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 :ii h;' Gv-.t. ;i. i;.i;;-r, i3ro. |j 
 
 Comedy 
 
 Tivree Acts. Translated from German by George M 
 
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 16. 
 
 LOST nr LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 
 
 6 uiale, 4 female characters. 
 NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acta. 
 
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 THE -WELSH GIF.L. A Comedy in 1 Act. 
 
 By Mrs. Flauche. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act By 
 
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 THE TTJEKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By Montague Williams and F. C. Bumand. 
 
 6 male, 1 female char. 
 THE TWO PTJDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 
 OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 
 
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 TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX- A 
 
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 SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in I Act. 
 
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 TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 
 
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 JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act ByJ.M. 
 
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 THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. 
 
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 AUNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce in 1 
 
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 BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 
 
 1 Act By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 3 female char. 
 DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in I 
 
 Act By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 
 DUNDUCKETTT'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 
 
 * -t. By T. J. Williams. G male, 3 female char. 
 
 E WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 
 
 1 Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female 
 
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 ... PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 
 M"X TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act By 
 
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 THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 
 
 in 1 Act By Chas. Seiby. ;; male, 2 female char. 
 DANDELION'S DODrj-ES. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 A SLICE OP LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act By 
 
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 ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 
 
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 A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy 
 
 in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6 male, 4 
 
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 ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act By 
 
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 BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act ByH. 
 
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 COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By 
 
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 SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. 
 HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A 
 
 Farce in i Act. By E. Yates and N. II. Har- 
 rington- 7 male, 3 female char. 
 THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. 
 
 By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male 6 female char. 
 A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 
 
 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 
 YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 
 
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 TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 
 
 By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 
 
 36. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. A' 
 
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 87. LOOK .^:PTZR BROWN. A Farce In 1 Act. 
 
 By George A. Stuart, M. D. 6 male, 1 femaie 
 
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 38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By 
 
 Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female char. 
 
 39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A 
 
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 40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act By J. 
 
 M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 
 
 41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act 
 
 By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 
 
 42. GA SPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A 
 
 Dran^a in 3 Acts. By George Aimar. 10 male, 
 2 female cliar. 
 
 43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 
 
 A Drairia in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 
 male, 3 female char. 
 
 44. DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A 
 
 Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 
 female char. 
 
 45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act 
 
 By T. J. Wi.liams. 4 male, 2 female char. 
 
 46. MARY MOO ; or, Which shall I Marry? 
 
 A Farce in 1 Act By W. £. Suter. 2 male, 1 
 female char. 
 
 47. EAST LYITNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 
 
 7 female char. 
 
 48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. 
 
 By Robert Jones. IG male, 7 female char. 
 
 49. SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Commedi- 
 
 etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 fe- 
 male char. 
 
 50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. 
 
 Reade. 6 male, 2 female char. 
 
 55. THil WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. 
 By Geo. W, Lovell. 10 male, 2 female ch.\r. 
 
 66. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Com- 
 edy in 3 Acts, By Tom Taylor. 10 malp, S ic- 
 male char. 
 
 57. PUTKINS -, Heir l3 Castles in the Air. 
 
 A Comic Drama i:i i Act By W. R. Emersou. 
 
 2 male, 2 fc i ale char. 
 
 58. AN UGT.Y CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act 
 
 By Thomas J. Williams. 3 male, 2 female cJiar. 
 
 59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act 
 
 3 male, 2 female char. 
 
 60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 
 
 1 Act. 3 male, 2 fcni..le char. 
 
 61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 
 
 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 
 
 62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude- 
 
 ville. 1 male, 2 female char. 
 
 63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act 
 
 2 male, 2 female char. 
 
 64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 
 
 2 male, 2 female char. 
 
 65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy m 3 Acts. 
 
 o male, 3 female char. 
 
 66. A SOLDIER. A SAILOR, A TINKER, 
 
 AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Ac :» 4 male, 
 2 female char. 
 
 67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 
 
 2 male, 2 female char. 
 
 68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 
 
 male, 4 female char. 
 
 69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 
 
 Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3 femaie char. 
 
 70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic 
 
 Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. 
 
 Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to 
 
 Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston .^ 
 
'^ 
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 BY THE AHTIiOH uif- 
 
 •fc».v'^*'' sold\«t, 'Once on a Time," *' Dow^n uy the Sea," "Ih-c.-d on the ■Watera,* 
 
 ^hi, Last Loaf," " Stand by the Flag," " The Tempter," " A Drop Too Much," " ^ Vrt 
 
 411 Teetotallera," "A Little More Cider," ''Thirty Minutes for Refreshmentg 
 
 •* Wanted, a Male Cook," " A Sea of Troubles," " Freedom of the Press," "/- 
 
 Close Shave," " The Great Elixir," " The Man with the Demijohn," " NeTJ? 
 
 'Vooms Sweep Clean," " Humors of the Strike," " My Uncle the Captain,* 
 
 ^•The Greatest Plague in Life," " No Cure, No Pay," "The Grecial? 
 
 ''^ud," " The War of the Roses," " Lightheart'<« Piigrima^et" 
 
 *■ The Sculptor's Triumph," " Too Late for the Train," " Sn<>w- 
 
 Hound," " The Peddler of Very Nice," " Bonbons," " Capu- 
 
 Vetta," "An Original Idea," "Enlisted for the War," 
 
 ' Never Say Die," " The Champion of her Sex," 
 
 **The Visions of Freedom," "The Merry 
 
 Christmas of the Old Woman who lived in a 
 
 Shoe," " The Tournament of Idylcourt," 
 
 **A Thorn among the Roses-** 
 
 ** A Christmas Carol," 
 
 ** One Hundred 
 
 fears Ago," 
 
 fcc. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 milorge m. ^aker and ^OMPANY, 
 
 41^5 FiiANKLiN Street. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1876, 
 
 Bv George M. Baker, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at W.vOiington. 
 
 Boston: 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by 
 
 Kand, a very, & Co. 
 
-zynMoo. . , /^ 
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS, 
 
 A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Philip Ringold, ** Crazy Phil," a Mountain Hermit. 
 Alfred Thorpe, a City Nabob. 
 Amos Gaylord, a Country Gentleman. 
 Howard Gaylord, his Son. 
 Titus Tcrtle, a Gourmand. 
 Curtis Chipman, ^' Chips" in the Rough. 
 Nat Naylor, Thorpe's Protege. 
 Grace Ingalls, a Young Artist. 
 Hester Thorne, Gay lord's Housekeeper. 
 >^SusY Gaylord, Gaylord's Daugliter. 
 liUCKETiA Gerbish, " SO Tomantic." 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 RiNGOLD. Age 40. Full black beard; thick, curly wig; slouck 
 hat; long boots; light coat, buttoned at the waist; blue 
 shirt, with black handkerchief knotted at the neck ; coiiai 
 of shirt rolled over coat. 
 
 Alfred Thorpe. Age 50. White, curly hair; white side* 
 whiskers ; fashionable dress ; kids, and dress hat. 
 
 99 
 
 M52209 
 
100 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Amos Gaylord. Age 60. White wig ; smooth face ; nankeen 
 
 vest and pants ; blue coat with brass buttons ; white tie. 
 Howard Gaylord. Age 24. First Dress ; Dark cutaway coat ; 
 
 neat red shirt, with black neckerchief loosely tied ; dark 
 
 pants, with leather leggings ; wide-awake hat. — Second 
 
 Dress : Neat and tasty suit. 
 Turtle. Age 40. Made up "fat"; fashionable fancy suit; 
 
 red, curly hair ; side- whiskers, and plump, red face. 
 Curtis. Age 20. Rough suit ; pants, coat, and vest ; light hat ; 
 
 light hair. 
 Nat. Age 20. First Dress : A light suit ; green necktie ; green 
 
 gloves ; straw hat, with a green ribbon. — Second Dress : 
 
 Fashionable evening dress; white tie; dress coat; hair 
 
 light, long, parted in the middle. 
 Grace. Age 18. First Dress : Pretty-figured muslin, or blue 
 
 or brown cambric, fashionably cut. — Second Dress : White 
 
 muslin. 
 Hester Thorne. Age 40. Brown or gray dress, with collar 
 
 and cuffs ; fine, white wig. Face made up young and rosy. 
 SusT. Age 17. First Dress : Figured muslin, with white apron ; 
 
 long ear-rings. Second Dress : Neat evening-dress. 
 LucRETiA. Age 30. First Dress : Travelling-dress, as showy 
 
 as possible; face made up wrinkled; very red cheeks; a 
 
 profusion of red curls, and a black patch on left cheek. 
 
 Second Dress : Light fabric, with ribbons and bows of 
 
 scarlet. 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 R., right; c, centre; l., left; l. c, left centre; r. c, right 
 centre; l. 1 e., left first entrance; r. 1 e., right first entrance; 
 FLAT, scene at back of stage ; b. u. e., right upper entrance. 
 
» > 3 J • » , 
 
 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Act I. — Scene : Boom in Gatlord's house. In flat c, 
 open doorway^ hacked by lattice-work^ with vine run- 
 ni?iy up it, l. oJ^ door, a long windoio, showing a rail- 
 ing hacking it, and heyond that, shrubbery ; the pas- 
 sage-way off is through door, then past window, and 
 offij. Long curtains at window ; a vase of flowers 
 standing on the stage at backof open door; flat plain 
 from door to r. with a picture hanging on it; long 
 window R. next flat, with long curtain; lounge at 
 window R., hack to flat ; small table at window l. c, 
 with flowers and hooks upon it ; chair front of it. 
 Door L. halfway up stage ; arm-chair l. Entrance 
 R. Easel, with picture on it, hack to audience, near 
 window R. Grace seated painting, Howard stand- 
 ing c, leaning on a gun, hat in hand, watching her, 
 
 Grace, And you really like my picture, Mr. Gay- 
 lord? 
 
 Howard, Like it, Miss Grace ? It's a bit of Nature 
 filched from our grand old mountain so cleverly, that I 
 wonder it does not give one of its thunder-growls in 
 protest of the robbery. 
 
 Grace, It will be growled at by those monsters the 
 art-critics. They will not spare a single tree, or a 
 
 101 
 
103 . ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 u 
 
 stone, in my Mountain-Picture. Ah, if they were only 
 i.'s kiridly-(}i^p6s^d as ypujire, I should not fear. 
 
 Howard, Don't place me among them, Miss Grace. 
 I'm but a rough-handed farmer, who would be laughed 
 at in such company. 
 
 Grace, Yet you are an artist. 
 
 Howard, At ploughing — yes. 
 
 Grace, You may laugli ; but you are a true ailist. 
 Yon wooded valley, stretching to the distant river; 
 yon towering mountain, lifting its head above the 
 clouds, thrill me with delight, as a holiday sight glad- 
 dens the heart of the child. But to you they are daily 
 life. As the order, peace, and love of a household fill 
 the heart of the child with all good impulses, so the 
 clear mountain air you breathe, the majesty of Nature 
 in its grand sublimity, train the eye to beauty, the soul 
 to harmony, the heart to inspiration, — all unconscious 
 iiiiluences which make you a critic whose praise is 
 worth the winning. 
 
 Howard, You are enthusiastic. 
 
 Grace. Thank you. I am winning favor; for with- 
 out enthusiasm how could we poor artists live? 
 
 Howard, Then you like our rough lifie here, far 
 above the busy, bustling world ? 
 
 Grace, Like it? To be free from the thraldom of 
 city life, its crowded, bustling streets, its mockery of 
 comfort, its greed and avarice, crime and folly, is to 
 me as welcome, as joyous, as must be the sunlight to 
 tiie prisoner for years confined in gloomy dungeons. 
 
 Howard. And you could forsake all that — could b« 
 happy here? 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 01 
 
 Grace. Forever. 
 
 Howard, O Grace, — Miss Ingalls, — you know not 
 what pleasure that confession gives rae. If I might 
 hope — 
 
 {Miter Susy, door l., with a pan of apples and a 
 knife.) 
 
 Susy, O, I beg your pardon. Do I intrude ? 
 
 Grace. No, indeed, Susy. I was just giving a few 
 finishing touches to my picture, and Howard — Mr. 
 Gaylord — was admiring the color of my sky. 
 
 Howard. Yes, Susy, that's all. 
 
 Susy. O ! {Aside) Admiring the color ! They've 
 both got an extra quantity of red in their faces. {Sits 
 in arm-chair.) The reflection of the picture, I sup- 
 pose. {Pares apples.) 
 
 Grace. Are those hanging-clouds light enough? 
 
 Howard. Exactly the tints displayed at sunset. 
 But to my mind, that quaint scene above the clouds is 
 the beauty of the picture. Ringold's Nest, we call it 
 — Crazy Phil's rocky hut. 
 
 Grace. The Hermit of the Mountain. I long to 
 catch a glimpse of this mysterious hero of the Peak. 
 
 Howard. I am expecting him here every moment; 
 but you must look at him outside, for he never enters 
 a house. I go gunning with him to-day. 
 
 Grace. Gunning with a crazy man ? 
 
 Howard. Phil is not crazy. His eccentricities have 
 gained him that title here. Ten years ago he passed 
 through here to the Peak, and took possession of the 
 rude hut upon its summit. A wan, ragged, and hag- 
 gard man. Occasionally he comes into our streets, but 
 
104 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 shuns our abodes. His mountain life has made a new 
 man of him ; improved his health and spirits ; and I 
 want no better companion on a tramp, no wiser friend 
 in council, than Phil Ringold. 
 
 Grace. And his past history ? 
 
 Howard, Is a sealed book. Occasionally, in fits of 
 abstraction, he mutters hoarsely of a faithless wife, a 
 lost child, a false friend ; but when I question him, he 
 is silent. 
 
 Grrace, Brave fellow ! Foiled in his battle with the 
 world, he turns his back upon it, and in Nature's sol- 
 itudes fashions a new life and battles with himself. 
 
 Howard, One would imagine, from your poor 
 opinion of the world you have left, that even you — 
 young, talented, and — well, it is the truth — beautiful, 
 had met with disappointment. 
 
