THE MUSICAL PARTY.
AS time went on, Mrs. Randolph relaxed her vigilance over Mabel's
lessons. And it soon came to be the rule that whenever her aunt
and elder cousin spent the evening from home, she went down to the
drawing-room with Isabel and her uncle. It was a sort of stolen
pleasure that they all enjoyed, and for which Isabel dressed with even
more care than usual, wearing a white muslin or light silk dress for
these pleasant home evenings.
"Make yourself look as pretty as you can, Mabel," she would say, "for
papa likes pretty things." And so Mabel's one light silk dress was
frequently donned, and unfortunately soon lost its freshness—a fact,
however, that she scarcely noticed until it was announced that her aunt
would give a musical party, and her uncle suggested that she should
take an active part in it.
"Mabel can play better than most girls," he remarked one morning at
breakfast-time, when the musical party was being discussed. "What do
you say, Isabel?"
"Yes, indeed, papa, she can," replied the young lady. For Isabel had
generously insisted that as her cousin could play better than herself,
her father should enjoy the pleasure of hearing her when they all spent
the evening together.
Mabel had objected to this at first, knowing the delight her cousin
took in playing for her father. But Isabel protested, and it was indeed
the fact that Mabel could play with more feeling and expression, as
well as with more skill than herself, and, with rare self-denial, she
preferred that her father should receive all the pleasure possible,
even though that pleasure was ministered by another instead of herself.
And so Mr. Randolph could speak with some authority about Mabel's
skill as a musician. Of course she was delighted to be so praised; and
it rather added to her enjoyment to see that her cousin Julia looked
annoyed.
"I don't think we shall need to trouble Mabel," said that young lady.
"A musical party is not an examination of girls strumming."
"I tell you, Mabel does not strum," said Mr. Randolph with some warmth,
for he began to see that his niece was being slighted by his wife and
elder daughter.
Isabel gave a little nod of approval. She had grown very fond of her
cousin, and knew that it would gratify her to take part in this musical
display, and was determined that she should, if possible.
"You do not know how beautifully she plays, mamma," she said eagerly.
"You must let her take part in your party."
"Yes, yes, my dear; I insist upon that," said Mr. Randolph, without
giving his wife time to reply.
And to end the discussion and make this final, he rose from the
breakfast-table immediately afterwards and went out.
Mabel was delighted. She had been kept in the background long enough
she thought, and it was only fair that her uncle should interfere.
As soon as her music-master arrived, she told him the news, asking him
to help her in the selection of a piece that would be suitable for
such an occasion that she might begin practising at once. Of course
that gentleman was only too willing to help such a promising pupil to
display her talent. And knowing something of the company who would
assemble, he was not long in fixing upon a piece that he knew Mabel
could execute, and would be certain to attract the attention of the
company. And Mabel set to work upon it at once. For the next few days
every spare moment was given to the study of her music, but a bitter
disappointment awaited her.
When the music-master came the following week, her aunt met him at the
school-room door with a piece of music in her hand.
"Miss Mabel is to take part in a musical evening, and I wish her to
practise this for the occasion," she said when the usual greetings had
been exchanged.
"But—but Miss Mabel has already begun to practise a piece," said the
gentleman, running his eye over the sheet of music.
"That does not matter in the least. I desire that she shall play this.
My elder daughter thinks it most suitable for the occasion." And Mrs.
Randolph, with a polite good-morning, went back to the drawing-room,
leaving the discomfited schoolmaster in no enviable frame of mind.
Mabel and Isabel heard every word, as they sat in the school-room, and
they looked at each other in blank disappointment.
"Let me see it—let me see what Julia has chosen!" exclaimed Mabel,
in her usual impulsive fashion, almost forgetting her manners in her
excitement.
The gentleman placed the music in her hand.
"It is very beautiful for those who can understand it," he said in a
grave tone. He knew that not one person in a dozen could appreciate
this sonata, and that in a mixed company, such as Mrs. Randolph would
gather round her, its beauties would be utterly thrown away.
"It is very difficult," said Mabel, scanning the intricate passages
with some dismay.
"Yes, it is difficult," assented the music-master, "but I think if you
give it careful study, you will be able to manage it."
