The Morning News

COUNTRY PEOPLE.

Bab Proves Their Kindness and Sympathy With One Another.

Living Near to Humanity's Heart—Little "Charlotte Temple" Recuperating in the Country—Touching Story of Wail of the Stage—“I Got so Tired of Bein' Eva”—Life in a Theatrical Boarding House,

The Country Children Pay Tribute to Her Memory,

Loch Sheldrake, N. Y., Sept. 7.—One has to be not only in the very heart of the country, but in the heart of the country people to realize how good and kind they are, and how close they become, in a neighborly way, to each other. Joys are doubled by the sympathy of one's neighbor; sorrow is lightened by the willingness of the neighbor to help bear the burden. And all life is made better by people living in a natural, kindly way, each near to the heart of humanity. And they are so rich in hospitality. This year I sit out under the shadow of one of the big trees and try to read. The book drops from my hand, my eyes close and I see a picture of last year. Word went out from the household that there would be welcome for one little city girl, who had no country people of her own to go to. She was not to be older than seven years, and the Fresh Air Fund was asked to please select a gentle little girl. One bright afternoon we went to meet her, and when she was lifted off the train, she stood a picture of fright and misery. Small for her years, she had long fair curls and great big blue eyes, while her clothes were pitiful to look at. She was very shy, and that night, when she was put in a high chair that once belonged to a baby girl who now has a baby of her own, she refused to eat anything but bread and tea. She said, very hesitatingly, that her mamma told her it was vulgar to eat much. The next day found us busy making some clothes for her, and were in a constant state of surprise because of the prim little way she had of speaking, the correctness of her language and the ease with which she carried herself. It took us twenty-four hours to find out her name, and when she said it was "Charlotte Temple" our eyes grew big with amazement. Later on she confided to me that that was not her real name, and still we were too stupid to understand. On the fifth day she gave us the information that her mamma was a professional, and she said this with as much pride as if the aforesaid mamma had been a leader of the Four Hundred. And then we understood. This poor little lady was a child of the stage, who worked hard during the theatrical season, and, as we afterward found out, helped to support her mother and her father. Her only glimpse of home life was that which she got by being counted in with the children of the street. Perhaps you do not know that the Fresh Air Fund only permits each child to stay two weeks. So, before the first week was up, we wrote and had her time extended, for we wanted to send Charlotte Temple back with the plumpness of a partridge and with cheek red from health and not from rouge. She took an immense amount of interest in her new frocks, and when she heard that the Sunday school was to give an entertainment she begged and pleaded for permission to recite at it. At last consent was given, and fancy our astonishment when Charlotte Temple, aged 7 years, recited "To be or not to be" with the stiff gestures peculiar to the late Lawrence Barrett! An enthusiastic encore brought her out again, and the tears streamed down my face as this baby repeated, "The Little White Hearse." She was a happy little tot in her own quiet way, devoting herself to chasing sunbeams and playing with the puppies, dressing the very newest in an old nightdress and singing it to sleep. We tempted her appetite, and taught her to eat something else besides bread and tea, and when a letter came from her mother ordering her to come home as she had an engagement for her, we all escorted Charlotte Temple to the station, saw her safe on the train, with the youngest puppy in a basket, a huge bouquet of flowers, a box of luncheon, and a tiny trunk filled with an entire new outfit for her. She promised to write to us, and this letter came about a month after she had gone:

My dere Missis Mary: i. got home all rite & i am engaged to play Eva mi momma wil play two but my poppa wil not i coud. not keep the puppi—my momma sold him i luv u al & wil cum nex sumer. i am til deth do us part, yurs fecshunately,

CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.

Poor Charlotte Temple! The workaday time was beginning early with her. What was not possible when her mother would sell the "puppi!" Christmas brought a little card, the advertisement of a shoe house with a picture on the other side. It was posted in some western town, and our small friend had written upon it, evidently getting the holidays mixed up:

"Dere frend uv mine,

This hart is thine and wilt u be mi valentine."

We would have sent her a Christmas box, but we didn't know where to address it. However, after that, we took a dramatic paper for the sole purpose of following up the company to which Charlotte Temple was attached, and which was known as Jake Jacobs' Unrivalled Constellation of Stars." It was rather difficult to think of poor Charlotte as a stellar attraction, but evidently the little baby played her part well, for, like most children, she was a born imitator; and, unlike most children, she was marvelously bright and very obedient. Easter brought a letter from her mother saying that the company had disbanded, and that none of them had anything to do, and hinting very broadly that, if we would invite her, she would be glad to bring Charlotte to pay us a visit. Somehow we didn't lean toward Miss Trixie Howard as we did toward Charlotte, and we preferred to wait until we could have Charlotte alone. Then we saw that the company had gotten together again and were going to make another attempt to impress their ability on the doubting public. Weeks went by, and we heard nothing; but, one day, Tommy, the boy from the station, brought a telegram, collect on delivery, and, while I was paying him, I heard Mary begin to cry. Then she handed the yellow sheet to me. It read,

"Come at once. Charlotte very ill. Calling for you," and it was signed "Trixie Howard."

