“ ‘We’re Nazi brambles!’ ” Alf proclaimed. “ ‘I’m Goebbels!’ ” and opened his branchy arms to reveal a picture on his chest of the Nazi propaganda minister.

“ ‘I’m Göring!’ ” Bess said.

“ ‘I’m …’ ” Trot shifted from one foot to the other, frowning, and then looked at Polly. “ ‘I’m …’ ”

“Himmler,” Polly whispered, but it didn’t help.

“Who am I?” Trot asked plaintively.

“You’re Himmler, you noddlehead,” Binnie said, sitting up on the bed. “I’m not a noddlehead!” Trot cried, and hit Alf, who was nearer, with her branch.

“Why isn’t that prompter here yet?” Sir Godfrey said, stomping onstage.

“I don’t know,” Polly said. “I’m worried that she—”

“You want me to go look for ’er?” Alf volunteered.

“No,” Sir Godfrey said. “Mr. Dorming! I need you on promptbook.”

Mr. Dorming nodded, stuck his paintbrush into his bucket, set them down where Alf was almost certain to knock them over, and went in search of the promptbook.

“Stop that,” Sir Godfrey said to Trot, who was still whaling away at Alf. “By God, it was easier to get Birnam Wood to Dunsinane than to get you six to do a five-minute scene.

“Line up,” he ordered the children, and looked over at Binnie. “Lie down. Take it again, from ‘We’re Nazi brambles!’ ”

And Sir Godfrey must have put the fear of God into Trot because she got her line and the ensuing “Song of the Brambles”—including their line about Fortress Europe, and the ending, which involved their lunging forward and thrusting their branches at Polly—letter-perfect.

“ ‘You shan’t stop me from getting through!’ ” Polly said, drawing her sword. “ ‘I’ll cut you down with my trusty sword, Churchill. En garde!’ ”

“Oh, no!” the children cried, and collapsed in a heap.

“No, no, no!” Sir Godfrey said, striding out onstage. “Not all at once.”

The children scrambled to their feet.

“You go down one after the other, like dominoes.” He put his hand on Bess’s head. “You first, then you, and you, on down the line.”

“They didn’t stick their branches up like they were s’posed to, neither,” Binnie said, sitting up on the bed.

“I did so—” Alf began.

Sir Godfrey silenced him with a look.

“And hold your branches up.” He turned to Binnie and roared, “Go back to sleep. Don’t move until you’re kissed.” To Polly, he muttered as he passed, “There is a reason Shakespeare never put children in his plays.”

“You’re forgetting the little princes.”

“Whom he had the good sense to murder in the second act. Again!”

Polly nodded, drew her sword, and stepped forward. “ ‘And my trusty shield—’ ”

There was a horrific crash somewhere backstage. Polly looked instantly at Alf, who was wearing his innocent expression.

“Can anything else happen tonight?” Sir Godfrey said, and stormed backstage, shouting, “And don’t follow me! When I come back, I expect you to be all the way through this scene and the next! And tell me the instant that carpenter arrives.”