hastened home, strangely elated, to dress for the play.

Our seats were in one of the lower proscenium boxes and
quite clearly exposed to the gaze of the thousands who
filled the theatre in winding rows, ascending and receding
to the roof high above us. The garish decorations, the gay
throng bedizened with jewels sparkling in the light and the
hundreds of fair faces and bright eyes that were turned
toward us presented a spectacle entirely new to Rayel.
Shortly the curtain rose and the play began. Its first scene
was a counterfeit of real stage life in an English theatre.
An important performance is impending and at the last moment
both the leading lady and her understudy are suddenly taken
ill. The management is in a quandary. In the midst of its
confusion the stage carpenter suggests that he has a
daughter who can play the part. When this functionary came
upon the scene my interest in the play began to wax
stronger. Hester Chaffin's father had been a stage
carpenter, and this turn in the scene startled me not a
little after having found our picture in the foyer.

The carpenter's suggestion is at first treated with
ridicule. He insists that she has learned the part from
witnessing the rehearsals, and urges the managers to give
her a trial. The performance must begin in four hours or be
postponed. It is found that the costumes prepared for the
part will fit the young lady. They consent to try her, the
company is hastily summoned together for rehearsal, and the
curtain falls on the first act. The audience waited
impatiently for it to rise again and show what fortune might