Bab was fine to see, with Miss Celia’s blue dress sweeping behind her, a white plume in her flowing hair, and a real necklace with a pearl locket about her neck.  She did her part capitally, especially the shriek she gave when she looked into the fatal closet, the energy with which she scrubbed the tell-tale key, and her distracted tone when she called out:  “Sister Anne, O, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?” while her enraged husband was roaring:  “Will you come down, madam, or shall I come and fetch you?”

Betty made a captivating Anne,—­all in white muslin, and a hat full of such lovely pink roses that she could not help putting up one hand to feel them as she stood on the steps looking out at the little window for the approaching brothers, who made such a din that it sounded like a dozen horsemen instead of two.

[Illustration:  The blue-beard group.]

Ben and Billy were got up regardless of expense in the way of arms; for their belts were perfect arsenals, and their wooden swords were big enough to strike terror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out of Blue-beard’s blade in the awful combat which preceded the villain’s downfall and death.

The boys enjoyed this part intensely, and cries of “Go it, Ben!” “Hit him again, Billy!” “Two against one isn’t fair!” “Thorny’s a match for em.”  “Now he’s down, hurray!” cheered on the combatants, till, after a terrific struggle, the tyrant fell, and with convulsive twitchings of the scarlet legs, slowly expired, while the ladies sociably fainted in each others arms, and the brothers waved their swords and shook hands over the corpse of their enemy.

This piece was rapturously applauded, and all the performers had to appear and bow their thanks, led by the defunct Blue-beard, who mildly warned the excited audience that if they “didn’t look out the walls would break down, and then there’d be a nice mess.”  Calmed by this fear they composed themselves, and waited with ardor for the next play, which promised to be a lively one, judging from the shrieks of laughter which came from behind the curtain.

“Sanch’s going to be in it, I know, for I heard Ben say, ’Hold him still; he wont bite,’” whispered Sam, longing to “jounce” up and down, so great was his satisfaction at the prospect, for the dog was considered the star of the company.

“I hope Bab will do something else, she is so funny.  Wasn’t her dress elegant?” said Sally Folsom, burning to wear a long silk gown and a feather in her hair.

“I like Betty best, she’s so cunning, and she peaked out of the window just as if she really saw somebody coming,” answered Liddy Peckham, privately resolving to tease mother for some pink roses before another Sunday came.

Up went the curtain at last, and a voice announced “A Tragedy in Three Tableaux.”  “There’s Betty!” was the general exclamation, as the audience recognized a familiar face under the little red hood worn by the child who stood receiving a basket from Teacher, who made a nice mother with her finger up, as if telling the small messenger not to loiter by the way.