The Shadowed Star
Episode #16
VOICE: Is anybody listening?!
SOUND: (HEARTBEATS)
VOICE: Is anybody listening?
(MUSIC ... THEME ... IN)
ANNOUNCER: Is anybody listening ... to this half-hour-long program designed to
bring you something interesting and unusual in the field of radio drama?
Well, if anybody IS listening, you'll hear something called "The Shadowed
Star" -- a radio drama based on the play by Mary MacMillan.
(MUSIC ... THEME ... OUT)
--
ANNOUNCER: In late 1922, Station WLW of Cincinnati, Ohio, was among the first
radio stations in America to broadcast drama on a regular basis. On December
22nd of that year, a one-act play by local author Mary MacMillan was presented
-- "The Shadowed Star" -- one of the earliest broadcasts ever of a Christmas
play. Here, then, is a contemporary audio production of "The Shadowed Star":
(MUSIC ... FOR AN INTRODUCTION ... THEN IN BG)
NARRATOR: The time is Christmas Eve. The place is a very bare room in a very
poor tenement house -- uncarpeted, the boards being much worn, and from the
walls the bluish whitewash has scaled away. There is a window that looks out
on a black night; a door; a cooking stove with a feeble fire; and a round,
worn dining table on which stands the stunted scraggily bit of an evergreen-
tree. In the corner is a bed on which lies a sick, pallid woman named Mary.
Mary's mother, a very old woman, sits in a nearby rocking chair, talking to
herself.
(MUSIC ... OUT)
SOUND: (CHAIR ROCKS GENTLY IN BG)
THE OLD WOMAN. David an' Michael might be kapin' the Christmas wid us to-
morrow night if we hadn't left the ould counthry. They'd never be crossin' the
sea -- all the many weary miles o' wetness an' fog an' cold to be kapin' it
wid us here in this great house o' brick walls in a place full o' strange
souls. They would never be for crossin' all that weary, cold, green wather,
groanin' an' tossin' like it was the grave o' sivin thousan' divils. Ah, but
it would be a black night at sea.
If they hadn't to cross that wet, cold sea they'd maybe come. But wouldn't
they be afeard o' this great city, an' would they iver find us here? Six
floors up, an' they niver off the ground in their lives. What would ye be
thinkin'? (NO ANSWER) What would ye be thinkin'? Mary, have ye gone clane to
slape?
THE WOMAN. (SIGHS, SICK AND WEARY, HER THROAT SORE) No, mother, I on'y wisht I
could. Maybe they'll come -- I don't know, but father an' Michael wasn't much
for thravel. Maybe they'll not come, yet - (SLOWLY) - maybe I'll be kapin' the
Christmas wid them there.
THE OLD WOMAN. (IGNORES THE LAST SENTENCE, LOST IN MEMORIES) No, they'll niver
be lavin' the ould land, the green land, the home land. I'm wishing I was
there wid thim.
Maybe we'd have a duck an' potatoes, an' maybe something to drink to kape us
warm against the cold. An' the boys would all be dancin' an' the girls have
rosy cheeks.
SOUND: (DURING ABOVE, FOOTSTEPS IN THE HALL ... THEN, A KNOCK AT THE DOOR)
THE WOMEN. Come in ...
SOUND: (DOOR OPENS)
THE NEIGHBOR. Good avnin' to ye, ladies; I came in to ask if I might borrow
the loan o' a bit o' tay, not havin' a leaf of it left.
THE WOMAN. (BETWEEN COUGHS) We have a little left, Mrs. Nolan, just enough --
we was savin' for ourselves to-night, but you're welcome to it -- maybe the
girls will bring some. Will ye get it for her, mother? Or she can help herself
-- it's in the safe. It's on the lower shelf among the cups an' saucers an'
plates.
THE NEIGHBOR. Thank ye.
SOUND: (NEIGHBOR GOES TO SAFE ... CLATTER OF PLATES, GLASSES, ETC.)
THE NEIGHBOR. I'm, ah, not findin' it readily.
SOUND: (MORE CLATTER, CRINKLE OF PAPER)
THE NEIGHBOR. Here's a tiny paper bag with an ounce perhaps o' tay in it. It's
just a scrap, though!
