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 of organic growth in the form itself. Was there “story”, suspense, a plot that "held "? Were there acting values ? I, for one, could not tell. There was a rich humanity, I knew; there was marked creative power, I believed. Was there drama? I did not know.

At the first performance, many of these doubts were resolved. Maybe the inevitable changes which rehearsal brings accounted, in part at least, for the fact; but at all events there was clearly now a unified story, with plot, acting values and even, though in a lesser degree, suspense. That lovely “something” which I had heard read had become for me, quite definitely, a play. And if the category, as we know it, of “play” is not wide enough to include MR. BUNT, then so much the worse for the category.

The extraordinary charm of the production which MR. BUNT was given intensified this feel ing. First, there was the magic of that fairy glade which is Carmel's Forest Theater-the stillness of the great trees, the rare call of aa bird, the deep heart of night under the stars and near the sea; we came and we went by lantern light, and our voices and our feet fell gently on the pine needles and the quiet earth. Add to that spacious silence a simple beauty of staging and costume, delicate and unobtrusive lighting, sensi