 Grace, No ; I have nothing to complain o^ except 
 tbu fact that I am nobody is a disappointment. 
 
 Howard. Nobody! You — you have genius. 
 
 Grace, Perhaps. That remains to be seen. I know 
 I have courage to persevere, will to conquer; but, 
 should I triumph, none to rejoice at my success. 
 
 Howard, I do not understand you. 
 
 Grace, Because you do not know me. I do not 
 know myseltl I am a waif, the property of nobody 
 who will claim me. Originally, one of those mysteri- 
 ous little mortals that are dropped by the way, as w© 
 sometimes dispose of a troublesome kitten. 
 
 Howard. And your parents ? 
 
 Grace, I have not the honor of their acquaintance ; 
 nothing but the recollection of a loving face bending 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 105 
 
 over me ; a silken beard I loved to stroke, long, long 
 years ago ; and then a change to rough hands, but 
 kind hearts ; and then all is blotted, till my life began 
 with Mr. Thorpe. 
 
 Howard, Surely that was a pleasant change. 
 
 Grace, He says he was a friend of my parents ; 
 that both are dead — and nothing more. Where they 
 lived, or where they lie, in vain I ask. He has ever 
 been a kind friend to me ; allowed me to choose ray 
 artist life ; spared no expense ; encouraged me in every 
 way; and yet, and yet — I hate him! 
 
 Howard, Hate him? 
 
 Grace, What right has he to stand between me 
 and those who gave me life ? 
 
 Howard, But if they are dead ? 
 
 Grace {rising). Their memories should live in the 
 heart of their child; not be stolen from her; hidden 
 away in the grave with them, as though they were 
 guilty things, too base to be remembered. ISTo, no; 
 there is some mystery here. Would I could solve it 
 {raises hand towards xoindow k. and looks off). O, 
 solitary dweller on the Mountain Peak, I can clasp 
 hands with thee. Thou stand est alone in Nature's 
 loneliest haunts; amid the crowded ways of life, like 
 thee, I am alone — alone. ( With an effort,) Pardon 
 me ; this is one of my changeful moods. I shall soon 
 be better. \_Exit r. 1 e. 
 
 Howard, A strange mood. So young ; so beautiful. 
 She fascinates me ! Am I wise to linger in her pres- 
 ence ? To listen to her beguiling voice ? To look into 
 her eyes 2 She, a genius, and an angel ! Dare I utter 
 the words that spring to my lips — 
 
106 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Susy, Ahem! 
 
 Howard. Susy, I had forgotten you. What are you 
 doing, puss ? 
 
 Susy, O, I've been keeping Miss Grace and you 
 company. 
 
 Howard. In what way ? 
 
 Susy. Paring! O, Howard Gaylord, you've just 
 come, and been and gone and done it. 
 
 Howard. What, puss ? 
 
 Susy. Fallen in love with Miss Grace Ingalls. 
 
 IToioard. Nonsense, puss. 
 
 Susy. Well, I think there is a great deal of non- 
 sense about it. But ain't it nice to feel your heart 
 going pitity-pat, pitity-pat, every time she looks at you, 
 and to feel that delicious lump in your throat, like as 
 though you were going to strangle with delight and 
 wa3 afraid you shouldn't ! 
 
 Howard. Well, you certainly understand the symp- 
 toms, Susy. 
 
 Susy. Indeed I do. I haven't lived seventeen 
 years for nothing. But all that's nothing to what will 
 come over you the first time you clasp her taper fin- 
 gers. You'll feel just as though you were being lifted 
 upon a bridge of rainbows. You'll be dizzy at first, 
 but it soon wears off. 
 
 Howard. Ha, ha! you're well posted, puss. Was 
 Curtis Chipman your instructor? 
 
 Susy. Chips ? Not much ; he hasn't the courage 
 to look me in the eye. 
 
 Howard. And of course cannot feel the " pitity-pat " 
 sensation. Curt is a good fellow, Susy ; mind you don't 
 frighten him. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 107 
 
 Siis]/, I frighten him ! He don't need any help, he 
 frightens himself. 
 
 Howard, And you think I love Miss Grace ? 
 
 Susy, You prove it, in being so anxious to return 
 to the subject. 
 
 Howard, What if I do, Susy. Do you think she 
 would condescend to look with favor upon such a rough 
 specimen as I ? 
 
 Susy, Condescend ? My goodness ! Condescend 
 to you, my brother ? The idea ! Why, Howard Gay- 
 lord, I'm ashamed of you ! You're none too good for 
 the best woman that ever trod the earth. 
 
 Howard, Ha, ha, ha I Right, Susy : I'm none " too 
 good." 
 
 Susy, !N"ow laugh because I made a slip. You know 
 what I mean ; and if you don't boldly woo and win 
 Grace Ingalls, I'll disinherit you. 
 
 Howard. Hush ! she 's here. 
 
 Susy, I thought she couldn't keep away from you 
 long. 
 
 (JEnter Grace, r.) 
 • Grace. There, the storm is over {goes to her easel), 
 
 Susy {aside). Now's the time for rainbows! Why 
 don't he squeeze her hand ? 
 
 Howard, Shall I disturb you if I look at your work? 
 
 Grace, O, no; I'm quite myself again. 
 
 Susy {aside). Look at her work, indeed ! He can't 
 keep his eyes off of her. ( Whistle outside^ l. Susy 
 gradually falls asleep.) 
 
 Howard, Ah, that's Phil Ringold. I must be off. 
 
 Grace, O, do bring him in. 
 
108 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Howard. I cannot; it would be useless to make 
 the attempt. 
 
 Grace {Hsing). Then I'll have one good look at 
 Lira {rises and goes up into doorway ; looks off l.). 
 Yes, what a fine figure. Mr. Gaylord, your friend is 
 splendid. Ah, he sees me (hows aiid smiles). He 
 starts. He comes this way like a madman {runs down 
 to easel ; turns and stands with hand on easel, bending 
 forward, looking at door. Howard, l.) 
 
 Phil {outside, l.). Hester ! Hester ! {Passes window 
 and appears in doorway, gun thrown across his arm ; 
 stops and glares at Grace.) Hester! No, no; 'tis 
 her fece ; but she — so like ! so like ! Where got you 
 that face ? It belonged to one I knew long years ago. 
 So beaut^ul — but false. As young and fair, but heart- 
 less and cruel. She made my home a ruin and my life 
 a curse. 
 
 Howard. Phil, old fellow, be calm. This is our 
 guest, Miss Grace Ingalls — an artist. Look at her work 
 there on the easel. Do you recognize it? (Grack 
 steps hack towards toindow, e. Phil combes forward, 
 his eyes fastened upon her face until he nears the 
 easel. He sighs ; lets his eyes rove round until they 
 reach the picture ; starts.) 
 
 Phil {with a smile). Ah, the old nest. See, see, 
 Howard ! It's wondrous like — wondrous like ! ( Turns 
 to Grace with a how.) I congratulate you, young lady, 
 on your success. It is a cLarming picture. 
 
 Grace. Thank you. 
 
 Phil (starts). O, that voice ! — it brings back the 
 old days — the mother with the child in her lap ; and 
 
ABOVE THE CLOTJDS. • 109 
 
 llie music of her lullaby thrills me again and again. 
 No, no ; let me shut it out — shut it out ; it softens 
 my heart, — and that should be steel, adamant, to bar 
 out forever the traitoress, the false one. Come, How- 
 ard, the day is speeding, and we've a long tramp. Come, 
 come {goes up). 
 
 Grace. Stay one moment. (Phil turns,) We meet 
 as strangers to-day ; but, believe me, I sympathize with 
 your sorrows and your wrongs. Can we not be friends? 
 ( Offers her hand.) 
 
 Phil {takes it and looks in her face). My sorrows 
 and my wrongs, child, they are forgotten. I trod 
 the haunts of men, mingled with the bustling and the 
 busy ; loved, lost ; and then, there {pointing off through 
 window^ E.) on yonder mountain peak, perched myself 
 above the clouds, that, floating at my feet, shut out all 
 tokens of the sin and wrong below. Ah, little one, 
 pretty one, this is a world of trouble. We joy and 
 we sorrow, gain and lose ; but there — there on His 
 eternal mountains that pierce the sky, all is forgotten, 
 for we are alone, — with Nature here, and Heaven 
 there. 
 
 Grace, May Heaven recompense you for all you 
 have suffered. 
 
 Phil. It will ; it does. My wrongs were like those 
 of other men. I loved, and was deceived. I married^ 
 and found my wife's smiles were bestowed upon an- 
 other. I w^as a fool to trust a woman, and so pay pen- 
 ance by forgetting the whole world. 
 
 Howard. Except — 
 
 Phil {giving Howard his hand). Except Howard, 
 
110 • ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 for we are friends, and he is of my own mind. He'll 
 never trust a woman. (Howard withdraws his hand^ 
 looks at Grace, and turns away. Grace blushes and 
 looks down,) Ho, ho! I've said too much. Never 
 mnid; it's only Crazy Phil. Come, Howard, we must 
 be ofl^ for game 's afoot, and Crazy Phil is a wondrous 
 good shot. Ha, ha, ha ! (At door^ turns and hows to 
 Grace.) Good-bye. So like — so like — it almost 
 drives me mad. \_Exit c. off L. 
 
 Howard, You see, Miss Grace, Phil is an odd char- 
 acter. 
 
 Grace. Yerj. 
 
 Howard, You mustn't mind all he says ; for in- 
 stance, that remark about me that I would never trust 
 a woman ; for there is one woman I could trust with 
 my life, my soul. 
 
 Grace, I hope there are many such, 
 
 Howard, Yes — O, yes. But this one — 
 
 Grace, Your friend is waiting, I see. 
 
 Howard, I'm off. (Aside) She's not for me — not 
 for me. I was a fool to think it. \^JBows, and exit c. 
 
 Grace, I'm on dangerous ground here. This rough 
 but honest-hearted fellow is stirring my heart strangely. 
 Is fate or fortune about to send some one to prove 
 false my statement that there's no one to rejoice at my 
 success ? If so, I hope he'll be the man. [^JExit b. 1 e. 
 
 (Enter Chips /rom l. He comes on with his hat twirl- 
 ing in his hand; conies to door slowly and stands 
 looking down bashfully^ rubbing against door-post.) 
 
 Chipa. I was just going by. (Pause), I said I was 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. Ht 
 
 just going by {looks up), Hal)^ ! Nobody here ? 
 That's queer, I vum ! ( Comes down,) I've made up / 
 my mind that Susy Gay lord is the prettiest, smartest, 
 and likelieit gal in these parts, and I've just got spunk 
 enough to tell her so. {Sees Susy.) Jewhittiker ! there 
 she is ! {Backs across stage to r., looking down and 
 twirling his hat.) How d'e do? I was just going by. 
 {Pause^ looks up.) Why, she's asleep ! ( Comes to c. and 
 looks at her.) Now, ain't she a beauty ! j ust clear pink 
 and white. Look at them lips ! there 's honey for the. 
 taking ! Curtis, now's your chance {wipes his mouth 
 with coat-sleeve). She's asleep, and nobody's looking 
 {creeps towards her), 
 
 {Enter Nat Naylor, l.; looks through window) 
 I'm trembling all over; but, darn it, here goes! {Stoopt 
 to kiss her, Nat comes to door.) 
 
 Nat. Brace up ! (Chips runs across stage to r. 
 Susy wakes, Nat comes down) Here 's robbery ! 
 Grand larceny ! 
 
 Bumpkin, forbear, touch not those tempting lips, 
 Base is the man who thus felonious sips. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem! {To Susy) Excuse me, I am the 
 avant courier of Mr. Alfred Thorpe, Mr. Titu? Turtle, 
 " and last but not least is our dear love," Miss Lucretia 
 Gerrish, — three mountain travellers who are on their 
 way to spend a few days in this delightful ma»sion of 
 Mr. Amos Gay lord. 
 
 A stately pile, the country's pride and boast. 
 Amid the mountain, with A Gaylord host. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem! {Struts up stage,) 
 
112 ABOVE THE CLOUDS, 
 
 Susy. Well, I never ! 
 
 Chips. Wall, he 's gone crazy, and got it bad. 
 
 Susy. Chips, what are you doing here ? 
 
 Nat {com€s dowii). Chips, is it? O, Chips, I blush 
 for you. Young lady, look upon me as your preserver. 
 I caught this modest rustic in the very act of snatch- 
 ing a kiss from those ruby lips, — 
 
 Where Cupid sits enthroned with arching bow, 
 Before the ivoried walls that gleam below. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Susy. Chips, is it possible ? Did you dare ? 
 
 Chips. Well, you see, Susy, I was going by, and — 
 and — I thought I'd just drop in to tell you that — 
 that — mother's making pickles to-day. 
 
 JSTat. O, Chips! Chips! 
 
 While making pickles, mother dear, 
 I find a sweeter pickle here. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Chips. Look here, Mr. What's-your-name, you're a 
 darned sight too free with your Mother Goose Melo- 
 dies. Ef you get my dander up, you'll think a horse 
 kicked you, — now I tell you. 
 
 Susy. Chips, don't be rude. 
 
 Chips. Well, I ain't a-goin' to be sassed by a feller 
 that can't talk English. 
 
 Nat. Chips, you want polish. 
 
 Chips. Well, p'raps you 'd like to polish me. Ef 
 you would, I'm your man. Come down behind the 
 barn — 
 
 Susy, Chips, I'm ashamed of you ! 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 113 
 
 Nat. So am I, Chips. 
 
 The blush of shame is mounting to my cheek, 
 It glows — 
 
 It glows — There, Fve lost it ! You must know, I'rn 
 a protege of Mr. Thorpe's, destined to become a poet. 
 Yes, he's fond of helping aspiring genius up the dizzy 
 heights — and I'm to be a poet. So, as practice makes 
 perfect, I indulge in flights of fancy on all occasions. 
 So if you happen to hear from my lips eccentric bits, 
 don't mind them. It's nothing — mere practice. 
 
 Sitsy, O, you're a poet! Well, I declare ! 
 
 Nat. Yes — !N"at !N"aylor. Sometimes called Natty, 
 because my verses are neat and natty. See ? 
 