THE OLD WOMAN. To be sure! We use so much tay! We're that exthravagant!
THE NEIGHBOR. It hurts me to take it from ye -- maybe I'd better not.
THE OLD WOMAN. The girls will bring more. We always have a cupboard full o'
things. We're always able to lend to our neighbors.
THE NEIGHBOR. It's in great luck, ye are. For some of us be so poor we don't
know where the next bite's comin' from. An' this winter whin iverything's
high an' wages not raised, a woman can't find enough to cook for her man's
dinner. It isn't that ye don't see things -- oh, they're in the markets an'
the shops, an' it makes yer mouth wather as ye walk along the sthrates this
day before the Christmas to see the turkeys an' the ducks ye'll niver ate, an'
the little pigs an' the or'nges an' bananies an' cranberries an' the cakes an'
nuts an' -- it's worse, I'm thinkin', to see thim whin there's no money to buy
than it was in the ould counthry, where there was nothing to buy wid the money
ye didn't have.
THE WOMAN. (GASPING, SHORT OF BREATH) It's all one to us poor folk whether
there be things to buy or not. I'm on'y thinkin' o' the clane air at home --
if I could have a mornin' o' fresh sunshine -- these fogs an' smoke choke me
so. The girls would take me out to the counthry if they had time an' I'd get
well. But they haven't time. (BRIEF COUGHING FIT)
THE OLD WOMAN. But it's like to be bright on Christmas Day. It wouldn't iver
be cloudy on Christmas Day, an' maybe even now the stars would be crapin' out
an' the air all clear an' cold an' the moon a-shinin' an' iverything so sthill
an' quiet an' gleamin' an' breathless - (WHISPERS) - awaitin' on the Blessed
Virgin.
But look out the window here, Mrs. Nolan. No, there's not a sthar, not one
little twinklin' sthar, an how'll the shepherds find their way? Iverything's
dull an' black an' the clouds are hangin' down heavy an' sthill. How'll the
shepherds find their way without the sthar to guide thim? (ALMOST WHIMPERING)
An' David an' Michael will niver be crossin' that wet, black sea! An' the
girls -- how'll they find their way home? They'll be lost somewhere along by
the hedges. Ohone, ohone!
THE NEIGHBOR. Now, grannie, what would ye be sayin'? There's niver a hedge
anywhere but granite blocks an' electric light poles an' plenty o' light in
the city for thim to see all their way home. (TO THE WOMAN) Say, where are yer
daughters, Mary? Ain't they late, the both of thim?
THE WOMAN. They're always late, an' they kape gettin' lather an' lather.
THE NEIGHBOR. Yis, av course, the sthores is all open in the avnin's before
Christmas.
THE WOMAN. They go so early in the mornin' an' get home so late at night, an'
they're so tired.
THE NEIGHBOR. They're lucky to be young enough to work an' not be married. Ah,
well. I've got to go home to the childer an' give thim their tay. Pat's gone
to the saloon again, an' to-morrow bein' Christmas I misdoubt he'll be
terrible dhrunk again, an' me on'y jist well from the blow in the shoulder the
last time.
THE OLD WOMAN. Sthay an' kape Christmas wid us. We're goin' to have our
celebratin' to-night on Christmas Eve, the way folks do here. I like it best
on Christmas Day, the way 'tis in the ould counthry, but here 'tis Christmas
Eve they kape. We're waitin' for the girls to come home to start things --
they knowin' how -- Mary an' me on'y know how to kape Christmas Day as 'tis at
home. But the girls'll soon be here, an' they'll have the tree an' do the
cookin' an' all, an we'll kape up the jollity way into the night.
THE NEIGHBOR. (SURPRISED AND DISTURBED, BUT TRIES TO HIDE IT) Nay, if Pat
came home dhrunk an' didn't find me, he'd kill me. We have all to be movin'
on to our own throubles. G'night, Mary. G'night, grannie.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS OUT, DOOR CLOSES, FOOTSTEPS AWAY DOWN THE HALL ... ROCKING
CHAIR RESUMES ROCKING GENTLY)
THE OLD WOMAN. (CROONS WORDLESSLY IN A HIGH, BROKEN VOICE IN TIME WITH THE
ROCKER)
THE WOMAN. (INTERRUPTS WITH A COUGHING FIT, AFTER A PAUSE) If I could on'y be
in the counthry!
