"But I will wear my own brown gown
And never look too fine."
Months came and went. August turned his beaming yellow face on the
waving cornfields, and passed on leaving them shorn and bare. Then came
September bending under his weight of apples and pears, and after him
October, who took away the green mantle the woods had worn all the
summer, and gave them one of scarlet and gold. He spread on the ground,
too, a gorgeous carpet of crimson leaves, which covered the hillside
with splendour so that it glowed in the distance like fire. Here and
there the naked branches of the trees began to show sharply against the
sky--soon it would be winter. Already it was so cold, that although it
was earlier than usual Miss Ellen said they must begin to think of
warming the church, and to do this they must have some money, and
therefore the yearly village concert must be arranged.
"It was the new curate as come to me about it," said the cobbler to Mr
Dimbleby one evening. "`You must give us a solo on the clar'net, Mr
Snell,' says he."
"He's a civil-spoken young feller enough," remarked Mr Dimbleby, "but
he's too much of a boy to please me. The last was the man for my
money."
"Time'll mend that," said Joshua. "And what I like about him is that he
don't bear no sort of malice when he's worsted in argeyment. We'd been
differing over a passage of Scripture t'other day, and when he got up to
go, `Ah, Mr Snell,' says he, `you've a deal to learn.' `And so have
you, young man,' says I. Bless you, he took it as pleasant as could be,
and I've liked him ever since."
He turned to Bella Greenways, who had just entered.
"And what's _your_ place in the programme, Miss Greenways?"
Bella always avoided speaking to the cobbler if she could, for while she
despised him as a "low" person, she feared his opinion, and knew that he
disapproved of her. She now put on her most mincing air as she replied:
"Agnetta and me's to play a duet, the `Edinburgh Quadrilles,' and Mr
Buckle accompanies on the drum and triangle."
"Why, you'd better fall in too with the clar'net, Mr Snell," suggested
Mr Dimbleby. "That'd make a fine thing of it with four instruments."
Joshua shook his head solemnly.
"Mine's a solo," he said. "A sacred one: `Sound the loud timbrel o'er
Egypt's dark sea.' That'll give a variety."
"Mr Buckle's going to recite a beautiful thing," put in Bella: "`The
Dream of Eugene Aram'. He's been practising it ever so long. He's
going to do it with action."
"I don't know as I can make much of that reciting," said Joshua
doubtfully. "Now a good tune, or a song, or a bit of reading, I can
take hold of and carry along, but it's poor sport to see a man twist
hisself, and make mouths, and point about at nothing at all. I remember
the first time the curate did it. He stares straight at me for a
second, and then he shakes his fist and shouts out suddenly: `Wretch!'
or `Villain!' or summat of that sort. I was so taken aback I nearly got
up and went out. Downright uncomfortable I was."
"It's all the fashion now. But of course," said Bella disdainfully, "it
isn't everybody as is used to it. I'm sure it's beautiful to hear
Charlie! It makes your blood run cold. There's a part where he has to
speak it in a sort of a hissing whisper. He's afraid the back seats
won't hear."
"And a good thing for 'em," muttered Joshua. "It's bad enough to see a
man make a fool of hisself without having to hear him as well."
"But after all," continued Bella, without noticing this remark, "it's
only the gentry as matter much, and they'll be in the two front rows.
Mrs Leigh's going to bring some friends."
"And what's Lilac White going to do?" said Joshua, turning round with
sudden sharpness. "She used to sing the prettiest of 'em all at
school."
"Oh, I dare say she'll sing in the part songs with the other children,"
said Bella carelessly. "They haven't asked her for a solo."
But although this was the case Lilac felt quite as interested and
pleased as though she were to be the chief performer at the concert.
When the programme was discussed at the farm, which was very often, she
listened eagerly, and was delighted to find that Mrs Leigh wished her
to sing in two glees which she had learnt at school. The concert would
be unusually good this year, everyone said, and each performer felt as
anxious about his or her part as if its success depended on that alone.