 Susy. I am glad to welcome you to my father's 
 house. 
 
 Nat. Then I am in the presence of Miss Susy Gay- 
 lord. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Allow 
 me — {lifts her hand to his lips). 
 
 Here on this hand I pay the homage due 
 To lovely woman — 
 
 {About to kiss again.) 
 
 Susy {withdrawing her hand). Thank you ; that 
 will do. 
 
 Nat. Impromptu. Ahem! I must return to ray 
 friends. You may expect us in half an hour. Adieu 
 {goes to door and turns). We part to meet again. — 
 Sweet one, farewell. Chips, au revoir. [^Exit c. 
 
 Chips. Get out, you tarnal swell ! Darn his pic- 
 ture, I'll have one shot at him. {Bujis up to Susy, takes 
 three or four apples^ and runs up to c.) 
 
114 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Susy, Chips, what are you doing with my apples ? 
 
 Chips {throwing apples off l. swiftly). There, im- 
 promptu ! Darn you ! I wish they were Centennial 
 eggs ! ( Comes down c.) 
 
 Susy, Curtis Chipman I 
 
 Chips. That's my name, and I ain't ashamed of it. 
 
 Susy, I'm ashamed of you ! Such treatment of a 
 gentleman and a poet ! 
 
 Chips, O, bother! What's a poet, anyhow? He 
 can't tell a Shanghai from a Bantam, a pitchfork from 
 a rake. What right has he to kiss your hand ? You 
 never saw me trying it? 
 
 Susy, 1^0 ; but he saw you attempting something 
 worse, Chips. 
 
 Chips, Don't care. I was just going by — 
 
 Susy, Pshaw ! you 're always going by. Why 
 don't you come straight to the house, and not make an 
 excuse, when you know you are dying to see me. O, 
 Chips, you're a good fellow, but you want a little pol- 
 ish. Look at Mr. Naylor. 
 
 Chips, Hang Mr. Naylor ! I hate him. 
 
 Susy, And I like him. He's so gentle, so well- 
 bred ; such a flow of language. I'm sure we shall be- 
 come good friends. 
 
 Chips {throios his hat on stage), Susy Gay lord, 
 I'm mad; and I'm going to tell you just what I think 
 of you. 
 
 Susy, That's right. Chips ; frankn<iss is a virtue. 
 
 Chips, You're a — a — confound it, Susy, you're 
 an angel ; and I love you better than father or mother, 
 sister or brother — 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. llSt 
 
 Susy, Uncles and aunts, first and second cousins. 
 Put in all the relatives, Chips. 
 
 Chips, I know I ain't handsome. 
 
 Susy. So do I, Chips. 
 
 Chips, I haven't what you call "polish." 
 
 Susy, Not a bit, Chips. 
 
 Chips, But I've got a heart crammed full of love 
 
 for you. Will you marry me ? 
 
 Susy. I cannot. Chips ; because — because — 
 
 Chips, Because what? 
 
 Susy. I'm an angel ; and angels don't marry. 
 
 Chips. Don't torture me, Susy. 
 
 Susy, No, Chips — I should if I married you. So 
 I'll be merciful and spare you. 
 
 An angel of mercy, hovering nigh, 
 
 To watch your footsteps when you're going by. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Chips, Hang it ! don't you go to making melodies 
 and jingles — Naylor's lingo. All fools make rhymes; 
 they do, by jingo ! 
 
 Susy, Impromptu. Ahem ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Chips, You won't have me ? 
 
 Susy, Haven't got time. Strangers are coming 
 here, you know, and I must be bustling. All of them 
 coming, including that delightful Mr. Naylor. 
 
 Chips. Darn him! You'll be sorry for this, Susy 
 Gaylord. As for that poet fellow, if I don't smash his 
 rhyming-machine, then my name 's not Curtis Chipman 
 (goes offc). 
 
 Susy, Good-bye, Chips ; call again when you 're 
 
116 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 going by. Ha, ha, ha ! I've found a new way to make 
 a bashful lover speak. Get him mad, and then he dis- 
 closes his passion. Ha, ha, ha ! ( Goes up and puts pan 
 of apples on table.) 
 
 {Enter Amos Gatlord, c.) 
 
 Amos, Susy, has Mrs. Thorne returned ? 
 
 Susy, No, father; she spent the night at Mrs. 
 Green's, with her sick boy. 
 
 Amos, Bless her I that woman's a sister of charity, 
 Susy ; a friend in trouble ; the poor pray for her, and 
 the sick forget their pain when she is near. 
 
 Susy, Ah, father, you've a tender regard for our 
 new housekeeper. 
 
 Amos, To be sure I have, Susy. Isn't she a treas- 
 ure here ? How carefully she looks after my comfort ; 
 so quiet, yet so active at her household duties ; so un^ 
 obtrusive ; so motherly to you. Ah, it was a happy 
 day when she came to our home ! 
 
 Susy, Father, you surprise me ! 
 
 Amos, I have a still greater surprise in store for 
 you, Susy. I am going to ask Mrs. Thome to marry 
 me. 
 
 Susy, Marry you I 
 
 Amos, Yes ; she has become so necessary here that 
 I fear to lose her. She has evidently seen trouble, 
 poverty. Why should not I try to make her forget all 
 she has suffered by making her the honored head of 
 this my home ? 
 
 Susy, Father, no one would more gladly welcome 
 her to that position than I. I truly, sincerely hope 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 11? 
 
 you may be successful ; but I fear you will be disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 Amos, Don't dash my hopes, Susy ! I'm not a very 
 old man. I have wealth. 
 
 jSusy, Any woman might be proud of your pro- 
 posal, father ; but she has that in her face which tells 
 me she has suffered deeply. 
 
 Hester {outside c). I will have it attended to at 
 once. 
 
 Amos. Hush ! she is here. 
 
 {Enter Hester Thorne from l., passing window 
 to c. door. She has a light shawl on her shoulders^ 
 a rigolette on her head.) 
 
 Hester. Good morning, Mr. Gaylord. Susy, have 
 you missed me? 
 
 . Susy. We always miss you, Mrs. Thorne. ( Takes her 
 shawl aiid rigolette.) How is the boy ? 
 
 Hester. Poor little fellow ! — at rest ; he died this 
 morning. Brave to the last, he suffered uncomplain- 
 ingly, an^ passed away with a Smile upon his lips. 
 
 Amos, You have had a weary night. You must 
 take rest. {Exit Susy, door l.) 
 
 Hester. No ; my brisk walk this morning has re- 
 freshed me. 
 
 Amos. I do not like to have you waste your 
 strength in such constant watching. 
 
 Hester. I think one gains strength in seeking to 
 alleviate distress. 
 
 Amos. Yes ; but — 
 
 Hester. You think it unfits me for my duties as 
 your housekeeper. 
 
118 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Amos. Mrs. Thorne ! 
 
 Hester. Pardon me ; that was an unkind speech to 
 so generous a man as you. 
 
 Amos. I think only of your own health, Mrs. Thome. 
 I am anxious on yoar account solely. For a year you 
 have been my housekeeper, and I need not tell you 
 how highly you are respected here. 
 
 Hester, I am glad to know you like me. 
 
 Amos. So well, Mrs. Thome, that I am anxious to 
 secure you for life. 
 
 Hester {surprised), Mr. Gaylord ! 
 
 Am,os. Hester Thorne, I am too old a man to prate 
 of love with a young man's passionate warmth. I have 
 the most exalted opinion of your disposition, your 
 talents, and your honor. Will you become my wife ? 
 
 Hester. Mr. Gaylord, you know not what you ask. 
 Impossible ! 
 
 Am^os. Impossible ! Mrs. Thorne, I am a man of 
 few words ; but I am honest, earnest in my offer. Give 
 your consent, and you are mistress here. 
 
 Hester, Stop — stop — give me time — 
 
 Amos, To consider my proposal? 
 
 Hester. No, no ; not that. It must not, cannot be. 
 O, you have taken me by surprise. I never dreamed 
 of this. Your offer is generous, noble. You have 
 been a kind, dear friend to me, and I respect you ; but 
 marriage ! — No, no — there is a bar. 
 
 Amos, You are a widow ? 
 
 Hester. Widow or wife. Heaven alone can answer. 
 Mr. Gaylord, there must be no secrets between us now. 
 Listen to me ; listen to a story never breathed to mor- 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. US' 
 
 tal ears before. Years ago, I, a young girl, was wooed 
 by two suitors, both handsome and accomplished. 
 One became my partner, and, for a year, happiness 
 was my lot. Then a child was born to me, and still 
 my happiness continued ; my husband loved me, and 
 my home was heaven itself. When our little girl was 
 three years old, the other suitor returned from a foreign 
 land. My husband and he were intimate ; he came to 
 our house, and in an evil hour professed his love for 
 me. I spurned him; but still he came. Then I com- 
 mitted the first error cf my married life. I kept his 
 secret from my husband, but still avoided him with 
 loathing and abhorrence. He — villain that he was — • 
 filled his friend's ears with slanderous reports. My 
 husband grew cold, and still my lips were closed. One 
 night — shall I ever forget it ? — I awoke to find my- 
 self alone. My husband had fled with our child, leav- 
 ing behind, in letters that burned into my brain, his 
 bitter taunts for my unfaithfulness and guilt. O, heav- 
 ens, I, innocent and loving, to be so accused! From 
 that day I have never seen them. 
 
 Amos, But could you find no clue ? 
 
 Hester, None ; day followed day, and still I waited. 
 A year passed, and I read in a paper, marked for my 
 inspection, the death of my child in a distant city. 
 
 Amos. Was no provision made for your support? 
 
 Hester. Ample; but I was too proud to take his 
 wealth while he believed me guilty. With my own 
 hands I toiled, patiently trusting to time to work out 
 the right. Years have followed years, arfd still I wait. 
 O Heaven, be merciful ; shed some light upon my dark 
 
130' ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 path, ere I go down into the grave. Let him beliere 
 me innocent, and death will be a welcome release. 
 
 Amos, This is a sad story, Mrs. Thorn e. I thank 
 you for the telling. You have a friend in me, trust 
 me — a home here among us. You have been deeply 
 wronged, and I'll search the world over, but your in- 
 nocence shall be made clear. 
 
 Hester, No, no ; let it rest. Were my child living, 
 for her sake I woukl be vindicated ; but I am alone, 
 and, confident in my own integrity, can wait the right- 
 eous verdict in the great hereafter. [^McU door l. 
 
 Amos. She's a noble woman ; there's goodness and 
 honesty in her face. 'Tis hard to lose her; but V\l 
 have the truth, wherever it rests. 
 
 {Enter Alfred Thorpe, c.) 
 
 Thorpe, Ah, my old friend, your doors are open, 
 and, of course, the latch-string is out. 
 
 Amos {shaking ha^ids), Thorpe, welcome, welcome ; 
 this is a surprise. 
 
 Thorpe, Indeed ! Then my poetical protege^ Nat 
 Naylor, has surely not performed his duty. I sent him 
 here to announce my coming. 
 
 Amos, No matter; it needed no ceremony ; we are 
 always ready to receive you. 
 
 Thorpe, And my friends, I trust. But where's ray 
 Grace, and how is she? Enraptured with your de- 
 lightful scenery. Til be bound. 
 
 Amos, Yes ; enjoying herself hugely. She's a genius, 
 Thorpe. Where did you find such a treasure ? 
 
 Thorpe. Ah, that's a secret. But, between you and 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 121f 
 
 me, she's the daughter of a couple whose married life 
 was not as happy as it should have been. The wife 
 went astray, and the husband went roaming, nobody 
 knows where. 
 
 Amos, And Grace — does she know of this ? 
 
 Thorpe, No ; she believes them both dead. 
 
 Amos. Ah, and their names ? 
 
 Thorpe. O come, come, old friend, you are getting 
 excited. I've told you quite enough. The rest is my 
 secret. The intrigues of the world in which I live can 
 scarcely interest you in your simple, honest, country life, 
 
 Amos, And you are content to practise this decep- 
 tion upon a young girl ? 
 
 Thorpe, Who would be made unhappy by the 
 knowledge I withhold ? Yes, believe me, old friend, in 
 all I do, I am anxious to secure her happiness ; for she 
 has become very dear to me — so dear that I am here 
 for the sole purpose of asking her to become my wife. 
 
 Amos, Ah, this is a part of your secret ? 
 
 Thorpe. Yes. I've told you I am a man of the 
 world. I never allow anything to thwart me in my 
 inclinations and desires. She is dependent upon me. 
 I have made her young life pleasant and happy. Every 
 wish has been gratified, every desire fulfilled. She 
 looks upon me as her benefactor ; and when I ask her 
 hand, I have no tear of a refusal. 
 
 Amos, But there's such a difference in your ages. 
 She may respect you as her benefactor, but when you 
 ask her love, she may rebel. 
 
 Thorpe. Possibly ; but when she hears the story of 
 .her parents — when she knows that by making it pub- 
 
122 ABOVE THE CLOTTDS.' 
 
 lie she might feel the stigma of their shame, sWll be' 
 glad to buy my silence. 
 
 Amos. And you could do this? 
 
 Thorpe, Certainly, if by no other means I could 
 gain her consent. 
 
 Amos, Why, this is cowardly, unmanly. Thorpe, 
 I would not believe you could be guilty of so base a 
 deed. 
 
 Thorpe, Tut, tut ; this is tlie way of the world — 
 my world. 
 
 Amos, Then your world is a province of the infer- 
 nal kingdom ! 
 
 Thorpe. Possibly. And yours, of the better world ; 
 for here you are much nearer to the heavens. Come, 
 come, old friend, keep my secret and lead me to my 
 protege, 
 
 Amos, She 's here. ( Goes up stage.) 
 
 {Enter Grace, e.) 
 
 Thorpe, Ah, Grace! Grace! 
 
 Grace {running to him and taking his hand). Wel- 
 come, a thousand times welcome, Mr. Thorpe ! 
 
 Thorpe. What a change ! The mountain air has 
 put a rich color in your face ; you are wondrous beau- 
 tiful, child. So you are glad to meet me again ? 
 
