n the
acts, these yellow lights were turned low, and--running with the
current of popular desire--the orchestra, enlarged to four, played, by
special request, "The Old Oaken Bucket."

The song had just sprung into popularity, and, in a moment, men, women
and children had added their voices to the instruments. It was not the
thrill of temperance fanaticism that stirred their hearts, but it was
the memories of the old pioneer home in the wilderness; the
rail-splitting, road-building days; the ancient rites of "raisings"
and other neighborly ceremonies; when the farmer cut rye with a
cradle, and threshed it out with his flail; when "butter and eggs were
pin money" and wheat paid the store-keeper.

"How solemnly they take their amusements in the North, Mr. Barnes!"
exclaimed a voice in one of the entrances. "What a contrast to the
South--the wicked South!"

The manager turned sharply.

"We are mere servants of the public, Mr. Mauville."

"And the public is master, Mr. Barnes! How the dramatic muse is
whipped around! In Greece, she was a goddess; in Rome, a hussy; in
England, a sprightly dame; now, a straight-laced Priscilla. But you
have a recruit, I see?"

"You mean Saint-Prosper?"

"Yes, and I can hardly blame him--under the circumstances!" murmured
the land baron, at the same time glancing around as though seeking
some one.

"Circumstances! What circumstances?" demanded the manager.

"Why, the pleasant company he finds himself in, of course," said the
visitor, easily. "Ah, I see Miss Carew," he added, his eye immediately
lightening, "and must congratulate her on her performance. Cursed
dusty hole, isn't it?" Brushing himself with his handkerchief as he
moved away.

"What business has he behind the scenes anyway?" grumbled the
manager. "Dusty hole, indeed! Confound his impudence!" But his
attention being drawn to the pressing exigencies of a first night,
Barnes soon forgot his irritation over this unwarranted intrusion in
lowering a drop, hoisting a fly or readjusting a flat to his liking.

The land baron meanwhile crossed to the semi-darkness at the rear of
the stage behind the boxed scene, where he had observed the young girl
waiting for the curtain to rise on the last act. A single light on
each side served partly to relieve the gloom; to indicate the
frame-work of the set scene and throw in shadow various articles
designed for use in the play. As she approached Mauville, who stood
motionless in an unli