This had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to show that the Father of his Country had to pay a high price for his glory.  The darkened stage represented what seemed to be a camp in a snow-storm, and a very forlorn camp, too; for on “the cold, cold ground” (a reckless display of cotton batting) lay ragged soldiers, sleeping without blankets, their worn-out boots turned up pathetically, and no sign of food or fire to be seen.  A very shabby sentinel, with feet bound in bloody cloths, and his face as pale as chalk could make it, gnawed a dry crust as he kept his watch in the wintry night.

A tent at the back of the stage showed a solitary figure sitting on a log of wood, poring over the map spread upon his knee, by the light of one candle stuck in a bottle.  There could be no doubt who this was, for the buff-and-blue coat, the legs, the nose, the attitude, all betrayed the great George laboring to save his country, in spite of privations, discouragements, and dangers which would have daunted any other man.

“Valley Forge,” said someone, and the room was very still as old and young looked silently at this little picture of a great and noble struggle in one of its dark hours.  The crust, the wounded feet, the rags, the snow, the loneliness, the indomitable courage and endurance of these men touched the hearts of all, for the mimic scene grew real for a moment; and, when a child’s voice broke the silence, asking pitifully, “Oh, mamma, was it truly as dreadful as that?” a general outburst answered, as if every one wanted to cheer up the brave fellows and bid them fight on, for victory was surely coming.

In the next scene it did come, and “Washington at Trenton” was prettily done.  An arch of flowers crossed the stage, with the motto, “The Defender of the Mothers will be the Preserver of the Daughters;” and, as the hero with his generals advanced on one side, a troop of girls, in old-fashioned muslin frocks, came to scatter flowers before him, singing the song of long ago:—­

  “Welcome, mighty chief, once more
  Welcome to this grateful shore;
  Now no mercenary foe
  Aims again the fatal blow,—­
  Aims at thee the fatal blow.

  “Virgins fair and matrons grave,
  Those thy conquering arm did save,
  Build for thee triumphal bowers;
  Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers,—­
  Strew your hero’s way with flowers.”

And they did, singing with all their hearts as they flung artificial roses and lilies at the feet of the great men, who bowed with benign grace.  Jack, who did Lafayette with a limp, covered himself with glory by picking up one of the bouquets and pressing it to his heart with all the gallantry of a Frenchman; and when Washington lifted the smallest of the maids and kissed her, the audience cheered.  Couldn’t help it, you know, it was so pretty and inspiring.

The Washington Family, after the famous picture, came next, with Annette as the serene and sensible Martha, in a very becoming cap.  The General was in uniform, there being no time to change, but his attitude was quite correct, and the Custis boy and girl displayed the wide sash and ruffled collar with historic fidelity.  The band played “Home,” and every one agreed that it was “Sweet!”