“Well, I’m nearly dead under here,” cried Clare, glaring beneath his dragon face.  “I’ll shriek, or roar, just as I like, so!”

“Very well,” said Polly, “I don’t know but it’s as well, after all, that you are cross; you’ll be more effective,” she added coolly.  “Let me see--oh! the door of the cave wants a bit more of gray moss; it looks thin where it hangs over.  You get it, will you, Hannah?” to one of the maids who was helping.

“And just one thing more,” scanning hastily the stage setting, “another Chinese lantern is needed right here,” going toward the front of the stage, “and that green bush is tumbling over; do set it straight, somebody; there now, I believe everything is all ready.  Now let us peep out of the curtain, and get one good look at the audience.  Come, Phronsie, here’s a fine place; come, boys!”

The different members of the cast now applied their eyes to as many cracks in the curtain as could be hastily managed.

There was a breathing space.

“What, what?” cried Polly, gazing into the sea of faces, and the dragons nearly knocked the Princess over as Mr. King gave the signal for the band stationed in the wide hall, to send out their merriest strains.

V

AFTER THE PLAY

It was all over.  Phronsie had been swept off, a vision of loveliness, to the cave; the dragons had roared their loudest, and the gallant knight had covered himself with glory in the brilliant rescue of the Princess; the little page had won the hearts of all the ladies; Mr. King had applauded himself hoarse, especially during the delivery of the prologue, when “I cry you mercy, sirs, and ladies fair,” rang out; the musical efforts of Polly and Jasper in the “Wait” between the two acts were over, and the crowded house, in every way possible, had expressed itself delighted with all things from beginning to end.

“Phronsie, Phronsie, they’re calling you,” whispered Polly excitedly, out in the green room.

“Come, Princess.”  The head dragon held out his hand.  “Hurry dear!  See the flowers!”

“They can’t be for me,” said Phronsie, standing quite still; “Polly has done all the work; they’re hers.”

“Nonsense, child!” cried Polly, giving her a gentle push forward.  “Go on, and take them.”

“Polly, you come too,” begged Phronsie, refusing to stir, and holding her by the gown.

“I can’t, Phronsie,” cried Polly in distress; “don’t you see they haven’t called me.  Go on, child, if you love me,” she implored.

Phronsie, not being able to resist this, dropped Polly’s gown and floated before the footlights.

“Thank you,” she said, bowing gravely to the sea of faces, as her hands were filled with roses, “but I shall give these to Polly, because we couldn’t any of us have done it without her.”  And so she brought them back to put into dismayed Polly’s lap.