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COMING UP THE HALL)
THE OLD WOMAN. Someone's in the hall. Maybe that would be the girls comin'!
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COME UP TO DOOR AND THEN GO BY, AWAY DOWN THE HALL)
THE OLD WOMAN. (DISSAPOINTED) Ah, they went by. (APPREHENSIVE) If David and
Michael was to come now an' go by -- there bein' no sthar to guide thim!
THE WOMAN. Nay, mother, 'twas the shepherds that was guided by the sthar an'
to the bed o' the Blessed Babe.
THE OLD WOMAN. Aye, so 'twas. What be I thinkin' of? The little Blessed Babe!
But they could not find Him tonight. 'Tis so dark an' no sthars shinin'.
An' what would shepherds do in a ghreat city like this? 'Twould be lost they'd
be, quicker than in any bog. Think ye, Mary, that the boys would be hootin'
thim an' the p'lice, maybe, would want to be aristin' thim for loitherin'.
They'd niver find the Blessed Babe, an' they'd have to be movin' on.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COMING UP THE HALL)
THE OLD WOMAN. That would sure be the girls this time!
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COME UP TO DOOR AND THEN GO BY, AWAY DOWN THE HALL)
THE OLD WOMAN. (SIGHS) Ah, but 'tis weary waitin'!
'Twas on that day that David an' me was plighted -- a brave Christmas Day wid
a shinin' sun an' a sky o' blue wid fair, white clouds. An' David an' me met
at the early mass in the dark o' the frosty mornin' afore the sun rose -- an
there was all day good times an' a duck for dinner and puddin's an' a party at
the O'Brady's in the evenin', whin David an me danced. Ah, but he was a
beautiful dancer, an' me, too -- I was as light on my feet as a fairy. (CROONS
AN OLD DANCE TUNE)
SOUND: (IN BG, THE OLD WOMAN'S FOOTSTEPS AS SHE ATTEMPTS TO DANCE, TIRING
QUICKLY)
THE OLD WOMAN. Aye, but I danced like a fairy, an' there was not another
couple so sprightly an' handsome in all the country.
(WEAKLY) Ah, but I be old now, and the strength fails me.
SOUND: (DURING ABOVE, SHE SLUMPS INTO THE ROCKER AND BEGINS TO ROCK SLOWLY)
THE OLD WOMAN. 'Twas the day before the next Christmas that Michael was born
-- the little man, the little white dove, my little son!
THE WOMAN. (COUGHS) Mother, could ye get me a cup o' wather? If the girls was
here to get me a bite to ate, maybe it would kape the breath in me the night.
SOUND: (THE OLD WOMAN STOPS ROCKING, RISES, WALKS TO WATER PAIL, DIPS TIN CUP,
DURING FOLLOWING:)
THE OLD WOMAN. Ye should thry to get up an' move about some, so ye can enjoy
the Christmas threat. 'Tis bad bein' sick on Christmas.
SOUND: (THE OLD WOMAN WALKS TO MARY)
THE OLD WOMAN. Try, now, Mary, to sit up a bit. The girls'll be wantin' ye to
be merry wid the rest av us.
THE WOMAN. (SAD, WISTFUL) I wouldn't spoil things for the girls if I could
help. Maybe, mother, if ye'd lift me a little I could sit up.
SOUND: (THE WOMEN STRUGGLE, GRUNT WITH EFFORT, THE GIVE UP, PANTING FOR
BREATH)
THE WOMAN. (GASPS) Maybe I'll feel sthronger lather whin the girls come home
-- they could help me -- they be so late!
Maybe I'll be sthrong again in the mornin'-- if I'd had a cup of coffee. --
Maybe I could get up -- an' walk about -- an' do the cookin'.
SOUND: (DURING ABOVE, FOOTSTEPS IN THE HALL ... THEN, A KNOCK AT THE DOOR)
THE WOMEN. Come in ...
SOUND: (DOOR OPENS)
THE WOMAN. Well, if it isn't Tim, the little messenger boy. Why, Tim, boy,
come in. Sit ye down an' rest, ye're lookin' weary.
