Busy weeks followed. Mr. Farrar frequently came and went--of course to
see Gertrude, but often their afternoon drive together was only to and
from the parsonage gate.
Finally the day for the concert was set. Artists from a distance were
engaged, and the children’s rehearsal commenced. Chesterfield life had
begun to lag. For the farmers it was less dull than for the townsfolk,
on account of the haying. But gossip was scarce, and the news of a
concert ahead was a genuine treat.
“Now I wouldn’t snap my fingers to hear the school youngsters holler,
but regular music fellers from the city--that’s something we don’t get
a chance at every day.”
The choir-leader made this remark with his usual nasal drawl. The big
bulletin of the coming event was being fastened against the wall of
the post-office. A little knot of men and boys had gathered around.
“Well, I don’t know as I could ’zactly afford to pay for city finery,
but as Sadie and Bill are both a-going to sing, mother ’n’ me cal’ated
as how we’d have to see they did right proper,” replied wee Sadie’s
grandpa.
“Stuff and nonsense,” growled the doctor, as he peered impatiently at
the postmistress, as though that meek little person was to blame for
the tardiness of a letter, “waste of time and money.” But the doctor
was a bachelor, and “took in the shows,” so the people said, during his
city trips. He was a gruff man, and though they had often proved his
kind-heartedness in a case of measles, or scarlet fever, small urchins
stepped aside with alacrity as he passed.
“Some on you is wrong, and some on you is maybe right,” said Bill
Saulswick, the village wag and philosopher, “but I know good tunes
when I hears ’um; just gimme the sort, be it fiddlin’, or singin’, or
drummin’,--that tells me why I’m who, and which I’m what, and when I’m
where, and I’ll sit there till the lights go out.”
While the villagers enjoyed the gossip, poor little Chee was in a whirl
of excitement. Her days seemed a series of ups and downs. At times she
could hardly wait for the great day to arrive, then in a moment her
heart would sink with terror, and she would hide herself for hours
until she had conquered the temptation to tell Cousin Gertrude she must
break her promise. But she came of a sturdy, resolute race,--to falter
would be worse than to fail, so she struggled with herself, Gertrude
claiming more and more of her time as the eventful day drew nearer.
“It do beat all,” Aunt Mean would exclaim, as from the pantry window
she watched the girls go through the meadow lot, “what Gertrude finds
so entertainin’ about that child. She hasn’t eyes for nobody but her,
gaddin’ off every day, or ridin’ to town. I should most expect her beau
would make some kind of a row over it.”
For they did “gad off” every pleasant day, sometimes to the grove to
plan, but more often to the minister’s. There Chee would practise on
Mr. Green’s violin, while Gertrude read or talked with Mrs. Green.
A few days before the concert, Mr. Farrar met them that he might hear,
for the last time, Chee’s piece.
“Cousin Herman, if I play very well indeed, will you please say ‘yes’
to something?”
“That’s rather broad,” replied the gentleman; “suppose I can’t say
‘yes.’”
“Oh, but I know you can, just as well as not.”
“What is it about?”
Chee flushed a little, but answered, smilingly, “Clothes.”
“Ho, ho, that’s it! Well, I guess I can go it.”
Mr. Farrar considered himself an apt student of human nature. “It’s
only natural the child should have a little pride. It’s a good thing
Gertrude intends to see to a gown for her.” So said the young man to
himself, little doubting the exact nature of Chee’s request.
Satisfied with his promise to say “yes,” the little girl began to play
her chosen piece.
It had taken so long to make a selection from her old pieces, Cousin
Herman had bought several new ones--marvels of creation they were to
Chee. “Fixed up with the baby songs all in,” as she styled the turns
and trills. She had tried to play true to the notes, but it was a hard
task. To-day as she was conscientiously measuring them out, he left the
room a moment to speak with the minister. Returning, he was surprised
at the progress she had made in his absence. Thinking his presence had
hindered her, he stole softly to the door.
With a listening expression on her face, Chee was slowly pacing the
floor. The sheet of music lay on the table, face down. Undoubtedly, as
Mr. Farrar recalled the selection, it was the one she was playing--but
how changed! It seemed to have been but the framework for the little
artist to build upon.
She finished, and brushing the damp hair from her warm forehead, looked
up. Cousin Herman stood in the doorway. Chee glanced at the neglected
sheet of music with a guilty look. “I forgot, Cousin Herman, I really
did,” she explained, hurriedly.
“I guess you needn’t bother with the notes. I see you have the melody
in your head.” He tried to speak unconcernedly.
Chee was relieved. “I’m ever so glad. You don’t know how much easier it
will be.”
“After you have a teacher I suppose it will be necessary to tie you
down to accurate reading, but until then we won’t spoil your own way.”
The minister came in just then, followed by his wife and Gertrude. “Is
the lesson over?” he asked.
“Cousin Herman has got to say ‘yes’ now.”
“Say ‘yes?’ What to?”
“That’s just what he hasn’t been told,” replied Mr. Farrar.
Going to him, Chee drew down his head, that she might whisper in his
ear. He looked perplexed. A private consultation followed, much to the
amusement of the others in the room.
At first he seemed hard to persuade, but finally yielded, and Chee left
him with a satisfied, “That’s a good Cousin Herman.”
“Gertrude,” he said at parting, “you needn’t order Chee’s dress; that
matter has already been attended to.”
Gertrude was not only astonished, she was disappointed, and started to
speak, then checked herself.
“After all, Herman must know what he is about. I’ll leave it to him.”
Gertrude had learned one lesson; it could not be forgotten soon.