Several persons, before and behind the curtain, were making up their minds, just now, to a fresh opinion.  There was nothing so very slow or tame, after all, about Leslie Goldthwaite.  Several others had known that long ago.

“Taking the Oath” was piquant and spirited.  The touch of restive scorn that could come out on Martha Josselyn’s face just suited her part; and Leonard Brookhouse was very cool and courteous, and handsome and gentlemanly-triumphant as the Union officer.

“Barbara Frietchie” was grand.  Grahame Lowe played Stonewall Jackson.  They had improvised a pretty bit of scenery at the back, with a few sticks, some paint, brown carpet-paper, and a couple of mosquito bars; a Dutch gable with a lattice window, vines trained up over it, and bushes below.  It was a moving tableau, enacted to the reading of Whittier’s glorious ballad.  “Only an old woman in a cap and kerchief, putting her head out at a garret window,”—­that was all; but the fire was in the young eyes under the painted wrinkles and the snowy hair; the arm stretched itself out quick and bravely at the very instant of the pistol-shot that startled timid ears; one skillful movement detached and seized the staff in its apparent fall, and the liberty-colors flashed full in Rebel faces, as the broken lower fragment went clattering to the stage.  All depended on the one instant action and expression.  These were perfect.  The very spirit of Barbara stirred her representative.  The curtain began to descend slowly, and the applause broke forth before the reading ended.  But a hand, held up, hushed it till the concluding lines were given in thrilling tones, as the tableau was covered from sight.

     “Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,
     And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.

     “Honor to her! and let a tear
     Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.

     “Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave,
     Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!

     “Peace and order and beauty draw
     Round thy symbol of light and law;

     “And ever the stars above look down
     On thy stars below in Frederick town!”

Then one great cheer broke forth, and was prolonged to three.

“Not be Barbara Frietchie!” Leslie would not have missed that thrill for the finest beauty-part of all.  For the applause—­that was for the flag, of course, as Ginevra Thoresby said.

The benches were slid out at a window upon a lower roof, the curtain was looped up, and the footlights carried away; the “music” came up, and took possession of the stage; and the audience hall resolved itself into a ball-room.  Under the chandelier, in the middle, a tableau not set forth in the programme was rehearsed and added a few minutes after.

Mrs. Thoresby, of course, had been introduced to the General; Mrs. Thoresby, with her bright, full, gray curls and her handsome figure, stood holding him in conversation between introductions, graciously waiving her privilege as new comers claimed their modest word.  Mrs. Thoresby took possession; had praised the tableaux, as “quite creditable, really, considering the resources we had,” and was following a slight lead into a long talk, of information and advice on her part, about Dixville Notch.  The General thought he should go there, after a day or two at Outledge.