And the audience were heard meanwhile taking the seats on the other side of the thin curtain. “You sit in front, Mrs. Bromwick; you are a little hard of hearing; sit where you can hear.” “And let Julia Fitch come where she can see,” said another voice. “And we have not any words for them to hear or see!” exclaimed John Osborne, behind the curtain. “Oh, I wish we’d never determined to have charades! exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza. “Can’t we return the money?” “They are all here; we must give them something!” said John Osborne, heroically. “And Solomon John is almost dressed,” reported Ann Maria, winding a veil around her head. “Why don’t we take Solomon John’s word ‘Hindoos’ for the first?” said Agamemnon. John Osborne agreed to go in the first, hunting the “hin,” or anything, and one of the little boys took the part of the hen, with the help of a feather duster. The bell rang, and the first scene began. It was a great success. John Osborne’s Irish was perfect. Nobody guessed the word, for the hen crowed by mistake; but it received great applause. Mr. Peterkin came on in the second scene to receive the water-rates, and made a long speech on taxation. He was interrupted by Ann Maria as an old woman in a huge bonnet. She persisted in turning her back to the audience, speaking so low nobody heard her; and Elizabeth Eliza, who appeared in a more remarkable bonnet, was so alarmed she went directly back, saying she had forgotten something But this was supposed to be the effect intended, and it was loudly cheered. Then came a long delay, for the little boys brought out a number of their friends to be browned for Hindoos. Ann Maria played on the piano till the scene was ready. The curtain rose upon five brown boys done up in blankets and turbans. “I am thankful that is over,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “for now we can act my word. Only I don’t myself know the whole.” “Never mind, let us act it,” said John Osborne, “and the audience can guess the whole.” “The first syllable must be the letter P,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “and we must have a school.” Agamemnon was master, and the little boys and their friends went on as scholars. All the boys talked and shouted at once, acting their idea of a school by flinging pea-nuts about, and scoffing at the master. “They’ll guess that to be ‘row,’” said John Osborne in despair; “they’ll never guess ‘P’!” The next scene was gorgeous. Solomon John, as a Turk, reclined on John Osborne’s army-blanket. He had on a turban, and a long beard, and all the family shawls. Ann Maria and Elizabeth Eliza were brought in to him, veiled, by the little boys in their Hindoo costumes.