"Will you play it over for us first?" asked Isabel. "I want to know
what it is like."
The gentleman sat down to the piano and played the piece through.
"I don't like it much—I don't understand it," frankly confessed Isabel
when he rose for Mabel to sit down and begin to practise it.
Mabel said nothing, but the tears rose to her eyes and she could
scarcely see the notes as she laid her fingers on the keys.
"Julia is afraid I should play too well, I suppose," she said after
she had stumbled through the first few bars. It would be impossible to
play this properly she thought, and a bitter feeling rose in her heart
against both her aunt and elder cousin.
"Never mind, dear," said Isabel soothingly, after the music-master had
gone and they were left to themselves. "I think I shall like it better
as I begin to understand it."
"I don't care a bit who likes it or dislikes it, I 'will' play it
properly," said Mabel fiercely. And she sat down to the piano again to
go over the more difficult passages.
But all the pleasure and delight in the music practice was gone, and
the bitter feeling against Julia grew and intensified. If she ever
thought of the old lady's rendering of the parable of the sower, she
put away the thought and nourished the weeds and tares that were so
rapidly growing in her heart. So much attention was given now to
her music that she forgot all about the question of dress for this
important occasion, until Isabel one day asked her what she was going
to wear.
"Going to wear!" repeated Mabel. "Oh, dear, I forgot all about that!"
And she suddenly remembered that her blue silk was beginning to look
decidedly soiled.
"I must write to mamma, I suppose," she said with a sigh, wishing she
had never heard of this musical party, for she knew her mother had no
money to spare to buy her a suitable dress.
"Yes, that will be best, I suppose," said Isabel, who had no experience
of want of money, and who had but to ask and have whatever she desired.
Her own dress had been ordered from a fashionable dressmaker, and a few
days afterwards, Mabel went with her to have it tried on. While this
was being done, the thought suddenly crossed her mind that her cousin
could not do better than have one made for herself just like it, and
she at once suggested it to her.
"It will save your mamma a great deal of trouble," said Isabel, "and I
should so like you to have a dress like mine."
Mabel looked dubious. She did not like to confess that she was afraid
of the expense, and so murmured something about not feeling sure that
it would suit her.
"Oh, yes, miss, it would suit you even better than your cousin,"
interposed the dressmaker, "for you have more colour. I am sure you
could not do better than have a dress like this. Let me take your
pattern at once," she added as she released Isabel from the pins and
pleatings.
"You really ought to order it at once, Mabel, or there will not be time
to get it made," whispered Isabel, coming to her side.
Thus persuaded she could not do otherwise than yield, she thought.
Besides, she must have a new dress, and this of Isabel's was very
pretty, and would certainly suit her. And as her cousin had bought a
brown dress to match her dowdy ones, why should they not have these
pretty ones alike? So the order was given and Mabel's pattern taken,
without any questions being asked as to what the probable cost would be.
She had no time to think much about this just now, for all her
attention was occupied by the sonata she was to play. Every minute
that could be spared from her other lessons was given to her music,
for she was determined to surprise and vex her aunt and cousin by her
proficiency. Whether it was true or not, she certainly believed that
this piece of music had been selected for her on purpose that she might
fail—that after the first few bars had been played, Julia might come
and whisper, "That will do—" and sit down herself and rattle off some
brilliant showy piece. And she was determined to defeat her, and wring
a triumph out of this very disappointment. I need scarcely say she was
anything but happy under the influence of such feelings.
Captious and querulous, poor Isabel scarcely knew what to do or say for
fear of offending her cousin. And a casual remark she made about going
to see her old nurse and her lodger brought a storm of reproaches down
upon her head.
"But why should you feel so angry, Mabel?" expostulated her cousin. "I
thought she was a nice old lady; and she seemed to understand so much
about what that parable meant. Don't you like old ladies to teach you?"
she added.
Mabel murmured something about hearing all that before, but the fact
was, she did not like to be reminded of the old woman's lesson just
now. It brought to her mind too vividly the conversation she had had
with her mother upon worldliness, and she knew she was growing worldly.
But she persuaded herself that she could not help it. Julia and her
aunt were to blame for that.
At length the day for the party arrived, and she surveyed herself in
her new dress with no small complacency. Isabel was in raptures over
her.