 Grace, Indeed — indeed I am. If the mountain 
 air has freshened my complexion, my absence from you 
 has freshened the recollection of how much I owe 
 to you, — how grateful I should be for all your care 
 ©f me. 
 
 Turtle {outside c). How soon will dinner be ready ? 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 123 
 
 Thorpe, Ah, there's Turtle ; with characteristic in. 
 stinct he is sniffing the country air to catch a whif! 
 from the kitchen fire. ( Goes up c.) Tiiis way, Turtle, 
 (Amos comes to r. and speaks with Grace.) 
 
 Turtle {outside c). It's very well to say this way ; 
 but, considering what I weigh, you'd better let me have 
 my way in getting up. {Passes yyindow with Lucrb^ 
 TiA on his arm^ and enters c.) Thorpe, this is a 
 wretched country; it's all up stairs. 
 
 Thorpe, Don't grumble, old fellow. Mr. Gaylord, 
 my friend Titus Turtle. 
 
 Amos. Glad to see you {shakes hands). 
 
 Turtle, Thank you. Fine place you have, Mr. Gay- 
 lord. Ah, my little friend Grace ! {Passes Amos, and 
 takes her hand.) And how are you ? Hearty, eh ? 
 
 Grace, Quite well, thank you, and delighted to 
 meet you again. 
 
 Thorpe, { To Amos, presenting Miss Gerrish.) My 
 friend, Miss Gerrish. 
 
 Amos, Happy to meet you, and hope to make your 
 stay pleasant in our homely way. 
 
 Lucretia. Thank you. 'Tis really a delightful place ; 
 delightful trees ; delightful hills ; delightful odors ; and 
 all — so romantic. 
 
 Turtle. Right, Miss Lucretia {smiffs) ; delightful 
 odor {snuffs), {Aside) Roast mutton. 
 
 Lucretia {running to window., r.). O, Mr. Turtle, 
 do come here, quick ; such an exquisite prospect ! 
 
 Turtle {goes to table). Thank you; here's a finer 
 prospect to my taste {takes apple and eats). 
 
 Lucretia, How gracefully those boughs bend to- 
 wards the ground. 
 
124 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Turtle, They can't help it; they're loaded down 
 with apples. 
 
 Lucretia, And do see those lambs frolicking in the 
 sunshine. Sportive, innocent creatures. I do love 
 lambs — so romantic. 
 
 Turtle {helping himself to another apple). So do I 
 — with mint-sauce. 
 
 Lucretia. And do see that poor dumb animal fast- 
 ened there in the grass, like a martyr at the stake. 
 
 Turtle, Ah, what luscious steaks he '11 make when 
 he 's cut up ! Mr. Gaylord, what is the dinner hour in 
 tliis mountainous country ? 
 
 Amos, Twelve o'clock, Mr. Turtle. 
 
 Turtle {looking at icatch) . O ! — two hours, thirty- 
 fi\e minutes and ten seconds (sinks into arm-chair^ i^.), 
 I shall starve before that time ! 
 
 Amos. Suppose we furnish you a lunch ? 
 
 Turtle, Capital idea, Mr. Gaylord ; I've not eaten 
 anything since six o'clock! 
 
 Thorpe, Titus ! 
 
 Lucretia. Mr, Turtle ! 
 
 Turtle. Well, nothing worth mentioning. 
 
 Thorpe. The lunch-basket was very heavy when we 
 started. It is empty now; and neither Miss Gerrish 
 nor I have helped unload it. If I recollect right, there 
 were a pair of chickens. 
 
 Turtle, Only six pounds ! What's that to a hungry 
 man ? 
 
 Lucretia, Three dozen sandwiches. 
 
 Turtle, Mere wafers ! 
 
 Thorpe, Two dozen eggs. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 125 
 
 Turtle, So very small ! 
 
 Thorpe, A box of sardines ; two dozen crackers ; 
 and turnovers enough to stock a country muster. O, 
 Turtle, you cannot be hungry after such a feast. 
 
 Turtle. Feast ? Call that a feast ? Thorpe, I blush 
 for you ! You're getting niggardly ! I shall have to 
 be caterer for the balance of our trip. 
 
 Thorpe, Then I'll provide a baggage- wagon. 
 
 Lucretia, O, Mr. Turtle — dear Mr. Turtle, do make 
 me happy by leading me to those flower-beds that 
 bloom outside the window ? 
 
 Thorpe, Yes, Turtle ; and Grace and I will bear 
 you company. 
 
 Turtle, That's right, Thorpe. You take them both, 
 and I'll join you after I've had my lunch. 
 
 Grace, I'll show the way. Come. \Exit r. 1 e. 
 (LucRETiA takes Thorpe's arm.) 
 
 Thorpe {aside). Confound that glutton, he's spoiled 
 a fine tete-a-tete with Grace. {Aloud) Turtle, remem- 
 ber where you are, and don't make a hog of yourself. 
 \_Exeunt Thorpe and Lucretia, r. 1 e. 
 
 Turtle. ISTow that's unkind of Thorpe. Is there 
 anything about me, Mr. Gaylord, that bears the least 
 resemblance to a hog ? Hogs don't go upon two legs. 
 Hogs have no delicate appreciation of the delights of 
 eating. Hog indeed! 
 
 Amos, Never mind, Mr. Turtle ; it's one of Thorpe's 
 pleasantries. 
 
 Turtle, But I don't like it; it's a rude attack upon 
 the fundamental principles of my being. Nature en- 
 dowed me with uncommonly fine digestive faculties 
 
I28r ABOVE THE CLOUDS/. 
 
 and gastronomic talents. I didn't ask Nature to do it ; 
 but having received what I did receive, it is my duty 
 to use my talents — isn't it ? 
 
 Amos, Undoubtedly, Mr. Turtle. 
 
 Turtle, Thorpe has no taste. He 's all head ; for- 
 ever scheming. Smart, but unscrupulous. For proof — 
 years ago we both enjoyed the hospitalities of a friend. 
 Such dinners ! my mouth waters at the thought. I 
 made love to our friend's table ; he to our friend's wife; 
 consequence w^as — while I only broke bread, he broke 
 up the family. Well, of the two, I'd rather be a hog 
 than a serpent, for hogs are death on snakes. 
 
 Amos (aside) Ah, this is news indeed ! 
 
 Turtle. Then there's the girl Grace Ingalls. There's 
 a queer story there. When he took her from old Jack 
 Graham's house, at Greenland, she passed by another 
 name than that. Hog indeed ! A hog would have to 
 root long and well to unearth the secret you have kept 
 so well, Alfred Thorpe. 
 
 Amos, Ah, the secret ! 
 
 Turtle, Eh ? O, bah ! that's my nonsense, Mr. Gay- 
 lord ; don't mind it. Come, let's to lunch. 
 
 Amos (aside) Ah, he's crawled into his shell again ^ 
 — this Turtle. But enough ; I have a clue. (Aloud) Be 
 patient, Mr. Turtle, I will have it arranged at once. 
 
 l^^xit door L. 
 
 Turtle, The old fellow looks hearty, and I've no 
 doubt has a good larder. 
 
 (Writer 'N AYi^oB.^ c) 
 i- Nat. Ah, Turtle, my boy, I've been looking for you. ' 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 127* 
 
 < ' ; Give me my turtle — crying everywhere, 
 
 Until the echoes sent mock-turtle through the air. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Turtle, Now don't do that, Nat ; you'll spoil my 
 appetite. Those spasms of wit must be an awful strain 
 On your weak brain. Rhyming is a sure sign of dys- 
 pepsia; but when to that you add punning, you are 
 digging a pit that will undermine your constitution. 
 
 Nat, What matters this frail structure unto me ? 
 I feed upon the heights of Poesy. 
 
 Turtle, Must be high old feeding, — if you 're a 
 specimen, Nat. 
 
 Nat, I hear afar the sound of rippling rills ; 
 I scent the verdure of a thousand liills. 
 
 Titrtle. No, you don't. {Snuffs.) That's muttoa 
 roasting. {Snuffs.) Glorious — isn't it? O, will din- 
 ner-time never come ? 
 
 {Enter ^\j^Y^ door 1.,) 
 
 Susy. Lunch is on the table, sir. 
 
 Turtle, Ah, that's glorious news! Come, Nat, 
 join me with a knife and fork. I'll show you poetry — 
 the poetry of motion from the hand to the mouth — 
 something you can feel ; something you can taste. 
 Come on. [^Exit L. 
 
 Susy. Will you follow him, Mr. Naylor? 
 
 Nat. While such an angel hovers in my way ? 
 
 Thank you ; at present, think I'd rather stay. 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Susy. That's very pretty. Going to stay long? 
 
128' Al^OVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Nat. Well, Miss Susy, I cannot say. It seems to 
 me I have been here too long already. 
 
 My fluttering heart in piteous accents cries, 
 Naylor, begone ; for here sweet danger lies. 
 Impromptu. Ahera ! 
 
 Susy. O, there's nothing here to huii; you ; a few 
 snakes and woodchucks. Ain't afraid of woodchucks, 
 are you ? 
 
 Nat, Were they as fierce as lions, I would rout, 
 Yea, from your presence I would chuck them out. 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Susy. O what a man for rhyming ! Do you know, 
 Mr. Naylor, I am something of a poet ? 
 
 Nat. You? Charming! I felt there was some hid- 
 den beauty about you which attracted me. 
 
 Susy, O yes ; I make verses — {aside) as ridiculous 
 as yours. You'll find them all over the house. There's 
 a sweet little legend of mine over the back door: — 
 Stranger pilgrim, pause awhile ; 
 
 On this door-step, broad and flat, 
 Let no stains of earth defile ; 
 Wipe your boots upon the mat. 
 {Aside) Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Nat. Splendid ! Beautiful ! The true poetic prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 Susy. Think so ? Well, here's another. Mine are 
 domestic verses. 
 
 Wanderer, at the dizzy brink 
 Of this freshly-painted sink, 
 Beware the thrifty housewife's grow(e)l; 
 On its peg hang up the towel. 
 {Aside) Impromptu. Ahem! 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 129 
 
 Nat Exquisite! So appropriate ! Ah, Miss Snsy, 
 I toil over an humble rhyme in the hope that one of 
 these days I shall strike a mine of poetic metal that 
 shall make the world ring with the music of my verse. 
 Now, that's a pretty sentiment, if I could only put it 
 into verse. 
 
 Susy. Perhaps I could help you. 
 
 Nat, O, if you only would, I should adore you. 
 
 Susy, Would you? Suppose we wander in the 
 garden — there's so much there to inspire ? 
 
 Nat, With pleasure. ( Offers his arm.) 
 
 Susy {taking it.) You want to strike a mine? 
 
 Nat. I aim to reach a rich poetic mine. 
 
 Susy. As green and sappy as a towering pine. 
 How's that? 
 
 Nat. Very bad, Miss Susy. Pines have nothing in 
 common with mines. 
 
 Susy, Certainly they do. Ain't they both blasted ?; 
 Well, if you don't like that, try again. 
 
 Nat, Grant me to find the true poetic mine, 
 
 Susy. That laurels may my burning brow entwine. 
 
 Nat. O, that's capital ! I 'd be the poorest scholar 
 in thy school. 
 
 Susy. Stood on a bench, and plainly labelled — fool ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Impromptu. Ahem ! {Buns off c.) Ha, 
 ha, ha! 
 
 Nat {following). Now Miss Susy ! how could you ? . 
 
 [^Exit c. 
 {Enter Grace, r. 1 e.) 
 
 Grace, There's something in Mr. Thorpe's manner 
 I do not like. Twice he has seized my hand with a^ 
 9 
 
ISO ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 fervor that startled me ; and continnally his eyes are 
 fixed upon my face with a look tlint terrifies me {goes 
 to easel). So I've left him to listen to Miss Gerrish's 
 rhapsodies. Ha, ha, ha! So romantic {works at her 
 picture), 
 
 {Enter Hester, door l.) 
 
 Hester, Good morning, Grace {co7nes to easel). 
 
 Grace {extending her hand). Good morning, dear 
 friend. We have missed you sadly. 
 
 ■Hester, Indeed! 'Tis pleasant to be missed. And 
 how comes on our famous picture ? 
 
 Grace, Judge for yourself 
 
 Hester {looking at picture). Ah, better and better. 
 It improves with every touch of your brush {lays hand 
 on her head). Ah, my dear, you will become famous! 
 
 Grace, And that is something to be desired. 
 
 Hester, Yes ; when laurels can be worn modestly, 
 as you will wear them {removes her hand), 
 
 Grace, Don't take your hand away ; its caress sym- 
 bolizes something to be desired more than laurels. 
 
 Hester {replacing her hand). And that is — 
 
 Grace, Affection. O, Mrs. Thorne, a mother's 
 touch could be no more gentle and soothing — and 
 that I have not felt for years, 
 r Hester {kisses her). Poor child ! 
 
 Grace, O, thank you, Mrs. Thorne ; you are a 
 mother? 
 
 Hester. Alas ! a childless mother. Once I clasped 
 a tiny form, showered kisses on its infant lips, stroked 
 with tenderness its golden locks, and was so happy. 
 But we were parted 5 and the sweet memory of that 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 131 
 
 happy union are all that's left me now. O, my little 
 daughter I my darling, darling child ! ( Weeps.) 
 
 Grace. (Bises and puts her arm about her waist ; 
 leads her dow7i front.) O, would I could take that 
 daughter's place; not to drive her from your heart, but 
 to share with her its love — the living and the dead ! 
 
 Hester. O, Grace, there 's a tone in your voice, a 
 look on your face, that brings her back to me. Had 
 she lived, she would have been of your age. 
 
 Grace, Then let her live in me. I could toil for 
 you, suffer for you, to be recompensed with the delight 
 of calling you " mother." 
 
 Hester. Then call me — No, no ; I had forgotten. 
 Grace, that name cannot be given me now. My fair 
 fame has been tampered with. O Grace, child, pity 
 me. I am innocent in thought and deed, but the 
 sharp dart of suspicion has been launched at me, and 
 I must bear the sting. 
 
 Grace. But not alone. Let me share your sorrow ; 
 comfort you as you can comfort me. 
 
