_The C._ Ah, Bullsaye, try to be worthy of such generosity!
[Lord B. _grasps_ COLTSFOOT"S _hand in silence_.
_Lady Rose._ And pray, understand that, whether Mr. Coltsfoot be viscount or acrobat, it can make no difference whatever to the disinterested affection with which I have lately learnt to regard him.
[_Gives her hand to_ COLTSFOOT, _who squeezes it with ardour_.
_Colts._ (_pleasantly_). Well, Father, Mother, your n.o.ble Herlship and Lady, foster-brother Bullsaye, and my pretty little sweetart "ere, what do you all say to goin" inside and shunting a little garbage, and shifting a drop or so of lotion, eh?
_The E._ A most sensible suggestion, my boy. Let us make these ancient walls the scene of the blithest--ahem!--_beano_ they have ever yet beheld!
[_Cheers from Tenantry, as the_ Earl _leads the way into the Castle with_ Mrs. h.o.r.eHOUND, _followed by_ h.o.r.eHOUND _with the_ Countess _and_ COLTSFOOT _with_ Lady ROSE, Lord BULLSAYE, _discomfited and abashed, entering last as Curtain falls_.
VII.--RECLAIMED!
OR, HOW LITTLE ELFIE TAUGHT HER GRANDMOTHER.
CHARACTERS.
_Lady Belledame_ (_a Dowager of the deepest dye_).
_Monkshood_ (_her Steward, and confidential Minion_).
_Little Elfie_ (_an Angel Child_). This part has been specially constructed for that celebrated Infant Actress, Banjoist, and Variety Comedienne, Miss BIRDIE CALLOWCHICK.
SCENE--_The Panelled Room at Nightshade Hall._
_Lady Belledame_ (_discovered preparing parcels_). Old and unloved!--yes the longer I live, the more plainly do I perceive that I am _not_ a popular old woman. Have I not acquired the reputation in the County of being a witch? My neighbour, Sir Vevey Long, asked me publicly only the other day "when I would like my broom ordered," and that minx, Lady Violet Powdray, has pointedly mentioned old cats in my hearing!
Pergament, my family lawyer, has declined to act for me any longer, merely because Monkshood rack-rented some of the tenants a little too energetically in the Torture Chamber--as if in these hard times one was not justified in putting the screw on! Then the villagers scowl when I pa.s.s; the very children shrink from me--[_A childish Voice outside window,_ "Yah, "oo sold "erself to Old Bogie for a pound o" tea an" a set o" noo teeth?"]--that is, when they do not insult me by suggestions of bargains that are not even businesslike! No matter--I will be avenged upon them all--ay, all! "Tis Christmas-time--the season at which sentimental fools exchange gifts and good wishes. For once I, too, will distribute a few seasonable presents.... (_Inspecting parcels._) Are my arrangements complete? The bundle of choice cigars, in each of which a charge of nitro-glycerine has been dexterously inserted? The lip-salve, made up from my own prescription with corrosive sublimate by a venal chemist in the vicinity? The art flower-pot, containing a fine specimen of the Upas plant, swathed in impermeable sacking? The sweets compounded with sugar of lead? The packet of best ratsbane? Yes, nothing has been omitted. Now to summon my faithful Monkshood.... Ha! he is already at hand.
[_Chord as_ MONKSHOOD _enters_.
_Monkshood._ Your Ladyship, a child, whose sole luggage is a small bandbox and a large banjo, is without, and requests the favour of a personal interview.
_Lady B._ (_reproachfully_). And you, who have been with me all these years, and know my ways, omitted to let loose the bloodhounds? You grow careless, Monkshood!
_Monks._ (_wounded_). Your Ladyship is unjust--I _did_ unloose the bloodhounds; but the ferocious animals merely sat up and begged. The child had took the precaution to provide herself with a bun!
_Lady B._ No matter, she must be removed--I care not how.
_Monks._ There may be room for one more--a little one--in the old well.
The child mentioned that she was your Ladyship"s granddaughter, but I presume that will make no difference?
_Lady B._ (_disquieted_). What!--then she must be the child of my only son Poldoodle, whom, for refusing to cut off the entail, I had falsely accused of adulterating milk, and transported beyond the seas! She comes. .h.i.ther to denounce and reproach me! Monkshood, she must not leave this place alive--you hear?
_Monks._ I require no second bidding--ha, the child ... she comes!
[_Chord. Little_ ELFIE _trips in with touching self-confidence._
_Elfie_ (_in a charming little c.o.c.kney accent_). Yes, Grandma, it"s me--little Elfie, come all the way from Australia to see you, because I thought you must be sow lownly all by yourself! My Papa often told me what a long score he owed you, and how he hoped to pay you off if he lived. But he went out to business one day--Pa was a bushranger, you know, and worked--oh, _so_ hard; and never came back to his little Elfie, so poor little Elfie has come to live with you!
_Monks._ Will you have the child removed now, my Lady?
_Lady B._ (_undecidedly_). Not now--not yet; I have other work for you.
These Christmas gifts, to be distributed amongst my good friends and neighbours (_handing parcels_). First, this bundle of cigars to Sir Vevey Long with my best wishes that such a connoisseur in tobacco may find them sufficiently strong. The salve for Lady Violet Powdray, with my love, and it should be rubbed on the last thing at night. The plant you will take to the little Pergaments--"twill serve them for a Christmas tree. This packet to be diluted in a barrel of beer, which you will see broached upon the village green; these sweetmeats for distribution among the most deserving of the school-children.
_Elfie_ (_throwing her arms around Lady B."s neck_). I _do_ like you, Grandma, you have such a kind face! And oh, what pains you must have taken to find something that will do for everybody!
_Lady B._ (_disengaging herself peevishly_). Yes, yes, child. I trust that what I have chosen will indeed do for everybody,--but I do not like to be messed about. Monkshood, you know what you have to do.
_Elfie._ Oh, I am sure he does, Grandma! See how benevolently he smiles.
You"re such a good old man, you will take care that all the poor people are fed, _won"t_ you?
[Ill.u.s.tration: Little Elfie.]
_Monks._ (_with a sinister smile_). Ah! Missie, I"ve "elped to settle a many people"s "ash in my time!
_Elfie_ (_innocently_). What, do they all get hash? How nice! I like hash,--but what else do you give them?
_Monks._ (_grimly_). Gruel, Missie. (_Aside._) I must get out of this, or this innocent child"s prattle will unman me!
[_Exit with parcels._
_Elfie._ You seem so sad and troubled, Grandma. Let me sing you one of the songs with which I drew a smile from poor dear Pa in happier days.
_Lady B._ No, no, some other time. (_Aside._) Pshaw! why should I dread the effect of her simple melodies? (_Aloud._) Sing, child, if you will.
_Elfie._ How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [_Sings._
_Dar is a lubly yaller gal dat tickles me to deff; She"ll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.
When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man, As she gets her upper lip o"er a plate o" "possom dip," cries, "Woa, Lucindy Ann!"_ (Chorus, dear Granny!)
_Chorus._
_Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy Ann!
At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa, Miss Sindy Ann!_
_To Lady B._ (_who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has burst into tears_). Why, you are _weeping_, dear Grandmother!
_Lady B._ Nay, "tis nothing, child--but have you no songs which are less sad?
_Elfie._ Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful than that. (_Sings._)