ITALIAN MARIONETTE SHOW 172 MARIONETTES AT THE CHICAGO LITTLE THEATRE 174 THE DEATH OF CHOPIN 178 SHADOWY WATERS 182 TONY SARG’S MARIONETTES BEHIND THE SCENES 184 A TRICK PUPPET 188 GERMAN PUPPET SHOW FOR CHILDREN 196 ENGLISH TOY THEATRE 200 PATTERNS FOR THE MARIONETTE BODY DRAWN BY MAX KALISH 222 DIAGRAMS FOR THE CONSTRUCTION OF A MARIONETTE STAGE 226 _How I Came to Write a Book on Puppets_ We were rehearsing laboriously. Some of our marionettes were finished; the rest we borrowed from the cast of _Tintagiles_. The effect was curious with Belangere and Ygraine acting as sentinels in their blue and green gowns. The play we were rehearsing was eventually given up. For various reasons the little puppets about to be presented to you never displayed themselves before the public. Undeniable facts, but for my story quite irrelevant and inconsequential. It was late and everyone else in the house had retired. I sat up all alone, diligently sewing. Alone? Grouped around me in various stages of completion sat the miniature members of the cast. I worked quietly, much absorbed. Off in the corner there was a clock, ticking. The Chief Prophet of the Stars lay in my hands, impressive by virtue of his flowing white beard, even without the high purple hat. I rested a moment, straightening a weary back. One long white arm of his was pointing at me. He said: “Do not pity yourself. Despite your backache you are having a lovely time.” I am sure he said this. I did not answer. How could I? It was true. Near by was the black-robed Priest with the auburn beard. “Even so,” he agreed, “her fingers are happy: her tongue may not complain!” “It is an honor to be permitted to dress us,” pompously proclaimed the Chamberlain. He was perched upon the mantel. His queer, stiff beard having been but recently shellacked was now in the process of drying. He was a balloon shaped, striking fellow arrayed in orange. “She must finish my high hat to-night,” said the Chief Prophet of the Stars, “and see that my whiskers are decently trimmed. Then she may retire.” “No,” whimpered one of the spotty Spies from the floor, “she promised to brighten my spots for tomorrow.” Then, in a loud aside, “She will probably get my strings twisted while painting the spots. Serve her right. She was too impatient to show me off yesterday. One should finish the _spots first_, say I.” Ungrateful wretch, to be grumbling! But he crawled and crept along the stage so wonderfully I hadn’t the heart to chide him.