 Hester. No, no, it cannot be. I should love you so 
 dearly, that when the sneers of the world should come 
 — as come they would — and should part us, my mis- 
 ery would be more than I could bear. Heaven help 
 me, I am indeed accursed ! ( Totters to arm-chair^ 
 throws herself into it ; covers Jierface with her hand' 
 kerchief and weeps.) 
 
 Grace., c. O, this is cruel ! 
 
 Thorpe {outside c). Grace, Grace ! {Enters c. a^id 
 comes doion r.) You little witch, why do you run 
 away from me, when I've come here on purpose to see 
 you? (^Takes her hand.) Yes, Grace, to woo you? 
 
132 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Grace. To woo — me ? (Hester removes Jier hand- 
 Jeer chiefs and stares at him.) 
 
 Thorpe, Yes, Grace ; you shall be my wife : I love 
 you so dearly. 
 
 Grace, No, no, not that. ( Snatches atcay her hand, 
 and runs b., leamng him staring at Hestek.) Death 
 rather. \^Ex,it r. 1 e. 
 
 Thorpe {amazed), Hester Thorn e ! 
 
 Hester {pending forxoard). Ay, Alfred Thorpe, Hes- 
 ter Thorne, the woman you have wronged. Coward ! 
 Twelve years have not changed your heart, though 
 your locks have all the beauty of honorable years. 
 {Rises,) 
 
 Thorpe, Well, we meet again. How ? as friends or 
 foes? 
 
 Hester, Can you ask ? Dare you ask? You, who 
 with smooth tongue and smiling face blasted a happy 
 home, wrecked a good man's happiness, and sent a lov- 
 ing woman forth to battle with the world. 
 
 Thorpe. Hm! Well, I have your answer — Foes. 
 So be it. What are you doing here ? 
 
 Hester, My duty. 
 
 Thorpe, You must be my friend Gaylord's house- 
 keeper. Strange I never heard your name ! Perhaps 
 you have changed it? 
 
 Hester, No ; 'twas a good name, given me by an 
 honorable man. I have not soiled, so should not blush 
 to bear it. 
 
 Thorpe, Indeed ! Well, you know I could make 
 this place too hot for you ? 
 
 Hester, Could you ? Try it. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 13& 
 
 Thorpe, A whisper to Gnylord, and the house- 
 keeper's place would be vacant. 
 
 Hester, Do not leave your friend in the dark. Give 
 him your confidence, your advice. Be an honorable 
 counsellor — you are so fitted for it. 
 
 Thorpe, Hester Thorne, beware ! Do not tempt 
 me to crush you ! On one condition I am silent. Let 
 not that girl Grace know we have met before. 
 
 Hester, Condition ? No ; I will make no bargain 
 with a villain. Do your worst. I have the courage — 
 weak woman that you judge me — to fight you there 
 — the power to win. 
 
 Thorpe, Enough. I know my duty to my friend ; 
 be assured I shall perform it. 
 
 {Enter Amos l., with a valise in hand.) 
 
 Amos, Thoi-pe, I come to beg your pardon for a 
 most inhospitable act. 1 am called away suddenly ; 
 have ^VQ minutes to catch the stage; may be gone two 
 or three days. Make yourself at home here, and trust 
 your comfort to Mrs. Thorne. Good-bye {shakes hands 
 with him). Good-bye, Mrs. Thorne {shakes hands 
 with her^ then goes up). 
 
 Thorpe. But, Gaylord, one word. 
 
 Amos {comes down). Well, be quick; I've no time 
 to lose. 
 
 Thorpe. Well — {looks at Mrs. Thoene ; she smiles 
 and goes up stage to table.) Amos, you believe me to 
 be your friend? 
 
 Amos. Certainly. 
 
 Thorpe, That woman there is dangerous. 
 
134 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Amos {whistles). Yoii don't mean it ? Well, Thorpe, 
 do you know, I've just be<ijun to think so? 
 
 TJiorpe. I've met her before. She is not what she 
 seems. She's a deserted wife. 
 
 Amos. Is she, poor thing? 
 
 Thorpe. Deserted by her husband, and not without 
 cause. I could tell you a story. 
 
 Amos. But I haven't time. Goodness gracious! 
 how my legs will have to fly now ! 
 
 Thorpe. And you will trust that woman here after 
 what I have told you ? 
 
 Amos. Certainly. Why not, Thorpe? I'm sur^ 
 prised at you — a man of the world, you know. She 's 
 a good housekeeper, and — and — the rest is my secret 
 {with m^ocJc pomposity). The mysteries of my " sim- 
 ple, honest country life"" — ahem! — can scarcely interest 
 you — the man of intrigue, you know. Don't be fright- 
 ened, she won't hurt. Good-bye {goes up). Ah, Mrs.' 
 Thorne, I believe I forgot to shake hands with you 
 {gives hand). 
 
 Hester. A pleasant journey, sir. 
 
 Amos. Thank you. Take good care of yourself 
 {with a look at Thorpe). I know you'll care for the 
 comfort of my guest, for I have every confidence in 
 you; nothing could shake that. Good-bye {runs offo.), 
 
 Thorpe. Curse that woman! she has bewitched 
 him {goesn.). 
 
 Hester {coming down l.). Well, Mr. Thorpe, it 
 seems your power to harm me here is weak. 
 
 [^Exit door l, 
 
 Thorpe. Time will tell. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOITDS. 135 
 
 (Miter Grace and Lucretia, arfn in arm^ k.) 
 
 Lucretia, Perfectly enchanting ! I had no idea the 
 
 country could be — so romantic ! O, Mr. Thoi-pe, I 
 
 have had such an Arcadian ramble in the farm-yard, 
 
 Beeins: the little chickens runninsr about with the Oban- 
 's o 
 
 don of children ; the fatherly roosters with their clarion 
 chorus; and the motherly biddies, with their careful 
 affection for their young. Even the swine in their 
 rustic abode, with the little pink-nosed pigs frolicking 
 about them, was a delicious picture — so romantic ! 
 {Goes to lounge.) 
 
 JPhil {outside). Not for me — not for me. There's ' 
 freedom without. I'll be none of your hot-house 
 flowers. Good-bye. 
 
 Grace, Ah ! there's Crazy Phil. I've lured him in 
 once ; I'll try it again. 
 
 Thorpe. Shall I never get a word with her? 
 
 Grace {at door ; smiles off). He sees me. Yes, I 
 triumph. He 's here. (Phil runs up to c. with gun.) 
 
 Phil. Ah, those bright eyes again ! There 's magic 
 in their glance. Wife — child — home — come back 
 to this desolate heart ! 
 
 Thorpe. Ah ! {Aside) Brought to light at last. 
 {Aloud) Crazy Phil indeed! Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Phil {starts). Ah, that voice ! 'Tis he — the de- 
 stroyer ! Years come and go, but fate holds the lines 
 of life. We meet at last, — despoiler of my home ! 
 Wretch accursed ! Death to thee ! Death- to thee ! 
 {Paises gun.) 
 
 Grace, No, no. {Puns down to Thorpe and throws 
 
136 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 aimis about his neck.) He 's mad ! he 's mad ! (How- 
 ard enters door c, seizes Phil around waist, ajid 
 snatches gun.) 
 
 Hoxeard. Madman, hold ! 
 
 Phil (struggling to free himself). Away ! He's 
 mine — he's mine ! Foul bird of prey ! you feasted at 
 my hearth-stone ; you plucked from ojut my heart my 
 life ! my love ! Henceforth you are marked ; my aim 
 is sure. Beware of Phil Thorne ! 
 
 {Enter Mrs. Thorne, l.) 
 
 Hester. Phil ! — my husband ! {Falls with her arm 
 and head in arm-chair.) 
 
 Tableau. Phil at door c, his clenched hand raised. 
 Howard, with arm about waist, holding himn back, 
 Thorpe r. Grace, with arms about his neck, head 
 on his breast, Hester lying with her head in arm- 
 chair. LucEETiA on lounge, looking on. 
 [^Slow Curtain,"^ ^ 
 
 ^'^Z' 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. ISt 
 
 Act II. — Scene: Same as iyi Act I. Easel removed 
 from, the stage. Foot of lounge turned toward 
 window, R. Moonlight through window strong on 
 Phil, who lies upon lounge^ hoots changed for slip- 
 pers. Howard standing at head of lounge^ leaning , 
 against flat ^ his hand on Phil's head, Hester 
 standing behind window in flat, looking in at Phil. 
 Footlights down. Music soft and low at rising 
 of curtain, 
 
 Phil, How grandly the moonlight tips my old hut 
 above the clouds! Dear old place; would I were 
 there, where all is peace. Ah, Howard, when I de- 
 scend that mountain, I leave behind my better self. 
 The sight of the habitations of man awakes bit- 
 ter* memories of wrong and outrage, fill me with 
 loathing of my race, and stir my baser nature with 
 fierce desires for revenge. Why is it? Here I am 
 always under the clouds ; dark, dismal night forever 
 here. 
 
 Howard. And yet the moonlight lingers as loving- 
 ly about you here as there. See how it floods the 
 fields and shimmers on the stream. Ah, Phil, 'tis a 
 beautiful world — this of ours; and, whether on the 
 mountain-top or in the valley, robed in light or darkness 
 at the desire of our own hearts. 
 
 Phil, That's queer philosophy ! 
 
 Howard, 'Tis the truth, Phil. I am young and 
 buoyant; life has gone smoothly for me, and all is 
 
138 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 light. You have siiffererl — still suffer ; and the dark- 
 ness of night has fallen upon your heart, blinding your 
 eyes to all the beauty about you. Am I not right ? 
 
 Phil. Why am I lying here, Howard ? 
 
 Howard, I am glad to hear you ask that, Phil. 'Tis 
 three days since you were suddenly prostrated. You 
 remember the day we went gunning — Monday? 
 • Phil Yes. 
 
 Howard. On our return you were suddenly taken 
 ill, and until this afternoon you were unconscious. 
 
 PhiL Yes. Well, I'm better now. But why was 
 I taken ill ? 
 
 Howard, Well, you don't care to know that, Phil ? 
 
 Phil, You need not pause, Howard. I know I 
 met here under your roof my wife and — and — 
 
 Howard, Mr. Thorpe. 
 
 Phil, Under the same roof, — he, the false, — and 
 she, the faithless ! O, Howard that man — that fiend I 
 Where is he? Did I slay him? 
 
 Hoioard. He is gone ; wheie, I know not. 
 
 Phil {starting to his feet). No matter; I'd reach 
 him, were he at the centre of the earth. Curse him ! 
 I thought long years had dulled my spirit; but the 
 sight of- him has aroused the avenging demon in my 
 soul, nought but his life can satisfy. ( Goes to r.) 
 
 Howard {comes down l.). No, no, Phil ; forget your 
 wrongs ; forgive your enemy. 
 
 Phil (r.). Forgive him ? Howard, that man was 
 my dearest friend. We both loved one woman. She 
 chose me; and he, clasj^ing my hand, wished me hap- 
 piness, and fled abroad, to crush out his passion. Well, 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 13t 
 
 Ins wish was fulfilled. I was happy, supremely happy. 
 Wife and child — two golden links in life's chain — were 
 mine. Then he returned, still my friend. With full 
 faith in Ids friendship, I received him a w^elcome guest 
 in my home. Then, then, over the sunshine of my 
 life rolled the dark clouds. He was one of your soci- 
 ety-men — glib of tongue, ready to fetch and carry at 
 the glance of a bright eye ; all smiles and pretty ways 
 — bah ! a ladies' man — while I was brusque and some- 
 times rough, — though not to her — no, not to hen 
 ( Crosses to k.) I saw she was pleased at his attentions* 
 
 Howard. And you were jealous ? 
 
 Phil. Not then. But one day I saw him slip a note 
 into her hand; another; caught him at her feet; and 
 then, filled with fury, I followed him from the house 
 to his hotel, and there faced him and demanded an 
 explanation. Then, Howard, that man, — my friend', 
 trembling in every limb, with tears streaming down liis 
 cheeks, — confessed to me that he still loved my wife ; 
 and more, that she loved him ; showed me letters 
 signed with the name I gave lier, confessing her mis*- 
 take in making me her choice. In maddening rage I 
 felled him to the floor and fled — fled to my now un- 
 happy home {comes to l.). 
 
 Howard. And your wife ? 
 
 Phil. Lay sleeping sweetly with a smile upon her 
 lips, my child beside her. I raised my hand with pas- 
 sion, to dash out of that face the beauty that had so 
 deceived me. But I could not do it. I snatched the 
 child from its mother's side, and went out into the 
 night — night to me for evermore. 
 
140 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Hoxoard, Without a word from your wife, Phil? 
 Condemned her you had sworn to love, cherish, and 
 protect? Crazy Phil indeed! You were a madman 
 then! 
 
 Phil, Had I not proofs ? Her letters — the con- 
 fession of my friend ? 
 
 Hoxcard, Friend? Base coward that he was! 
 False to her; false to you! One w^ord of denial from 
 her lips — the wife of your bosom, the mother of your 
 child — should have outweighed his guilty confession 
 a thousand-fold. Tell me, Phil — you sought her after- 
 wards ? 
 
 Phil, No, never ; since that night we have been 
 strangers. Never met until I found them here together. 
 You hear, Howard, — together here! 
 
 Howard. A mere accident. Mrs Thome is our 
 housekeeper. Thorpe, my father's friend and guest. 
 
 Phil, Ah, you know not that man — this w^o- 
 mau ! 
 
 Howard, I know no woman base enough to betray 
 a loving husband's confidence. I will not believe this 
 of her whom I respect and honor as I did my mother. 
 Phil, you must meet her here, listen to the story from 
 her lips. 
 
 Phil, No, I will not meet her. I will back to my 
 hut above the clouds. 
 
 Howard, And leave her still under the cloud that 
 has saddened her life. O, Phil ! Phil ! I thought you 
 true and noble. 
 
