Joe was born in Philadelphia, but his parents went to Washington soon after. They lived in a house whose back hall led right into the side entrance of a theater. As soon as he could walk about by himself, little Joe used to run through this hall and play all day long in the empty theater, behind the scenes. Out in that part of the old building there were all kinds of stage settings piled up behind the wings. There were large pieces of canvas painted to look like an Italian lake, or an English garden, or a Roman palace. There was a tiny cottage, with a real door just big enough for Joe to squeeze through and slam behind him. He used to pretend that he owned this cottage. There were throne chairs for the make-believe kings and queens to sit in, a robber's cave, and a lovely board and canvas bank, covered with moss and flowers. Two or three children often joined Joe here, and they gave plays which they made up themselves. Oh, it was such an odd, exciting place to play in! In the dressing-room of this old theater was a large mirror, and Joe loved to stand before this and act little bits of certain plays which he had heard his parents recite. His mother was a singer, and his father both an actor and manager, so Joe, being just across the hall, was often carried on to the stage when some play called for a baby or small child. Then, too, some evenings he would escape from his nurse, and, in his night-dress, peep in through the door of the dressing-room and watch the actors making up for their parts. When Joe was four, a friend of the family was making a great success of a negro part called "Jim Crow." A good deal of dancing and singing went with it, and it was no time at all before little Joe could copy the man perfectly. This made Rice, the friend, pleased enough, and he insisted that Joe should go through the part in public. Rice was more than six feet tall, and Joe was a tiny four-year-old child. You don't wonder, I am sure, when the two stood on the stage, side by side, dressed exactly alike, that the audience shouted with laughter. First the big Jim Crow would sing a verse and dance, and then the tiny Jim would do the same. The people in the audience kept clapping their hands for more and threw silver coins on to the stage for the child, until stage hands, after the curtain went down, picked up twenty-four dollars and gave them to Joe. In spite of Joe's being most carefully trained by his parents to tell the truth and say his prayers, he did, when he was small, let his fancy run away with him sometimes, and to a dear old lady, always dressed in stiffly starched frills, black gown and mitts, who kept a book and notion store, he told stories of horrors that never really happened. No doubt he liked to see her hold up her hands in dismay as he described some imaginary runaway accident, and no doubt he liked to have her run to bring him a nice, cool drink to "steady his nerves after such a shocking sight!"