THE OLD WOMAN. Come to the stove, Timmie, man, an' warm yourself. We always
kape a warm room an' a bright fire for our visitors.
THE BOY. (APOLOGETIC) I was awful cold an' hungry an' I come home to get
somethin' to eat before I started out on another trip, but my sisters ain't
home from the store yit, an' the fire's gone out in the stove, an' the room's
cold as outside. I thought maybe ye'd let me come in here an' git warm. The
cars are so beastly col' an' so crowded a feller mostly has to stand on the
back platform.
THE OLD WOMAN. Poor orphan! Poor lamb! To be shure ye shall get warm by our
sthove.
THE BOY. No, thank ye -- I don't want to go so near the stove yet; my feet's
all numb an' they allays hurt so when they warms up fast.
THE OLD WOMAN. Thin sit ye down off the sthove.
THE BOY. If ye don't mind I'd rather stand on 'em 'til they gets a little used
to it. They been numb off an' on mos' all day.
THE WOMAN. Ye look fearful tired and worn, Timmie. Soon as yer sisters come,
ye'd betther go to bed -- 'Tis the best place to get warm.
THE BOY. I can't -- I got 'most a three-hour trip yet. I won't get home any
'fore midnight if I don't get lost, and maybe I'll get lost -- I did onct out
there. I've got to take a box o' 'Merican Beauty roses to a place eight mile
out, an' the house ain't on the car track, but nearly a mile off, the boss
said. I wisht they could wait till mornin', but the orders was they just got
to get the roses to-night. You see, out there they don' have no gas goin'
nights when there's a moon, an' there'd ought to be a moon to-night, on'y the
clouds is so thick there ain't no light gets through.
THE OLD WOMAN. There's no sthar shinin' to-night, Tim. (SLOW AND SAD) Niver a
sthar. An' the shepherds will be havin' a hard time, Tim, like you, findin'
their way.
THE BOY. Shepherds? In town? What shepherds?
THE WOMAN. She manes the shepherds on Christmas Eve that wint to find the
Blessed Babe, Jesus.
THE OLD WOMAN. 'Tis Christmas Eve, Timmie; ye haven't forgot that, have ye?
THE BOY. You bet I ain't. I know pretty well when Christmas is comin', by the
way I got to hustle, an' the size of the boxes I got to carry. Seems as if my
legs an' me would like to break up pardnership. I got to work till midnight
every night, an' I'm so sleepy I drop off in the cars whenever I get a seat.
An' the girls is at the store so early an' late they don't get time to cook me
nothin' to eat.
THE WOMAN. Be ye hungry, Timmie?
THE BOY. (SHYLY) No, I ain't hungry now.
THE WOMAN. Be ye shure, Timmie?
THE BOY. Oh, I kin go till I git home.
THE WOMAN. Mother, can't you find something for him to ate?
THE OLD WOMAN. To be shure, to be shure. We always kapes a full cupboard to
thrate our neighbors wid whin they comes in. (SLYLY) Ah, Timmie, lad, what:
would ye like to be havin', now? If you had the wish o' yer heart for yer
Christmas dinner an' a good fairy to set it all afore ye? Ye'd be wishin'
maybe, for a fine roast duck, to begin wid, in its own gravies an' some apple
sauce to go wid it; an' ye'd be thinkin' o' a little bit o' pig nicely browned
an' a plate o' potatoes; an' the little fairy woman would be bringin' yer
puddin's an' nuts an' apples an' a dish o' the swatest tay.
THE WOMAN. But, mother, you're not gettin' Tim something to ate.
THE BOY. She's makin' me mouth water all right.
THE OLD WOMAN. Maybe ye'll meet that little fairy woman out there in the
counthry road where ye're takin' the roses!
SOUND: (SHE BUSTLES ABOUT ... CLATTER OF JARS, DISHES, PLATES ... SETS TABLE)
THE OLD WOMAN. Here's salt an' here's pepper an' here's mustard an' a crock
full o' sugar, an', oh! Tim, here's some fine cold bacon -- fine, fat, cold
bacon -- an' here's half a loaf o' white wheat bread! Why, Timmie, lad, that's
just the food to make boys fat! Ye'll grow famously on it. 'Tis a supper, whin
ye add to it a dhrop o' iligant milk, that's fit for a king.