 Phil, Think what you will. Wronged by my friend, 
 betrayed by my wife, I have lost all worth living for. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 141 
 
 {Fiercely.) I hate the world ; I hate myself! Let me 
 go ! — there — there — {totters), 
 
 Hoicard {supporting him). Not to-night, Phil. You 
 are weak, ill. Forgive me ; it was cruel in me to probe 
 those angry wonnrls. Come back to your room. We 
 are friends still, Phil. 
 
 Phil {taking his hand). Heaven bless you, Howard ! 
 Pve none but you now. Don't speak ; something in 
 your words has stirred me strangely. Be silent ; let 
 me think ; let me rest. {Music soft ; Phil leads him 
 off door L. Hester comes down slowly^ c, loatching 
 the door,) 
 
 Hester. I have heard his voice; unobserved listened 
 to his story. How he has misconceived my actions. Hea- 
 ven, myself, and he the wily plotter alone know. He 
 confessed with tears in his eyes, base hypocrite ! O, 
 Phil, my husband — lost to me ! He shall confess once 
 more; confess the truth — the honest truth, to do me 
 justice. Fool that I have been ! I have allowed sus- 
 picion to crush me to the earth, without one effort to 
 clear my name. Now my woman's nature is in arms 
 against this base injustice {comes to r.). I am not 
 friendless ; those true-hearted sons of the soil — Hea- 
 ven bless them ! — believe me, trust me. They have 
 given me courage to seek the weakness in this villain's 
 armor. Hester, be brave, be resolute, and victory may 
 yet be yours. \^Exit r. 1 b. 
 
 {Enter Grace, c.) 
 
 Grace. O dear! for the first time I feel really 
 homesick ! There 's no pleasure in roaming in th« 
 
142 ABOVE THEL CLOUDS. 
 
 moonlight alone ; it requires two to take in the full 
 beauty of a night like this! Heigho I I miss my usual 
 escoit. {Takes hook from table^ and goes to lounge ; 
 sits.) Whittier. (Opens book.) "Howard Gaylord." 
 So, so — my farmer friend is an admirer of our New 
 England poet. It's been well thumbed, too, especially 
 "Among the Hills." {Beads.) 
 
 " From school, and ball, and rout, she came, 
 The city's fair, pale daughter, 
 To drink the wine of mountain air, 
 Beside the Bearcamp Water.** 
 
 That's splendid ! my own favorite, — and it seems to 
 be his too. The leaves are dog-eared, and the page 
 muddy with finger marks. O, 
 
 ** The city's fair, pale daughter," 
 
 must be very dear to him. I wonder if in his heart- 
 picture she bears any resemblance to me ? O, here he 
 is ! {Beads.) 
 
 (jE/?-^^ Howard, door l.) 
 
 Howard {aside). Reading in the moonlight. What 
 a pretty picture she makes ! Alone — there's a temp- 
 tation. If I only had the gift of tongue that graces her 
 city admirers, I might — well — say that which would 
 make us strangers. I could not bear her scorn. 
 {Aloud) Reading by moonlight? Take care. Miss 
 Grace ; even the brightness of your eyes may be 
 dimmed. 
 
 Grace {looking up). Ah, Mr. Gaylord, there's no 
 danger: 'tis as light as noonday. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 143 
 
 Hoicard, Tlie book must be very interesting that 
 can so attract you. 
 
 Grace, It is. I ain " Among the Hills," and you 
 step in very apropos, 
 
 Howard, "Among the Hills?" Then you are in 
 that region of the unequalled poet's fancy, where I 
 most delight to wander. 
 
 Grace, I sliould think so by the appearance of your 
 book. Were you a boy at school, you would get many 
 bad marks for the very bad marks you have placed 
 upon it. 
 
 Howard. I am a boy at school, Miss Grace — the 
 school of the painter. Will you teach nie ? 
 
 Grace, I ? I am but a scholar. You know the 
 poem ? 
 
 Howard. By heart. I could repeat it word for 
 word. 
 
 Grace. 'Tis very odd you should have dropped in 
 just at this time, for I was reading. {Reads.) 
 
 " She sat beneath the broad-armed elms 
 That skirt the mowing-meadow, 
 And watched the gentle west-wind weave 
 The grass with sliine and shadow." 
 
 Now here 's where you came in : 
 
 *' Beside her, from the summer heat 
 To share her grateful screening, 
 With forehead bared, the farmer stood, 
 Upon his pitchfork leaning." 
 
 Only you haven't the pitchfork. 
 
 Howard. Go on. I could listen to you all night; 
 you throw so much heart into it. 
 
144 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Grace. Do I? {Reads,) 
 
 " Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face 
 Had nothing mean or common, — 
 Strong, manly, true, the tenderness 
 And pride beloved of woman. 
 
 ** She looked up, glowing with the health 
 The country air had brought her. 
 And, laugliing, said, ' You lack a wife, 
 Your mother lacks a daughter. 
 
 ** * To mend your frock and bake your bread 
 You do not need a lady ; 
 Be sure among these brown old homes 
 Is some one waiting ready.' " 
 
 Grace, O, I forgot you have no mother! But the rest 
 is true. There is " some one waiting ready." 
 
 Howard, In " these brown old homes " ? No, I am 
 free to take up the burden of the lay. {Mecites with 
 spirit,) 
 
 ** He bent his black brows to a frown, 
 
 He set his white teeth tightly. 
 
 * 'Tis well,' he said, * for one like you 
 
 To choose for me so lightly. 
 
 " * You think me deaf and blind; you bring 
 Your winning graces hither 
 As free as if from cradle-time 
 We two had played together. 
 
 ** * You tempt me with your laughing eyei^ 
 Your cheeks of sundown's blushes, 
 A motion as of waving grain, 
 A music as of thrushes. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 145 
 
 " * No mood is mine to seek a wife, 
 Or daughter for my mother ; 
 Who loves you loses in that love 
 All power to love another ! 
 
 ** * I dare your pity or your scorn, 
 
 With pride your own exceeding ; 
 I fling my heart into your lap 
 (Kneels at her feet.) 
 
 Without a word of pleading.* " 
 
 O, Grace, Grace, it is the truth. I love you, and you 
 aione. ( Takes her hand,) 
 
 Grace, Why, that's not in the poem. 
 
 Howard. No ; it is in my heart. 
 
 Grace, {Looks at him archly ; places her hand in 
 his.) It's a pity to spoil the poem. {Becites.) 
 
 " She looked up in his face of pain 
 
 So archly, yet so tender : 
 * And if I lend you mine,' she said,- 
 ' Will you forgive the lender ? 
 
 «* * Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; 
 And see you not, my farmer. 
 How weak and fond a woman waits 
 Behind this silken armor ? 
 
 {Puts her hand on his shoulder^ and looks doton into 
 his eyes.) 
 
 " * I love you ; on that love alone, 
 And not my worth, presuming, 
 Will you not trust for summer fruit 
 The tree in May-day blooming? *" 
 
 Howard, as frankly as you offered, as freely will I re- 
 10 ' 
 
146 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 ceivc, yours — yours alone. {Kisses his brow. Both 
 rise,) • 
 
 Howard, Ah, Grace, Grace ; you have made me 
 very happy. {Puts his arm about her waist,) Come, 
 let's go into the garden. 
 
 " And so the farmer found a wife, 
 His mother found a daughter ; 
 Gheace, There looks no happier home than her» 
 
 On pleasant Bearcarop Water." 
 
 Soward, Ah, Grace, Heaven bless the dear poet. 
 
 Grace. It does, "for all his works do praise him. ** 
 {They pass off through the window b,, his arm about 
 her waist,) 
 
 {Enter Nat, c, icith Susy leaning on his arm.) 
 
 Susy. Why, Mr. Nnylor, what's the matter with 
 you? You have not made a rhyme for the last hour. 
 
 Nat, The minstrel's strings are mute ; the fire upon 
 the altar of poesy smouMers ; the theme which agitates 
 my brain respectfully declines to shape itself for utter- 
 ance — because why ? 
 
 Susy. Well, perhaps the strings are rotten, the 
 wood green, and the theme too weighty ? 
 • Nat. O, for seraphic light to break the gloom. 
 
 Susy, Wouldn't moonlight do as well? There's 
 plenty of it here {sits on lounge). 
 
 Nat {standing c.) 
 
 Cold Luna floods thee with her silvery light, 
 O, beauteous maid, ne'er saw I fairer sight. 
 
 Susy {aside). The wood is sizzling on the altar ; 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS^ l47 
 
 we'll soon have another blaze. {Aloud) Don't be so 
 distant. Come, sit down. (Nat sits,) Now what m 
 this mighty theme ? 
 
 Nat, 'Tis Love — ecstatic Love. 
 
 /Susi/. O ! 
 
 JVizt. I wander up and down in strange unrest, 
 For love is struggling — is struggling — 
 
 Susy, Underneath my vest. That's good. 
 
 JVat. O, no, no. 
 
 Susi/, Ha, ha, ha ! That's what I call clothing a 
 sentiment in warm language. Well, what next ? 
 
 JVat, Nothing. There it struggles, there it sticks. 
 O, Susy, Susy, I'm getting — 
 
 /Sus^/. Boozy. That's a capital rhyme. 
 
 Nat, Miss Susy Gaylord, you shock me ! 
 
 /Susy, Do I ? That's a shocking confession when 
 I'm doing my best to help you. I told you I w^ould. 
 Now, isn't that moon splendid ? See the trees yonder, 
 with leaves of silver (both look off e.). 
 
 {Enter Chips, c.) 
 
 Chips {at door), I was just going by. Ah, there 
 they are billing and cooing like a couple of lunatics, 
 ( Creeps down stage to arm-chair^ turns it round so that 
 hack is towards Nat ; gets on his knees in it^ and 
 watches them over the top while speaking,) I'm blowed 
 if I don't hear what's going on. I ain't going to be 
 cut out with Susy without a wrestle. 
 
 Nat, A fairy scene. It moves me, thrills me ; my 
 heart heaves with bliss. 
 
 Chips {aside). Well, clap on a little mustard, and 
 make it blister. 
 
148 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Kat, And see those fairy forms moving among the 
 trees. 
 
 Chips {aside). Fairy forms ? I'm darned if Gaylord's 
 pigs ain't got loose again. 
 
 Nat, Ah, for a poet's home in that delightful grove, 
 with an angel ever at my side — that angel you. 
 
 Susy, Law, Mr. Naylor, how you do go on ; first 
 Chips calls me an angel, and now you. 
 
 Nat, Chips ? Mention not that rustic booby. 
 
 Chips, Booby ! ( Gets out of chair ; starts towards 
 Nat, then rims back.) 
 
 . Susy (rises indifjnantly). Booby ! How dare you 
 en 11 my friend such a name ! 
 
 Nat, It is the truth : he is a rough, uncouth booby. 
 I know he seeks to gain your love. But when I, with 
 my pure, po: tic nature, tell you — sweet and beautiful 
 dnnisel — that your charms have kindled a flame in 
 this before obdurate heart; that I love you — 
 
 Susy, No more, sir. Booby indeed ! Curtis Chip- 
 mnn is fir above you in manhood, nobility, and good- 
 ness. He is rough and uncouth as the rocky soil he 
 with his strong hands has made to bring forth abun- 
 dant fruits. A man, sir, and not a maudlin idiot filled 
 with gush and moonshine. {Comes down e.) 
 
 Nat {goes to c). And have I been deceived in you ? 
 you, whose poetic nature, blending with mine — 
 
 Susy, lias sported with you. Yes. O, Mr. Nay- 
 lor, go back to your attic. Live in the clouds ; feed on 
 Poesy's hills — you'll find no mate in me. 
 
 Nat, Alas ! I am deceived ! My heart is crushed — 
 My spirit broken — 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS* 149 
 
 Susy. And your verses mushed! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Good-bye, my poet. We might have been 
 good friends ; but when you attack Chips — my Chips — 
 
 The rustic booby, really I must laugh, 
 
 For I propose to be his better half. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Kat, Farewell, cold Susy, I have wooed in vain ! 
 
 Susy, You have ; your wood is green and crossed in 
 grain. 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Ifat {at door, c.) . Farewell. I'm blasted — blasted. 
 
 l^xit c. 
 
 Chips (aside). I'm a blasted liar if I don't wal- 
 lop him ! (Huns up and catches Susy in his arms / 
 swings her round.) O, Susy, Susy — you are an angel ! 
 (Susy screams / Chips 7^uns off c.) 
 
 Susy. Well, I never! Chips has heard all. There's 
 no more fun for me. Dear me, I've forgotten Mr. Tur- 
 tle's hourly lunch ! He'll be raving and starving too. 
 
 \_Mcit door l. 
 
 (Enter, c, Turtle with Miss Lucretia on his arm.) 
 
 Lucretia. So kind of you, Mr. Turtle, to wander 
 with me in the beautiful night ; it quite fills an aching 
 void — so romantic. 
 
 Turtle (aside). It gives me an aching void — so 
 hungry. 
 
 Lucretia (going towards window). Is this the 
 ' witching hour of night,' which the poet so beautifully 
 speaks of? 
 
 Turtle. Can't say (looking at his watch). It's my 
 hour for lunch. 
 
150 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Lucretia {sits on lounge). What a delightful situ- 
 ation ; moonbeams shrouding me as in a silver veil ! 
 Ah, I've often dreamed of such an hour as this — a 
 scene like this — when the future partner of my joys 
 and sorrows should claim me for his own — so ro- 
 mantic. 
 
 Turtle (aside). Well, she lives on dreams, I'm 
 glad I don^t. 
 
 Lucretia, He must be one who would love me for 
 myself alone, and not for my money. 
 
 Turtle {aside.) Has the old girl got money? 
 {Aloud.) O. Miss Lucretia, could there live a wretch 
 who, looking upon your charms, would dare to woo 
 you for your fortune ? {Aside.) That's neat and non- 
 committal. {Aloud.) And yet, your fortune renders 
 you independent of all suitors. A few thousands — 
 
 Zfucretia. A few ? I can count by tens of thou- 
 sands ! 
 
 Twrtle {aside). Tens? She's a rich old girl. What 
 dinners ! — what suppers ! {Approaching her tender- 
 ly) My dear Miss Lucretia, what would be hundreds 
 of thousands to the man who, knowing your virtues, 
 basking in your smiles, should be so fortunate as to 
 win you? 
 
