Elizabeth proved a star from the moment she set foot upon the stage.
She was radiantly happy there. All unconsciously she had found a
method of complete self-expression that was not forbidden, and the joy
and relief of it lifted her to brilliant success. She was playing at
something in a legitimate fashion at last; pretending, when it was the
right and proper thing to pretend, with one's father and aunt and
teacher looking on with approval. It was next best thing to being Joan
of Arc. From the day of her power, when she haughtily turned away the
virtuous William and the exemplary John, who severally came seeking her
hand, to that of her humiliation, when she knelt before Charles Stuart
and besought him with tears to give up catsup bottles, her whole course
was one of complete triumph. Teenie Johnstone forgot her lines three
times in watching her, and Charles Stuart said he wished she wouldn't
go at it quite so hard, she made him feel queer all over. And at the
end of one stormy scene, Rosie ran to her and said: "Oh, Lizzie, it was
awful! I thought you must be really, truly crying!" And Elizabeth did
not confess that she had been really and truly crying, and was now
rather ashamed and quite amazed at herself.

Mrs. Wully Johnstone was quite overcome, and Auntie Jinit declared it
jist garred her greet to look at the bairn, she did it jist too well.
And Miss Hillary turned to Miss Gordon and said, "She will make a great
actress some day, perhaps," and Miss Gordon held up her shapely hands
in horror and answered: "An actress! I'd rather see her in her grave."

Elizabeth noticed that Mother MacAllister was the only one who did not
praise her; she who was always so ready with commendation whenever it
could be truthfully expressed. So she slipped up to her and whispered,
"Do you like it?" and Mother MacAllister looked rather wistfully at