We started by the first train, taking with us everything we could think of that was ready, which would add to Charlotte's comfort. The abiding place of Trixie Howard and her child was a theatrical boarding house on one of the side streets. As we entered we heard a young woman on the first floor, rehearsing her part in a melodrama, while the second floor was evidently training for a song and dance act. Up and up and up we went until the top floor was reached. In a small room, lying on a miserable looking cot was Charlotte Temple looking, not as she did when she left us, but even worse than when she first came to us. Her mother, a peroxide young woman, was entertaining several perfect ladies like herself, with the story of Charlotte's accident. The air of the room was foul with flat beer and musk. On Charlotte was not one of the nice little nightdresses that Mary had made her, but a loose pink silk thing trimmed with spangles and lace that her mother undoubtedly wore when she played Camille. Much to the disgust of the women, Mary opened the window and let in some fresh air, and then the story was told to us. "You see," said Trixie, "Charlotte's been playing Eva all winter, and how we will ever live without the salary that she drew is more than I can understand. It does seem as if there was no end to our trouble. Well, you know, in the transformation scene, Eva is put up in the clouds and supported by machinery, and she is supposed to go sailing along to heaven. Some fool of a stage hand didn't fix the machinery right, and they got Charlotte up, and just while the audience were going wild about her, the fool thing broke, and down she fell. And there's good money gone for the rest of her life, for the doctor says if she lives she will be a cripple anyhow." I don't know how I ever listened to this woman. Eventually Mary told some of the visitors that they had better go, and Trixie went with them to the hall, and evidently sent for more beer and they stayed out there, much to our relief, and drank it. Poor Charlotte Temple was just barely breathing. But she knew us, and a happy smile came over her face, and she tried to say something about the puppy. And Mary told her how those upon the farm had grown, and that there was a new kitten which was named after her, and then she laughed; but, oh! so weakly. We gave her a teaspoonful of brandy, and bathed the little face, and some strength seemed to come to her, and she said, "Misses Mary, I got so tired of bein' Eva. I hadn't my puppy, but a kind lady in the company gave me a doll, an' I named doll after the puppy, Sam. En' Misses Mary, if I get well, I'm comin' up to be your girl this summer. But, Misses Mary, I'm so tired." Then we fanned her and sang to her, and after a while a fast-looking man came in, and we found out that he was Mr. Clarence Howard, who played utility parts, and was the father of Charlotte Temple. He seemed sorrier for the mite than her mother did, and he tried to straighten up the room a little, put the poker chips out of sight, picked up the half smoked cigarettes and threw them out of the window, and thanked us in the most dramatic manner for coming. And the hours went by, and we three did all we could to make Charlotte Temple find the going away from life easier than the living it. Two or three times I wondered where her mother was. Time told. About 10 o'clock she came in maudlin drunk. And she cried and screamed, and Charlotte grew restless and looked unhappy, and Clarence Howard removed Trixie to the hall, where she fell on the floor in a drunken slumber. When the doctor came he gave me a significant look, and said he would stay for a while. And Charlotte Temple said: "Misses Mary, tell me about the funny tree." And Mary told her about that wonderful tree on which mint sticks grow, and beautiful candies and lovely toys, and which good children see, and where the dinkey bird sings all day long on the top branches of this tree, called by the man who found it the Amphalula tree. And then she said: "Misses Mary, you sing my tune, and I'll come in on the chorus." And Mary sang,

"Beyond the smiling and the weeping, I shall be soon."

and we could hear the little voice feebly saying "soon." And then she began to wander. She said: "I wish she hadn't sold the puppy; I'd like to kep' him—an' I don't think Misses Mary would like to know that he was sold to work the growler—my mamma says if the ghost don't walk this week there'll be no Eva—oh! I wish it was time for the curtain to go down—I'm so tired—there's a little girl out front who cum with her mother—I spec' she could keep a puppy—next summer I'll have just as many flowers as I want, and Misses Mary will make me a little cake for myself. No, Clarence, I don't want any other puppy—Sam would feel bad if I kep' another dog—Oh, dear, I wish the curtain would drop—I'm so tired—when will the curtain drop?"

And the curtain dropped.

With the permission of Clarence, we brought Charlotte Temple up here. She is sleeping in the quiet country churchyard and the children this summer take pleasure in putting flowers on the grave of the little girl who spoke the piece at the concert. And when the Fresh Air people wrote to Mary, she said: "Send me a boy; I never want another girl." But, somehow, I can hear the voice of Charlotte Temple even now, and it seems to me, when I close my eyes, as if I could not only hear, but see her, and—

"She sits at God's own side
And sings as she used to do."

( Bab. )