SOUND: (POURS MILK)
THE BOY. (QUIETLY) I ain't had nothin' since a wienerwurst at eleven o'clock.
THE OLD WOMAN. Now, dhraw up, Timmie, boy, an' ate yer fill; ye're more thin
welcome.
SOUND: (WITHOUT SITTING, THE BOY EATS AND DRINKS HUNGRILY FOR A MOMENT,
SMACKING HIS LIPS, ETC.)
THE WOMAN. (CONCERNED) Don't they niver give ye nothin' to ate at the gran'
houses when ye'd be takin' the roses?
THE BOY. (MOUTH FULL) Not them. They'd as soon think o' feedin' a telephone or
an automobile as me.
THE WOMAN. But don't they ask ye in to get warm whin ye've maybe come so far?
THE BOY. (BETWEEN BITES) No, they don't seem to look at me 'zacly like a
caller. They generally steps out long enough to sign the receipt-book an' shut
the front door behind 'em so as not to let the house get col' the length o'
time I'm standin' there. Well, I'm awful much obleeged to ye. Now, I got to be
movin' on.
THE OLD WOMAN. (INCREASINGLY DESPERATE) Sthop an' cilibrate the Christmas wid
us, Timmie. We ain't started to do nothin' yet because the girls haven't come
-- they know how -- an' they're goin' to bring things -- all kinds o' good
things to ate an' a branch of rowan berries -- ah, boy, a great branch o'
rowan wid scarlet berries shinin', an' we'll all be merry an' kape it up late
into the night.
THE BOY. (UNEASY AT HER TONE) I guess it's pretty late now. I got to make that
trip an' I guess when I get home I'll be so sleepy I'll jus' tumble in. Ye've
been awful good to me, an' it's the first time I been warm to-day. Good-by.
THE OLD WOMAN. (COAXING) Ah, don't ye go, Michael, lad! Now, bide wid us a
bit.
THE BOY. (SURPRISED) Michael?
THE OLD WOMAN. (PLEADING) Ah, boy, ah, Mike, bide wid us, now ye've come!
We've been that lonesome widout ye!
THE BOY. (FRIGHTENED) I've got to be movin'.
THE OLD WOMAN. No, Michael, little lamb, no!
THE BOY. (TERRIFIED) I got to go!
SOUND: (THE BOY RUSHES OUT, SLAMMING DOOR BEHIND HIM ... FOOTSTEPS AWAY DOWN
HALL DURING FOLLOWING:)
THE OLD WOMAN. (SOBS) Michael! (BREAKS INTO WEEPING) Michael ...
SOUND: (STILL WEEPING, SHE TOTTERS TO ROCKER AND SLUMPS INTO IT ... SOBBING
AND ROCKING FOR A MOMENT ... AND THEN:)
THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, to have him come an' go again, my little Michael, my own
little lad!
THE WOMAN. Don't ye, dearie; now, then, don't ye! 'Twas not Michael, but just
our little neighbor boy, Tim. Ye know, poor lamb, now if ye'll thry to
remember, that father an' Michael is gone to the betther land an' us is left.
THE OLD WOMAN. Nay, nay,'tis the fairies that took thim an' have thim now,
kapin' thim an' will not ever give thim back.
THE WOMAN. Whisht, mother! Spake not of the little folk on the Holy Night!
Have ye forgot the time o' all the year it is? Now, dhry yer eyes, dearie, an'
thry to be cheerful like 'fore the girls be comin' home.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COMING UP THE HALL)
THE WOMAN. Thim be the girls now, shure they be comin' at last.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS COME UP TO DOOR AND THEN GO BY, AWAY DOWN THE HALL)
THE WOMAN. But they'll be comin' soon.
SOUND: (THE ROCKING CHAIR ROCKS FOR A MOMENT ... MORE FOOTSTEPS COME UP THE
HALL ... THEN, A KNOCK AT THE DOOR)
THE WOMEN. Come in ...
SOUND: (DOOR OPENS)
THE OLD WOMAN. Good avnin' to ye! We're that pleased to see our neighbors!
