According to the libretto, the wood-nymphs, terrified by a hunting-
party, ran to take refuge with the water-nymphs. The water-nymphs
were late likewise. The dryads came suddenly through Mrs. Noxon's
imported shrubs, puncturing them with rhythmic attitudes. These lost
something of their poetry from being held so long that equilibria
were lost foolishly.
Finally, the water-sprites came forth from cleverly managed
concealment in a bower and stood mid-thigh in the water about
the fountain. They attitudinized also, with a kind of childish
poetry that did not quite convince, for the fountain rained on
them, and some of them shivered as cold gouts of water smote their
shoulder-blades. One little Yiddish nymph gasped, "Oi, oi!" which
was perfect Greek, though she didn't know it. Neither did anybody
else. Several people snickered.
The hunting-music died away, and the wood-nymphs decided not to go
into the water home; instead, they implored the water-nymphs to come
forth from their liquid residence. But the water-nymphs refused.
The dryads tried to lure them with gestures and dances. It was all
dreadfully puerile, and yet somehow worth while.
The wood-nymphs wreathed a human chain about the marge of the pool.
Unfortunately the marble had been splashed in spots by the fountain
spray, and it was on the slipperiest of the spots that Kedzie had to
execute a pirouette.
Her pivotal foot slid; the other stabbed down in a wild effort
to restore her balance.
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