ara
Crewe," or rather "The Little Princess," for that is the title of the
regular stage version of Mrs. Burnett's story which the Belden House was
giving by the special permission of the Princess herself. The pretty
young actress who had "created" the part was a friend of Madeline's
father, and Madeline, being on the committee to choose a play, declared
that she was tired to death of seeing the girls do Sheridan and
Goldsmith and the regulation sort of modern farce, and boldly wrote to
the Princess for permission to act her play, because it seemed so
exactly suited to the capabilities of college girls. The Princess had
not only said yes, but she had declared that she should be very much
interested in the success of the play, and when Madeline, writing to
thank her, had suggested that the Belden House would be only too
delighted if she came up to see their performance, she had accepted
their invitation with enthusiasm. Of course the committee and the cast
were exceedingly flattered, but they were also exceedingly frightened
and nervous, and even the glorious promise of a live monkey, with a
hand-organ man thrown in, did not wholly reassure them.

To-night everything seemed to be at sixes and sevens. Though most of the
committee had toiled over it all the afternoon, the stage resembled
pandemonium rather than the schoolroom of Miss Minchen's Select
Seminary, which was to be the scene of the first act. The committee were
tired and, to speak frankly, cross, with the exception of Madeline, who
was provokingly cool and nonchalant, though she had worked harder than
any one else. The cast were infected with that irresponsible hilarity
that always attacks an amateur company at their last rehearsal. They
danced about the stage, getting in the way of the committee, shrieking
with laughter at their first glimpses of one another's costumes, and
making flippant suggestions for all sorts of absurd and impossible
improvements.

Meanwhile, regardless of the fact that the rehearsal ought to have begun
half an hour before, the committee and Mr. Carrisford's three Hindu
servants were holding a solemn conclave at the back of the stage. The
chef-d'oeuvre of their scenic effects was refusing to work; the
bagdads that were to descend as if by Hindu magic and cover the bare
walls of Sara's little attic bedroom when the good fairies, in the guise
of the aforesaid servants, effected its transformation in the second
act. There weren't enough of