2ND NEIGHBOR. (IGNORES OLD WOMAN, SPEAKS ONLY TO MARY) Hello, Mary. How's yer
cough?
THE WOMAN. Oh, it's jist the same -- may be a little betther. If I could on'y
get to the counthry! But the girls must be workin'-- they haven't time to take
me. Sit down, won't ye?
SOUND: (NEIGHBOR WALKS TO WOMAN, SITS ON BED)
2ND NEIGHBOR. (SIGHS) I'm 'most dead, I'm so tired. I did two washin's to-day
--went out and did one this mornin' and then my own after I come home this
afternoon. I jus' got through sprinklin' it an' I'll iron to-morrow.
THE WOMAN. Not on Christmas Day!
2ND NEIGHBOR. (SNEERS) Christmas Day! Did ye hear 'bout the Beckers? Well,
they was all put out on the sidewalk this afternoon. Becker's been sick, ye
know, an' ain't paid his rent an' his wife's got a two weeks' old baby. It
sort o' stunned Mis' Becker, an' she sat on one of the mattresses out there
an' wouldn't move, an' nobody couldn't do nothin' with her. But they ain't the
only ones has bad luck -- Smith, the painter, fell off a ladder an' got
killed. They took him to the hospital, but it wasn't no use -- his head was
all mashed in. His wife's got them five boys an' Smith never saved a cent,
though he warn't a drinkin' man. It's a good thing Smith's children is boys
-- they can make their livin' easier!
THE WOMAN. (FAINT SMILE) Ain't ye got no cheerful news to tell? It's Christmas
Eve, ye know.
2ND NEIGHBOR. Christmas Eve don't seem to prevent people from dyin' an' bein'
turned out o' house an' home. Did ye hear how bad the dipthery is? They say
as how if it gits much worse they'll have to close the school in our ward.
Two o' the Homan childern's dead with it. The first one wasn't sick but two
days, an' they say his face all turned black 'fore he died. But it's a good
thing they're gone, for the Homans ain't got enough to feed the other six. Did
ye hear 'bout Jim Kelly drinkin' again? Swore off for two months, an' then
took to it harder'n ever -- perty near killed the baby one night.
THE WOMAN. (WEAKLY) Won't you please not tell me any more? It just breaks me
heart.
2ND NEIGHBOR. (GRIM) I ain't got no other kind o' news to tell. I s'pose I
might's well go home.
THE WOMAN. No, don't ye go. I like to have ye here when ye're kinder.
2ND NEIGHBOR. Well, it's gettin' late, an' I guess ye ought to go to sleep.
THE WOMAN. Oh, no, I won't go to slape till the girls come. They'll bring me
somethin' to give me strength. If they'd on'y come soon!
2ND NEIGHBOR. Ye ain't goin' to set up 'til they git home?
THE OLD WOMAN. That we are. We're kapin' the cilebratin' till they come.
2ND NEIGHBOR. What celebratin'?
THE OLD WOMAN. Why, the Christmas, to be shure. We're goin' to have high jinks
tonight. In the ould counthry 'tis always Christmas Day, but here 'tis begun
on Christmas Eve, an' we're on'y waitin' for the girls, because they know how
to fix things betther nor Mary an' me.
2ND NEIGHBOR. (STUNNED) But ain't they workin' in the store?
THE OLD WOMAN. Yes, but they're comin' home early to-night.
2ND NEIGHBOR. (LAUGHS IRONICALLY) Don't ye fool yerselves. Why, they've got to
work harder to-night than any in the whole year.
THE WOMAN. (WISTFUL) But they did say they'd thry to come home early.
2ND NEIGHBOR. The store's all crowded to-night. Folks 'at's got money to spend
never remembers it till the last minute. If they didn't have none they'd be
thinkin' 'bout it long ahead. Well, I got to be movin'. I wouldn't stay awake,
if I was you.
THE OLD WOMAN. Sthay and kape the Christmas wid us! We'll be havin' high jinks
by an' by. Sthay, now, an' help us wid our jollity.
2ND NEIGHBOR. Nay, I left my children in bed, an' I got to go back to 'em.