"Papa will be pleased when he sees you," she exclaimed. "I declare you
look quite beautiful. Now, let me put this rose in your hair, just to
finish you off. There! Now you will do, and you may begin to think
about the music. Oh, Mabel! Papa will have a treat to-night for there
will be some very sweet music, so many good players are to be here.
I shall just settle down in some quiet corner, and give myself up to
enjoy everything."
And in truth it seemed that Isabel, in her self-forgetfulness, could
and did "enjoy everything." The envyings, and jealousies, and rivalries
that had sprung up between her sister and cousin never touched
her—she knew nothing even of their existence. Julia was "disagreeable
sometimes, she knew," and Mabel "worried herself" about her music, but
that these two were cherishing such feelings as they did, she had not
the slightest comprehension. She believed that everybody coming there
was bent upon enjoying the music and each other's society, and she
hoped that when Mabel had got through her task, she would be ready to
enjoy herself too. She could understand her feeling anxious and nervous
until this was over, but she could not understand the frown that rested
on her cousin's face when, having at length played her piece, she came
and sat down beside her.
"What is the matter, dear?" she whispered, slipping her hand into
Mabel's.
"Need you ask?" said Mabel fiercely. "I knew how it would be."
"But—but I thought you played very well, indeed," exclaimed Isabel.
"What did it matter how I played in such a babel? Everybody began
talking after the first few bars. If I could have had the piece I first
chose, everybody would have listened instead of chattering."
"But papa listened and enjoyed it, dear, and I would not mind about the
rest."
In truth, Isabel would not have minded. To have given pleasure to one
person would have satisfied her meek little heart. And if that one had
forgotten to applaud or appreciate her efforts, it would have made
no difference to her. But not so Mabel. She had failed to score a
triumph, and felt that she had been defeated, and so she sat stolid and
indifferent beside her cousin, making no reply to her pleasant speeches.
She was not the only one who could justly complain of the "babel."
And under cover of the general chatter, Isabel at length made another
effort to rouse her cousin to a more animated interest in the scene.
"Do you know what I have been thinking of?" she said. "Picturing
everybody's heart as a field, with tiny blades of corn springing up,
just as Mrs. Barker told us. And I have been wondering how everybody
kept their field—whether they cleared the weeds away as they sprang up,
or whether they were letting them grow high and thick until the tender
green blades, or ears of corn, could not be seen."
"Don't," said Mabel, in a gasping voice.
Isabel looked at her cousin. "Mustn't we talk about such things?" she
said.
"I think we ought to mind our own business in this as well as
everything else," said Mabel sharply. She had taken her cousin's speech
as a reproof to herself, and she was in no mood to endure that from
anybody to-night.
"I see," said Isabel meekly. "We are to give all our attention to our
own weeds, and see that they do not choke the seed in us."
"If we have the seed, that is," said Mabel, rather less sharply.
"But—but will not God plant this seed, if we ask it, in all of us?"
said Isabel, in some bewilderment.
Mabel shook her head. "I don't know," she said. And again came the
words to her mind, "'Tis a point I long to know." "Yes, I wish I did
know," she added aloud.
"But I thought it was quite certain that God would give us this good
seed, his Holy Spirit, and that we were to root out the weeds that it
might not be choked," said Isabel.
It was clear that she had been thinking a good deal about the matter,
and Mabel was vexed that she had no answer ready for what seemed such
a very simple question—she, who had been a Sunday-school teacher and
had set herself to teach Mrs. Barker this parable of the sower, did not
know what reply to give to her ignorant little cousin.
At last she took refuge in the unseemly surroundings for such a
conversation:
"People will wonder what we are talking about," she said. "A gay
musical party like this is not the right place for a religious
conversation."
This silenced Isabel, but did not prevent her thinking.
Neither could Mabel prevent her own thoughts from being occupied in
a similar way. No one thought it worth while to disturb them with
conversation. They were the youngest of the party, and so they sat
together in their corner almost unnoticed and quite undisturbed, except
as Mr. Randolph found time occasionally to come and say a few words to
them about the music or the players. So Mabel had plenty of time to
meditate over the question that had disturbed her more than once since
her visit to the old woman's cottage.
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