Seats were begged and borrowed, and all the cooks in town made
cake with fury and pride for the great affair. The tickets were sold
without much trouble, and the girls had no end of fun in rehearsing the
tableaux which were decided on as preferable in an entertainment given
by the King's Daughters, because in tableaux everybody has something to
do. Grace was to read from "Young Lucretia" and a poem by Hetta Lord
Hayes Ward, a lovely poem about a certain St. Bridget who trudges up to
heaven's gate, after her toiling years, and finds St. Peter waiting to
set it wide open. The poor, modest thing was an example of Keble's
lovely stanza:
"Meek souls there are who little dream
Their daily life an angel's theme,
Nor that the rod they bear so calm
In heaven may prove a martyr's palm."
Very much astonished at her reception, she is escorted up to the serene
heights by tall seraphs, who treat her with the greatest reverence. By
and by along comes a grand lady, one of Bridget's former employers. She
just squeezes through the gate, and then,
"Down heaven's hill a radiant saint
Comes flying with a palm,
'Are you here, Bridget O'Flaherty?'
St. Bridget cries, 'Yes ma'am.'
"'Oh, teach me, Bridget, the manners, please,
Of the royal court above.'
'Sure, honey dear, you'll aisy learn
Humility and love.'"
I haven't time to tell you all about the entertainment, and there is no
need.
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