 Lucretia. Then you believe in love, Mr. Turtle ; 
 pure, genuine love, that scorns wealth and station ? 
 
 Turtle. Unbounded love ! Yes, Lucretia {sits be- 
 side her). 
 
 Lucretia. Love and a cottage — so romantic. 
 
 Turtle. Yes, Lucretia. {Aside.) Love-cake and 
 cottage-pudding. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 151 
 
 Lucretia, With innocent lambs sporting about the 
 door. 
 
 Turtle, Yes, Lucretia. (^Asid^ Or smoking on the 
 table. 
 
 Lucretia, And the birds — What is your favorite 
 bird ? 
 
 Turtle. My favorite bird ? (Aside) Quail on toast. 
 {Aloud) The cook — (9, dear Miss Lucretia. 
 
 Lucretia, And your favorite flower ? 
 
 Turtle {aside). Best Family. {Aloud) The Marry 
 gold, Miss Lucretia. 
 
 Lucretia^ And your favorite seat? , 
 
 Turtle {aside). At the dinner-table. {Aloud) Un- 
 der the oak, Lucretia. 
 
 Lucretia, And your favorite vegetable ? 
 
 Turtle {aside). Rare dishes. {Aloud) I could not 
 turn up my nose at any of them, Miss Lucretia. 
 
 Lucretia. Ah, what taste you have -^ so romantic. 
 This is my dream of bliss — a cottage and a companion 
 — bonds of affection and notes of gladness. 
 
 Turtle. My heart echoes the glad refrain. {Aside) 
 Government bonds and bank notes. 
 
 Lucretia. What a delightful picture — so romantic. 
 
 Turtle {aside). Such a picture should have a gold 
 frame. {Aloud) Dear Miss Lucretia, could you look 
 with favor on me — share your tens of thousands — 
 
 Lucretia. Romantic visions, castles in the sky ; so 
 ethereal ; so much more to be enjoyed than palaces of 
 earth — my wealth, my all. What care I for the well- 
 filled pui-se which another squanders? I am poor in 
 lucre, but a millionnaire in love. O, Titus, spare mj 
 blushes ! Yes — {Leans upon his shoulder.) 
 
158 ABOVE THE CLOUD& 
 
 Turtle {aside). She's poor as porridge. Here's a 
 scrape. 
 
 Lucretia. O, Titus, " Whisper what thou feelest." 
 So romantic in the moonshine. 
 
 Turtle (aside). Hang it, it's all moonshine. (Aloud) 
 Lucretia, I feel — I feel — (aside) hungry 
 
 JOucretia. I have so longed for this delicious mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Turtle (aside). No doubt of it. (Aloud) Miss Lucre- 
 tia, when I asked you to look with favor upon me, I felt 
 how unworthy I was of your affection ; how badly 
 fitted I am to become your protector. This slender 
 frame — 
 
 Lucretia, What care I for the frame ; it's the treas- 
 ure within I covet — the heart, Titus — the heart. 
 Nothing shall tear me from you ! 
 
 (Enter Susy, l., with candles^ which she places on 
 table,) 
 
 Turtle (aside). O, here's a situation. 
 
 Susy (aside), I declare ! Making love ! I'll spoil 
 that. (Aloud) Your lunch is ready — cold shoulder 
 of mutton. 
 
 Turtle (jumps up). O glorious signal of relief! 
 
 Lucretia. O, Titus, you will not leave me in this 
 delicious moment ? 
 
 Turtle. For that delicious shoulder I must, Lucre- 
 tia. My heart says stay ; my stomach says go. The 
 mighty always conquer the weak. I'd offer thee this 
 hand of mine, if I could — could — banish the cold 
 shoulder, — if I could inhabit your airy castles. But 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 15* 
 
 look at my size ; look at my waist ! I cannot feed on 
 love. Farewell ; be happy with another ; I've not the 
 least objection. I'll do the snme; I'll be liappy with 
 another. (Aside) The cold shoulder. [-SJxit l. 
 
 Lucretia. The wi-etch ! — tlie gourmand ! the — O ! 
 desert me for a cold shoulder! — me, who has reposed 
 upon his warm shoulder ! O, I could cry — but I 
 won't. I'll wander hke a spectre amid the trees, bro- 
 ken-hearted. So romantic. [^Exit through window, 
 
 Susy. Now, I wonder where she's going at this 
 time of night? (Goes to window.) O my goodness ! 
 There's Chips and that Naylor chap stripping oft' their 
 coats out there in the pasture ! I do believe they're 
 going to fight! Chips! Chips! 
 
 \_Exit through window. 
 
 {Enter Phil, door l.) 
 
 Phil, I cannot rest. When I close my eyes, the 
 sleeping face of my wife comes before me as I saw it 
 that night, as innocent in its expression as the child's 
 that slept beside lier. Have I been mistaken ? Have 
 I all these years been fighting a demon of my own 
 conjuring ? — all these years, with no confidant, blind- 
 ly treading the path of error? This boy — with his 
 chivalrous honor, makes me blush with shame. He 
 loves her, esteems her, — she who was to him a stran- 
 ger but a few short months ago; — while I, with her 
 life knit to mine by the tenderest tie, have blasted her 
 name, made her a creature to be shunned, by my base 
 desertion of her, — perhaps without cause. I'll not 
 be hasty, but I will hear the story from her lips. 
 
154 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Perhaps — • perhaps - — O, Heavens ! if she is innocent 
 . — what am I ? A wretch too base to live. Let me 
 not think of that. If she be innocent, how gladly would 
 I die to clear her name {sloichj crosses stage and exits 
 through window^ r.). 
 
 Amos {outside). Hallo ! Susy ! Howard ! Mrs. Thorne ! 
 {Enters c.) Well, well, well! The house deserted; 
 nobody to welcome me, its master, when he brings 
 such glorious tidings. Ah, here's some one at last. 
 
 {Enter from window^ Grace and Howard ; from 
 R. 1 E. Hester.) 
 
 Howard. Ah, father, welcome home {shakes hands), 
 
 Amos, Well, how are you ? And my little painter 
 friend ? {Shakes hands with Grace.) Mrs. Thorne, 
 I'm glad to meet you again. {Shakes hands with her.) 
 
 Hester. You must be tired and hungry. 
 
 Amos. Hungry ? Why, I'm famishing ; and so is 
 my horse. Howard, take care of him. 
 
 Howard. At once, sir. {Exit c. Grace sits on 
 lounge.) 
 
 Hester {going to door l). I will see that your 
 supper is prepared. 
 
 Amos, Not just yet. Mrs. Thorne, I have been 
 absent in your interests. Are you not anxious to know 
 the result? 
 
 Hester. I am more anxious for your comfort, sir. I 
 told you it were better to let the past rest. 
 
 Amos. Yes ; three days ago you surprised me with 
 the story of that past. I told you I would be yout 
 friend. I come to-night to surprise you. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 165 
 
 Hester, Surprise me ? 
 
 Amos, Yes. Your daughter lives I 
 
 Hester. No, no, it is impossible; she died years 
 ago. I learned it — 
 
 Amos. From a newspaper report. It was a lie ; a 
 forgery ; wrought by a cunning hand to keep you from 
 your child. 
 
 Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can it be ? Shall I see her 
 again ? O, dear, dear friend, tell me all. 
 
 Grace (rising). Your pardon ; you do not desire 
 company, and I will — 
 
 Amos. Stay where you are, Grace. This story may 
 interest you, as showing to what extent villany may 
 be carried by so unscrupulous a man as Alfred Thorpe^ 
 
 Hester. Alfred Thorpe ! 
 
 Grace. My guardian ! 
 
 Amos. Mrs. Thorne, the story of your wrongs made 
 a deep impression upon me. I was quick to catch any 
 suspicious circumstance, and from his own lips I gainer^ 
 the information that led me to believe he was the 
 traitorous friend. 
 
 Hester. He w^as ; he was. 
 
 Amoz. Then his fat friend, Turtle, in an angry mo- 
 ment gave me another hint, which I was not slow to 
 take advantage of. I took the stage, and yesterday 
 alighted at a pleasant little place forty miles from here, 
 called Greenland. There I hunted up an old friend of 
 your husband. From him I learned that your husband 
 had left a child with him years ago ; gave it to him to 
 be taken care of; to be given up if called for, — other- 
 wise, to live and die as his child. From that day to 
 
156 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 this he has never seen the father ; but three years after, 
 a man bearing an order came for the child and took it 
 away. 
 
 Hester, And that is all ? 
 
 Amos. No ; that is but the beginning. I traced the 
 child to its new home ; traced the report of its death ; 
 picked up straggling threads in the child's life ; the 
 name of its father; the name of the bearer of the 
 order ; until I proved conclusively that your child is 
 alive and well. 
 
 Hester. O, Mr. Gaylord, can I find her ? can I clasp 
 her in my arms ? 
 
 Anios. Hester (taking her hand)^ as I believe in 
 truth and justice, believe me, the words I am about to 
 speak are the truth, truth beyond a doubt. The child 
 that bore the name of Grace Thorn e now bears the 
 name of Grace Ingalls {goes down r.). 
 
 Grace, O, mother, mother ! {Huns into Hester's 
 arms,) 
 
 Hester {clasping her in her arms). My child ! My 
 dear, dear child ! 
 
 Amos, Well, it strikes me that "rough country 
 life " is looking up. 
 
 Grace O, I am so happy ! No earthly name is so 
 dear as that of " mother ! " 
 
 Hester, Save that of " child." Grace, my darling, I 
 feel this must be a reality, — so much in your face that 
 has attracted me grows into the likeness of the babe 
 torn from me, that I cannot doubt. 
 
 Grace. And I catch the same tenderness in your 
 loving eyes that has been to me a blessed memory for 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 157 
 
 years! O, mother, mother! there is so much love 
 springing to new life in my heart, there is no room for 
 doubt. 
 
 Amos (crossing to door l., behind). Now, having 
 satisfactorily reported the results of my journey, with 
 your leave, ladies, I will now satisfy the cravings of my 
 appetite. 
 
 Hester, I will attend you, sir. 
 
 Amos. No, no ; I will not inten^upt you. 
 
 Hester. Nay, I insist. You have been so kind to me, 
 Mr. Gaylord — such a dear friend — (gives her hand) 
 I know not how to recompense you. 
 
 Amos. Weil, suppose you give me a cup of tea. 
 After you, madam. {Opens door, steps back and bows. 
 Hester goes to door, then turns, stops a minute, runs 
 c. and embraces Grace, then runs off door l. Amos, 
 about to go, turns and looks at Grace.) 
 
 Grace (runs and throws her arms about his 7iecJc). 
 Heaven bless you, dear Mr. Gaylord ; you have made 
 me very, very happy. 
 
 Amos {kissing her forehead). Serves you right, 
 {Aside) I'd like to be a second father to that girl. Ah, 
 well, if I've made them happy, I must be content. 
 
 l^Exit door l. 
 
 Grace. Dear old man, how I love him ! Thai's a 
 very proper sentiment too, for he's Howard's father ; 
 and if — 
 
 {Enter Thorpe, c.) 
 
 Thorpe. Grace, — Grace, my darling {comes down 
 R. with outstretched hands ; she starts back to l.). 
 Grace. Mr. Thorpe ! 
 
15S ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Thorpe, Why this coldness ? Have they turned 
 you against me ? Has my enforced absence shocked 
 you ? I could not help it ; the sight of that man who 
 has basely wronged me — 
 
 Grace, Spare yoirr apologies, I beg, Mr. Thorpe. 
 You are master of your own actions. No one has been 
 surprised at your absence. Why should I be ? 
 
 Thorpe, Grace, you know how dear you are to me. 
 No, I am wrong ; you cannot. I have watched you 
 from childhood with all a father's care. You have 
 grown into beautiful womanhood ; and with no pater- 
 nal blood to check the feeling, a strong and tender love 
 has taken the place of fatherly interest. Grace Ingalls, 
 1 love you with the one mighty passion of my life. 
 iVill you become my wife ? 
 
 Grace. No, no ; do not press me. I owe you much ; 
 my heart is filled with gratitude for your tender care. , 
 
 Thorpe, You have much cause to be grateful. I 
 have freely lavished upon you wealth, and made yoii 
 renowned. These should make you ponder well ere 
 you refuse the boon I ask. 
 
 Grace, Mr. Thorpe, when three days ago you 
 broached this subject to my great surprise, i weighed 
 well my duty and my inclination. I appreciate all 
 Your goodness ; thank you a thousand times for all 
 your care ; and could I repay you — 
 
 Thorpe, You can ; you must ; — with your love. 
 
 Grace, Impossible. Within an hour my life has 
 wondrously changed. Mr. Thorpe, I have often asked 
 you to tell me of my parents — of my father. 
 , Thorpe, I have told you — he is dead. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 159 
 
 Grace, Ancl my mother ? 
 
 Thorpe, Slie, too, is dead {aside) to you. 
 
 Grace, And this, you tell me, is the truth ; on your 
 honor? 
 
 Thorpe, On my honor. 
 
 Grace, And you ask me to marry you ? Mr. 
 Thorpe, with your words still ringing in my ears, I 
 refer you to one who alone has the right to dispose of 
 my hand. {Pohits to Hester, who enters door l.) 
 My mother. (Howard appears c.) 
 
 Thorpe {starts and goes n,). Her mother! {Aside) 
 Whose fiendish work is this ? 
 
 (Howard comes down ; Grace taTces his arm^ and 
 they pass off through window^ r.) 
 
 Hester. You hear, Alfred Thorpe : that girl, pure 
 and innocent, calls me mother. 
 
 Thorpe. She has no right. 
 
 Hester. 'Tis useless to deny what can be fully proved. 
 Every link in the chain of evidence, from the time you 
 kidnnpped my child, has been fully tested by Amos 
 Gaylord. 
 
 Thorpe. Amos Gaylord? 
 
 Hester. Yes; the man whom you sought to turn 
 against me has outwitted you. With all your cun- 
 ning, the honest, simple-hearted farmer has wrought 
 the good work which gives the mother to her child 
 again. 
 
