the Cresslers, and Aunt Wess'--retired to a far corner,
Mrs. Cressler declaring that they would constitute the audience.

"On stage," vociferated Monsieur Gerardy, perspiring from his exertions
with the furniture. "'Marion enters, timid and hesitating, L. C.' Come,
who's Marion? Mademoiselle Gretry, if you please, and for the love of
God remember your crossings. Sh! sh!" he cried, waving his arms at the
others. "A little silence if you please. Now, Marion."

Isabel Gretry, holding her play-book at her side, one finger marking
the place, essayed an entrance with the words:

"'Ah, the old home once more. See the clambering roses have--'"

But Monsieur Gerardy, suddenly compressing his lips as if in a heroic
effort to repress his emotion, flung himself into a chair, turning his
back and crossing his legs violently. Miss Gretry stopped, very much
disturbed, gazing perplexedly at the coach's heaving shoulders.

There was a strained silence, then:

"Isn't--isn't that right?"

As if with the words she had touched a spring, Monsieur Gerardy bounded
to his feet.

"Grand God! Is that left-centre where you have made the entrance? In
fine, I ask you a little--_is_ that left-centre? You have come in by
the rustic bench and practicable table set for breakfast. A fine sight
on the night of the performance that. Marion climbs over the rustic
breakfast and practicable--over the rustic bench and practicable table,
ha, ha, to make the entrance." Still holding the play-book, he clapped
hands with elaborate sarcasm. "Ah, yes, good business that. That will
bring down the house."

Meanwhile the Gretry girl turned again from left-centre.

"'Ah, the old home again. See--'"

"Stop!" thundered Monsieur Gerardy. "Is that what you call timid and
hesitating? Once more, those lines.... No, no. It is not it at all.
More of slowness, more of--Here, watch me."

He made the entrance with laborious exaggeration of effect, dragging
one foot after another, clutching at the palings of an imaginary fence,
while pitching his voice at a feeble falsetto, he quavered:

"'Ah! The old home--ah ... once more. See--' like that," he cried,
straightening up. "Now then. We try that entrance again. Don't come on
too quick after the curtain. Attention. I clap my hands for the
curtain, and count three." He backed away and, tucking the play-book
under his arm, struck his palms together. "Now, one--two--_three._"

But this time Isabel Gretry, in remembering h