Jack and Jill by Louisa May Alcott

had been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and

out in British uniform till Washington’s august legs were hidden by

the heaps of arms rattled down before him. The martial music, the

steady tramp, and the patriotic memories awakened, caused this

scene to be enthusiastically encored, and the boys would have

gone on marching till midnight if Ralph had not peremptorily

ordered down the curtain and cleared the stage for the next

tableau.

This had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to

show that the Father of his Country had to pay a high price for his

glory. The darkened stage represented what seemed to be a camp

in a snow-storm, and a very forlorn camp, too; for on “the cold,

cold ground” (a reckless display of cotton batting) lay ragged

soldiers, sleeping without blankets, their worn-out boots turned up

pathetically, and no sign of food or fire to be seen. A very shabby

sentinel, with feet bound in bloody cloths, and his face as pale as

chalk could make it, gnawed a dry crust as he kept his watch in the

wintry night.

A tent at the back of the stage showed a solitary figure sitting on a

log of wood, poring over the map spread upon his knee, by the

light of one candle stuck in a bottle. There could be no doubt who

this was, for the buff-and-blue coat, the legs, the nose, the attitude,

all betrayed the great George laboring to save his country, in spite

of privations, discouragements, and dangers which would have

daunted any other man.

“Valley Forge,” said someone, and the room was very still as old

and young looked silently at this little picture of a great and noble

struggle in one of its dark hours. The crust, the wounded feet, the

rags, the snow, the loneliness, the indomitable courage and

endurance of these men touched the hearts of all, for the mimic

scene grew real for a moment; and, when a child’s voice broke the

silence, asking pitifully, “Oh, mamma, was it truly as dreadful as

that?” a general outburst answered, as if everyone wanted to cheer

up the brave fellows and bid them fight on, for victory was surely

coming.

In the next scene it did come, and “Washington at Trenton” was

prettily done. An arch of flowers crossed the stage, with the motto,

“The Defender of the Mothers will be the Preserver of the

Daughters”; and, as the hero with his generals advanced on one

side, a troop of girls, in old-fashioned muslin frocks, came to

scatter flowers before him, singing the song of long ago:

“Welcome, mighty chief, once more

Welcome to this grateful shore;

Now no mercenary foe

eyes as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted

theirs to drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat with her hand

on an antique teapot, labelled “Sage,” ready to fill again when the

patriotic ladies were ready for a second “dish.”

This was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the

proud parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery

of a hundred years ago. The band played “Auld Lang Syne,” as a

gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as

the fore-fathers.

It was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a

great tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the

scenes while the tea-party was going on. After some delay, “The

Surrender of Cornwallis” was presented in the most superb

manner, as you can believe when I tell you that the stage was

actually lined with a glittering array of Washington and his

generals, Lafayette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau and the rest, all in

astonishing uniforms, with swords which were evidently the pride

of their lives. Fife and drum struck up a march, and in came

Cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he

surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his

army marched past, piling their arms at the hero’s feet.

This scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of Company F

had been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and

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