 Thorpe. And you triumph ! How ? You have 
 snatched the girl from her home — a life of ease and 
 luxury — for what? To share the hard fate of a sus- 
 pected and despised woman. 
 
160 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Hester, Suspected ? Yes. Despised ? No. True, 
 warm friends have gathered about me in my darkest 
 hour. I am strong in my own innocence, and shall 
 live down the distrust which you alone have created. 
 Ay, more, I stand between you and the woman you 
 love. We have changed places, Alfred Thorpe, for I 
 now have the power to make your life as miserable as 
 you have made mine. 
 
 Thorpe. But you will not. Hester, I love that girl ; 
 dearly, madly love her. Give her to me. Let all 
 that has passed be forgotten. I will make any repara- 
 tion you may ask ; only give her to me. See (kneels\ 
 on my knees I ask this precious boon. 
 
 Hester. On your knees — Ah ! (Phil, with his 
 arms folded., his eyes on the ground as if in deep 
 thought., enters from window r., and passes out 
 through door c, Hester looking at him.. Thorpe 
 has his head bowed., and does not see him. Aside) Let 
 me be firm. (Aloud) Alfred Thorpe — {Fhil is just 
 passing the window l. c. ; he starts^ stops^ and icatches 
 through windov)) — once, trembling in every limb, and 
 with tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a 
 confession to my husband. Are you now prepared to 
 confess to me ? 
 
 Thorpe {rising). What shall I confess ? 
 
 Hester. The truth. If you hope for my consent — 
 if you hope for mercy hereafter — tell me, why have you 
 so bitterly pui*sued me ? 
 
 Thorpe, Because I loved you, Hester. I could not 
 bear to see you the wife of that man, Philip Thorne. 
 You chose him. From that moment I determined you 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 161 
 
 should be mine. I would break the chain that bound 
 you to him. 'Twas easily done : a few forged letters, 
 a few startling situations, and the fool believed you 
 guilty, and deserted you. 
 
 Hester, Did I not spurn you from me, and treat 
 with contempt your base proposals ? 
 
 Thorpe, You did; and when I had succeeded in 
 separating you from your husband, when I believed 
 that you could be made to love me, having no protec- 
 tor, I found I had deceived myself, and you were a 
 pure and noble woman. O, Hester, I am a fool to let 
 my tongue betray me now ; but on your words hangs 
 my fate. I thought I loved you as I could never love 
 another; but she who is now the image of what you 
 once was has aroused a mightier passion in my breast, 
 and the love which was once yours, a thousand-fold 
 deepened, goes out to her, your daughter. 
 
 Hester, And what reparation do you propose for 
 me, the woman you have robbed of her husband, 
 branded with suspicion, and degraded in the eyes of 
 the world ? 
 
 Thorpe, Ample, Hester. Grace my wife, our house 
 is yours. Beneath my roof an honored guest, the past 
 will be forgotten as an idle tale, and all the future filled 
 with peace and happiness. 
 
 Hester, And my husband ? 
 
 Thorpe, Poor fool ! let him be forgotten. He never 
 loved you. Think you that, had I been lifted to your 
 love, I should have allowed suspicion to break my trust 
 in you? No, no; he was no true man. Let him rest 
 here among the hills. Weak in intellect, enfeebled 
 11 
 
162 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 in body, he will soon pass away, and, like your wrongs, 
 be as soon forgotten. 
 
 Hester, And you ask me to give you my daughter? 
 Alfred Thorpe, you are a villain ! The murderer who 
 lifts his hand against his brother man is a hero, yea, a 
 saint, compared with a coward who, like you, lifts his 
 voice to sully a woman's reputation ! I'd rather see 
 my child again lost to me — lost forever ! — than have 
 her become the mate of such as you ! ( Crosses to r.) 
 
 Thorj^e, Yet I will have her! Mark me, Hester, 
 she shall be mine ! I have stooped to you ; I will 
 again, — but it shall be as the eagle stoops to seize 
 its piey ! Remember, you are an outcast. The breath 
 of suspicion, like the foul miasma, once it blasts the 
 atmosphere about a woman, cannot easily be shaken 
 off. You are weak and friendless ; I, strong and pow- 
 erful. Once I set my schemes afoot, I pause not till I 
 conquer. I will not now. I'll have your daughter. 
 You may struggle and writhe, — proclaim your inno- 
 cence, but who — who will believe you ? 
 
 Phil {rushing on^ c). I will — I, Philip Thorne. 
 {Stands c, with right hand raised. Thorpe l. ofc.) 
 Right, Alfred Thorpe, he was no true man ; he was a 
 fool. But now the light is breaking in on his weak 
 intellect; the clouds are lifting. Enfeebled in body? 
 Ha! {Seizes Thorpe by throat with left hand.) Liar! 
 But a few days ago, on a precipitous spur in yonder 
 mountain, where but one could pass, I met a fierce and 
 hungry bear, who clasped me in his arms. On the 
 brink we struggled — he and I — in close embrace of 
 ' life and death, my hand upon his throat, as now on 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS: , 163 
 
 yours, I (Trove ray knife into his heart, anrl flung him 
 to the abyss below. {JLifts Thorpe, and throws him 
 with right hand^ on stage.) Enfeebled — I? Ha, ha, 
 ha ! {Lifts his foot to trample on him.) 
 
 {Enter from window r., Grace and Howard ; by door 
 L., Amos. Hester runs up and places her hand on 
 Phil's right shoulder.) : . 
 
 Hester, Philip ! {Music, piano. Thorpe rises and 
 goes to table.) 
 
 Phil {looki7ig at her steadily). Hester, innocent and 
 wronged one, dare I look thee in the fnce again ? No, 
 no ; on my knees, at your feet — {about to kneel). 
 
 Hester {raising him quickly) No, no, my husband ; 
 all is forgotten, all forgiven. Take me to your arms; 
 tell me you believe me — 
 
 Phil {clasping her in his arms). Innocent! inno- 
 cent ! My own dear wife ! {Music stops. Thorpe 
 goes to door., c.) 
 
 Thorpe {looking in). They've won the game and 
 ruined me. But I held the reins for twelve long years! 
 Let them remember that. ( Goes off l. ; stops at win^ 
 dow and shakes fist.) Remember that. \_Hxit l. 
 
 Hester. Dear Philip, that our union may be com- 
 plete, look upon our daughter. Grace, my child, your 
 father {steps to r.). 
 
 Grace {running into Fhjlip^s arms). Father! 
 
 Phil. My child ! The face did not deceive me ; it 
 was Hester's — Hester's, as I knew it ere — 
 
 Hester {goes to him on n.). Ere the clouds obscured 
 it, Philip ; but they've rolled away, and all is bright 
 again. 
 
164 , ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Phil. Wondrous bright. {Left arm about Grace, 
 right arm about Hester ; looks first at one^ then at the 
 other,) The skies are clear, and the stars of love are 
 shining on my path. 
 
 Amos (r.). Mrs. Thorne, we have beaten the enemy 
 at last. 
 
 Hester {gives hand). Thanks to you, dear, dear 
 friend. 
 
 Amos {crosses to Phil). Old boy, you're in luck 
 (gives his hand). Your wife is a treasure; and your 
 daughter — 
 
 Howard {gives Phil his hand). An angel! Ah, 
 Phil, you've truly found out the world is what we 
 make it. I wish you joy. 
 
 Amos. I almost envy you. I wish that daughter 
 was mine. 
 
 Howard. It will not be my fault if she is not, fa- 
 ther. 
 
 Arnos. Hallo! Hallo! What do you mean, sir? 
 (Grace gives her hand to Howard.) Ho, ho ! I un- 
 derstand. Town and country have found out the 
 truth that they cannot live without each other. {All 
 stand a little r. of c, 7iear window^ iii a group talk- 
 ing.) 
 
 Susy {outside c). O dear! boo-hoo! — . (CV^/m^.) 
 It's a shame ! 
 
 {Enter Susy, c, with her apron to her eyes.) 
 
 Amos. Hallo, Susy ! What's the matter ? 
 Susy. O dear ! I ■ 
 a shame — so it is. 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 165 
 
 Amos, So do I, Susy, whatever it is. Who's been 
 plaguing you ? 
 
 /Susj/, Chips — and — and — boo-hoo, Mr. Nay — 
 J^ay — Naylor — been — been fighting just awful. 
 
 Amos. Fighting ? What about ? 
 
 Susi/, Me, sir ! I — I — I tried to stop 'em, but 
 — but — they wo — wo — wouldn't, and they're all 
 bru — bruised. 
 
 {Enter Nat, c. / his clothes are torn ; his necktie hang- 
 ing ; one eye blacked; one cheek puffed out ; face 
 scratched, and hair ruffled. Comes down r.) 
 
 N'at, Upon the moonlit plain we met as foes : 
 
 He blacked my eye — I flattened out his nose. 
 
 Impromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 {Enter Chips, c, in an equally forlorn condition^ his 
 nose bleeding., face scratched., <jbc. Both characters 
 should present signs of having fought long and 
 well.) 
 
 Chips {coming down l.). Yes, darn you, you're a 
 spunky chap, for all your loose rhymes. 
 
 Amos. What does this mean ? Explain yourselves. 
 
 Chips. I ain't got nothin' to say. I was jest goin' 
 by- 
 
 Susy. Now stop. Ain't you ashamed of yourself 
 Chips? (Amos goes back to group., r.) 
 
 Chips, Don't care : he called me a booby. 
 
 Nat. I withdraw the appellation. Chips. 
 
 Susy. There ! Now shake hands and be friencU. 
 
 Chips, I don't want to. 
 
166 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 , Sus^/, You must. Come here, Mr. Naylor. ( Takes 
 his hand and leads him over to Chips, l.) Now shake 
 hands. Confess you have made fools of yourselves, and 
 become friends. 
 
 Nat {holds out his hand), Fm willing. 
 
 Chip of a stubborn block, my dexter take — 
 We will be friends — we will — 
 
 Chips. O, 'nuff said, — shake. ( They shake hands^ 
 
 {Enter Lucretia, r.) 
 
 Lucretia. Has anybody seen my Titus ? 
 
 {Enter Turtle /rom door l., a napkin about hisneck^ 
 a huge slice of pie in one hand^ and a piece of cheese 
 in the other^ eating. Turtle crosses stage; at the 
 same time Grace goes to table c, and sits, Susy 
 sits in arm-chair l., keeping up a dumb shoio of con- 
 versation with Chips on her right and Nat on her 
 left. Howard goes up to vase of flowers in the 
 passage.) 
 
 . Turtle, Were you looking for me, Miss Lucretia ? 
 
 Lucretia, Yes, Titus ; I was hungering fc r your 
 society, thirsting for the music of your voice. 
 
 Turtle. Hungering and thirsting. Now, that's true 
 poetry — the language of the appetite. So was I. Ah, 
 Lucretia, the cold shoulder has done its work. While 
 it assuaged my appetite, it filled my soul with remorse 
 (fiites pie). Forgive me, Lucretia, I have awakened 
 to a realizing sense of your virtues {bites cheese). It 
 brought to my mind the time when I sat at your table 
 and partook of a hot shoulder cooked by your own fail 
 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 167 
 
 hands. It was luscious ! May I not hope that your 
 fair hands may feed me — no, lead nie — to many such 
 feasts ? 
 
 Lucretia, O Titus, we may be happy yet. So ro- 
 mantic. 
 (Phil stands r. c, with his arm about Hester's waist^ 
 
 looking off u. Moonlight on them, Amos comes down 
 
 c. Howard comes down to table, with flowers hi his 
 
 hand.) 
 
 Amos, Well, Susy, are all your troubles over? 
 
 Susy, Yes, father. Chips and I have made up our 
 minds to — to — You tell him, Chips. 
 
 Chips. O, certainly. Mr. Gaylord, I was telling 
 Susy — no, Susy was telling me. Well, I'll come in 
 and tell you to-morrow, — when I'm going by. 
 
 Nat, When going by, he*ll lift tlie latch, 
 
 To let you know they've made a match. 
 
 ^mpromptu. Ahem ! 
 
 Amos, Ha, ha ! I see. Well, I shall be at home. 
 ( Goes up c.) Phil, old fellow, why so silent ? 
 
 Phil, For wonder. Amos, an hour t*go, life was a 
 dreary waste to me. How quick the change. There a 
 daughter, and here a wife — the golden links of long 
 ago put on again to bind me willing captive ! 
 
 Hester, We are both to blame. Had we trusted 
 in each other, all that has marred our lives we should 
 have escaped. We have been tuughtthe lesson of fiith 
 through trial and tribulation in the lost years. Re- 
 united, we will take it to our hearts. Now all is bright 
 again. 
 
168 ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Phil, Bright as yonder peak, my home no longer, 
 Hester, here in this bustling world below I'll rear again 
 our happy home; and though the tempest has beaten 
 about us, and darkness obscured our path, — with con- 
 fidence and trust to lead and guide, with strength and 
 courage to subdue, we will journey on. The gloom 
 dispersed, the shadows rolled away, the light of love 
 upon our pathway, with Heaven's help we will tri- 
 umphantly lift ourselves — Above the Clouds. 
 
 Tableau. — Phil r. c, arm about Hester's waisty 
 right hand pointing off through window ; moonlight on 
 them,, Amos near door c, watching them, Grace 
 seated at table^ looking up at Howard, who stands hack 
 of table and places flowers in her hair, Susy in arm' 
 chair l., with Chips leaning over it. Nat extreme l., 
 with a pencil and note-book.^ scratching his head with 
 pencil^ as though tryiiig to make a verse. Turtle 
 LucRETiA extreme r., arm in arm^ looking at Ph 
 
 \^Music^ and Slow Curtain,"] 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 UBRARY Usr 
 
 f!':^P6 
 
 .wv,0 
 
 LD 21-100w-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 
 
Gaylamount 
 
 Pamphlet 
 
 Binder 
 
 Gaylord Bros., Inc. 
 
 Stockton, Calif. 
 ,IVI. Reg. U.S. Pat. Off. 
 
 YB 74559 
 
 M52209 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY