he discovers that the goose has the magical property that all who touch it are unable to get free again. The daughters of the inn-keeper become fixed, and the boy walks away followed by the three girls in a row. In the fields he meets the Parson, who cries shame on the girls for thus pursuing a young man, and, in seeking to restrain them, he himself becomes attached to the procession. Other folk are drawn in as the boy continues his course, each one in turn becoming fastened to the tail of the procession. Now there is at the court a Princess who cannot laugh, and the King her father has promised her hand in marriage to the man who shall undo this melancholy imperfection. The boy comes before the Princess, and causes her to laugh heartily at the motley crew which he draws in his train. So he marries the Princess, and they live happily ever after.

Note that certain elements of the fairy tale, as it is to be found in Grimm, have already been shed. We have dropped out at the start the experiences of the two elder brothers. The elder brothers are a conventional part of many folk-tales; and they might be retained in our play out of a respect for tradition. But they are not essential. Two of the playboys during the first actings might be glad to try parts as the elder brothers, to chop wood, to converse with the little old man of the woods, to refuse him hospitality, and then to meet with some misfortune in consequence. But if all this is acted twice over before we get to the youngest son, who is to find the golden goose, the class of playmakers will certainly say during their discussion that this is a very bad opening. They will see that the only possible way is to begin with the youngest son. If it is thought desirable not to cast out the elder brothers altogether from the story, the youngest boy can refer to them and their experiences in his opening soliloquy.

The other chief excision is at the end of the story. We finish our play when the boy has made the Princess laugh and so is entitled to marry her. We may claim, if we like, that the further conditions subsequently imposed by the bargainbreaking King her father do not necessarily concern us as playmakers. We have made the Princess laugh with our entertainment, and no further considerations, whether of

eating, of drinking, or of travel by land and by water shall be allowed to complicate the dénouement. But we must allow a true discussion of the point, for certain boys may wish to act the play out to a finish. All praise to them, for in a mere going over the ground one may sometimes pick up a rich find. It is quite possible that two comedians acting the parts of the hungry man and the thirsty man could by persuasive demonstration effect what sound argument would not at first accept. There is certainly something quite promising about these two fellows. One, according to Grimm, has "a very miserable face"; and he says, "Oh, I suffer such dreadful thirst that nothing seems able to quench it; and cold water I cannot endure. I have emptied a cask of wine already, but it was just like a drop of water on a hot stone." This is an inviting figure for a comic interlude; one, moreover, with an expressive style of speech. The hungry fellow is an equally engaging figure. “There sat a man binding himself round tightly with a belt, and making the most horrible faces." He reminds one of an allegorical figure in one of the old plays.

Now the two comedians who ask to be allowed to try and create these parts in the first actings might make an excellent piece of work out of them. In the discussion that follows, they, and those who think with them, are in favour of carrying the story on in order to include these two characters. They have the strong argument on their side that the master has often told them to look to the story-to trust their sources pretty thoroughly. The player who represents the little old man of the woods is also on their side, for the inclusion of these two persons will give him another appearance at the end of the play, instead of his being sent to bed at noon. The King would also be glad to have his part fattened. Against this party are the wise plot-managers who think it best to end the play when the Princess is won in her laughing. The boy and the Princess and the whole train of folk in the wake of the goose will vote with the plot-managers, if they have a right idea of their parts and are duly standing up for the characters they represent. For it is to the interest of all these that the play should not tail off into a series of comic interludes. And so a great consult begins, and discussion is rife.

If the reader has taken the pains to turn up the story in Grimm, and to follow this account of it as the nucleus of a playmaking business, what, in his opinion, will the master be thinking while the boys are busy with their talk? It is clear that some decision must be made by the master. And he will be wise to give good reasons for his verdict, so that the losers will learn something and not feel merely sat upon. On all such occasions there is an opportunity to teach the whole company something of good sense in dramatic craftsmanship and something of good taste in literature. I take this trifling instance of the tail-end of a simple story because it affords a useful illustration of the way in which playmaking can be connected with the study of literature. Of course all but the practical things must be postponed until the master's lessons later on in the playmaking. Some considerations must be postponed even further, for there are many studies in literature which are beyond a class of average Littlemen; and these must be taught to a select few of them in private tuition out of school, or put off altogether until the boys have reached sixth-form standard. It may perhaps be asked what lessons in literature could possibly be taught in connexion with so simple a tale.

Well, while the Littlemen are debating the claims of the thirsty man and the hungry man to have a part in their play, let us imagine that the thoughts of the playmaster wander. From this starting-point of play in the making, he comes to think of play already made. He thinks of the folklegends, of the origin and handing down of these old tales. He thinks of the attempted interpretation of myth and legend by students of folk-lore, and wonders if they would interpret the lure of the goose as auri sacra fames. He wonders what they would make of the King's strange demand for a man who could drink all the wine in his cellar, and eat up a whole mountain of bread, and bring him a ship that could travel by land and by sea. Next the playmaster wonders whether it would be wise for him, since boys of twelve cannot perhaps be expected to create characters in a real literary sense, to make them model their work on early drama, and make the persons of their play (their kings, princesses, knights, younger sons; their villains, magicians, dwarfs, and fairies) conventional figures