An' I got to get some rest myself -- I got that ironin' ahead o' me in the
mornin'. You folks better get yer own rest.
SOUND: (NEIGHBOR RISES AND WALKS TO DOOR)
THE OLD WOMAN. David an Michael's comin'.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS STOP ABRUPTLY)
THE OLD WOMAN. Yis, were goin' to havea gran' time. (HALF SINGING) David an'
Michael's comin' an' the shepherds for the fairies will show thim the way.
2ND NEIGHBOR. (UNEASILY, QUIETLY) I got to go.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS OUT, DOOR SHUTS, FOOTSTEPS AWAY DOWN THE HALL)
THE WOMAN. (AFTER A PAUSE, HALF ASSLEEP) If the girls would on'y come! If
they'd give me somethin' so as I wouldn't be so tired!
SOUND: (THE ROCKING CHAIR ROCKS)
THE OLD WOMAN. There's niver a sthar an' there's nobody to give thim a kind
word an' the counthry roads are dark an' foul, but they've got the little folk
to guide thim! An' whin they reach the city -- the poor, lonesome shepherds
from the hills! -- they'll find naught but coldness an' hardness an' hurry.
Will the Fairies show thim the way? Fairies' eyes be used to darkness, but can
they see where it is black night in one corner an' a blaze o' light in
another?
Nay, look out the window, Mary. There's niver a sthar, an' the clouds are
hangin' heavier an' lower an' the flakes o' snow are fallin'. Poor little
folk guidin' thim poor lost shepherds, leadin' thim by the hand so gently
because there's no others to be kind to thim, an' bringin' thim to the manger
o' the Blessed Babe.
(SPEAKS SLOWER AND LOWER, DROPS INTO A QUIET CROONING, THEN FALLS ASLEEP) Poor
little mite of a babe, so cold an' unwelcome an' forgotten save by the silly
ould shepherds from the hills! The silly ould shepherds from the strength
o' the hills, who are comin' through the darkness in the lead o' the little
folk!
SOUND: (THE ROCKING SLOWS TO A STOP)
NARRATOR: (AFTER A PAUSE) The pallid, sick woman on the bed dies. Her mother
being asleep does not notice the slight struggle with death.
THE WOMAN. (A GENTLE GASP)
NARRATOR: The fire has gone out in the stove, and the light in the lamp, and
the room is in complete darkness when two girls come stumbling in.
SOUND: (FOOTSTEPS IN THE HALL, THE DOOR OPENS)
NARRATOR: They are too tired to speak, too weary to show surprise that their
mother and grandmother are not awake.
They fumble about for a candle in the darkness and strike a match.
SOUND: (MATCH STRIKES)
NARRATOR: They light the candle and place it on the table by the scraggy
evergreen tree.
SOUND: (CANDLE SET DOWN)
NARRATOR: They see their grandmother asleep in the rocking chair.
They see their mother lying in her bed.
They stand gazing at her, the surprise, wonder, awe, misery, increasing in
their faces.
After a moment, they move to the bed, drop to their knees and bury their
faces, sobbing, in the bedclothes at the dead woman's feet.
(MUSIC ... TO A FINISH)
--
(MUSIC ... THEME ... IN)
ANNOUNCER: Is anybody listening? Well, you've been listening to "The Shadowed
Star" -- a radio drama based on the play by Mary MacMillan [a Cincinnati
author, who wrote plays and poetry and was actively in favor of woman's
suffrage. Her original one-act play was written for the Consumers League of
the City of Cincinnati, presented by the College Club, in Cincinnati, Ohio,
November 23, 1907. A version of the play was presented over Cincinnati radio
station WLW on December 22, 1922 -- one of the earliest broadcasts of a
Christmas play on American radio].
The Old Woman was played by ____________________.
Her daughter, Mary, was played by ____________________.
Others in the cast included: _____________, ____________, _____________, and
________________.
Music was by ______________________________________________________ .
And ___________________ and _____________________ handled the sound effects.
Next week, if anybody's listening, they'll hear something called ________.
(MUSIC ... THEME ... OUT)
SOUND: (HEARTBEATS)
VOICE: (WHISPERS) Is anybody listening?
SOUND: (HEARTBEATS ... FADE)