FullReads

If the violent scenes which occur in ill-tempered families felt half as undignified and miserable as they look, surely they would be less common! I believe Philip and Alice would have come to blows if I had not joined with him to expel her from the room. I was not happy about it, for my sympathy was on her side of the quarrel, but she had been the one to declare war, and I could not control Philip. In short, it is often not easy to keep the peace and be just too, as I should like to have said to Aunt Isobel, if she had been at home. But she was to be away until the 6th.

Alice defeated, I took Philip seriously to task. Not about his friend–the subject was too sore, and Alice had told him all that we thought, and rather more than we thought on that score–but about the theatricals. I said if he really was tired of the business we would throw it up, and let our friends know that the proposed entertainment had fallen through, but that if he wanted it to go forward he must decide what help he would give, and then abide by his promise.

We came to terms. If I would let him have a day or two’s fun with his gun, Philip promised to “spurt,” as he called it, at the end. I told him we would be content if he would join in a “thorough rehearsal,” the afternoon before, and devote himself to the business on the day of the performance.

“Real business, you know,” I added, “with nobody but ourselves. Nobody coming in to interrupt.”

“Of course,” said Philip; “but I’ll do more than that, Isobel. There’s the scene–“

“We’ll finish the scene,” said I, “if you don’t aggravate Alice so that I lose her help as well as yours.”

Alice was very sulky, which I could hardly wonder at, and I worked alone, except for Bobby, the only one with anything like a good temper among us, who roasted himself very patiently with my size-pot, and hammered bits of ivy, and of his fingers, rather neatly over the cave. But Alice was impulsive and kind-hearted. When I got a bad headache, from working too long, she came round, and helped me. Philip was always going to do so, but as a matter of fact he went out every day with the old fowling-piece for which he had given his dressing case.

When the ice bore Charles also deserted us, but Alice and I worked steadily on at dresses and scenery. And Bobby worked with us.

The 5th of January arrived, the day before the theatricals. Philip spent the morning in cleaning his gun, and after luncheon he brought it into the nursery to “finish” with a peculiarly aggravating air.

“When shall you be ready to rehearse?” I asked.

“Oh, presently,” said Philip, “there’s plenty of time yet. It’s a great nuisance,” he added, “I’ll never have anything to do with theatricals again. They make a perfect slave of one.”

“You’ve not slaved much, at any rate,” said Charles.

“You’d better not give me any of your cheek,” said Philip threateningly.

“We’ve done without him for a week, I don’t know why we shouldn’t do without him to-morrow,” muttered Alice from the corner where she was sewing gold paper stars on to the Enchanted Prince’s tunic.

“I wish you could,” growled Philip, who took the suggestion more quietly than I expected; “anybody could do the Dragon, there’s no acting in it!”

“I won’t,” said Charles, “Isobel gave me the Enchanted Prince or the Woolly Beast, and I shall stick to my part.”

“Could I do the Dragon?” asked Bobby, releasing his hot face from the folds of an old blue cloak lined with red, in which he was rehearsing his walk as a belated wayfarer.

“Certainly not,” said I, “you’re the Bereaved Father and the Faithful Attendant to begin with, and I hope you won’t muddle them. And you’re Twelve Travellers as well, and the thunder, remember!”