Mr Buckle, next to his own recitation, relied a good deal on the
introduction of a friend of his from Lenham, who had promised to perform
on the banjo and sing a comic song--if possible.
"If you can get Busby," he repeated over and over again, "it'll be the
making of the thing, and so I told Mrs Leigh."
"What did she say?" enquired Bella.
"Well, she wanted to know what he would sing. But, as I said to her,
you can't treat Busby as you would the people about here. He moves in
higher circles and he wouldn't stand it. You can't tie him down to a
particular song, he must sing what he feels inclined to. After all, I
don't suppose he'll come. He's so sought after."
"Well, it is awkward," said Bella, "not being certain--because of the
programme."
"Oh, they must just put down, _Song, Mr Busby_, and leave a blank.
It's often done."
Each time Mr Buckle dropped in at the farm just now he brought fresh
news relating to Mr Busby.
He could, or could not come to the concert, so that an exciting state of
uncertainty was kept up. As the day grew nearer the news changed.
Busby would certainly _come_, but he had a dreadful cold so that it was
hardly probable he would be able to sing. Lilac heard it all with the
greatest sympathy. The house seemed full of the concert from morning
till night. As she went about her work the strains of the "Edinburgh
Quadrilles" sounded perpetually from the piano in the parlour.
Sometimes it was Agnetta alone, slowly pounding away at the bass, and
often coming down with great force and determination on the wrong
chords; sometimes Bella and Agnetta at the same time, the treble dashing
along brilliantly, and the bass lumbering heavily in the distance but
contriving to catch it up at the end by missing a few bars; sometimes
Mr Buckle arriving with his drum and triangle there was a grand
performance of all three, when Lilac and Molly, taking furtive peeps at
them through the half-open door, were struck with the sincerest
admiration and awe. It was indeed wonderful as well as deafening to
hear the noise that could be got out of those three instruments; they
seemed to be engaged in a sort of battle in which first one was
triumphant and then another.
"It's a _little_ loud for this room," observed Mr Buckle complacently,
"but it'll sound very well at the concert." Bella felt sure that it
would be far the best thing in the programme, not only because the
execution was spirited and brilliant but on account of the stylish
appearance of the performers. Mr Buckle had been persuaded to wear his
volunteer uniform on the occasion, in which, with his drum slung from
his shoulders and the triangle fastened to a chair, so that he could
kick it with one foot, he made a very imposing effect.
Agnetta and Bella had coaxed their mother into giving them new dresses
of a bright blue colour called "electric", which, being made up by
themselves in the last fashion, were calculated to attract all eyes.
These preparations, whilst they excited and interested Lilac, also made
her a little envious. She began to wish she had something pretty to put
on in honour of the concert, and even to have a faint hope that her aunt
might give her a new dress too. But this did not seem even to occur to
Mrs Greenways, and Lilac soon gave up all thoughts of it with a sigh.
Her Sunday frock was very shabby, but after all just to stand up amongst
the other children it would not show much. She took it out of her box
and looked at it: perhaps there was something she could do to smarten it
up a little. It certainly hung in a limp flattened manner across the
bed, and was even beginning to turn a rusty colour; nothing would make
it look any different. Would one of her cottons be better, Lilac
wondered anxiously. But none of the children would wear cottons, she
knew--they all put on their Sunday best for the concert. The black
frock must do. She could put a clean frill in the neck, and brush her
hair very neatly, but that was all. There was no one she remembered to
take much notice what she wore, so it did not matter.
The evening came. Everyone had practised their parts and brought them
to a high pitch of perfection; and except Mr Busby, whose appearance
was still uncertain, everyone was prepared to fill their places in the
programme.
"You won't find two better-looking girls than that," said Mrs Greenways
to her husband, looking proudly at her two daughters. "That blue does
set 'em off, to be sure!"
"La!" said Bella with a giggle, "I feel that nervous I know I shall
break down. I'm all of a twitter."
"Well, it's no matter how you _play_ as long as you look well," said
Mrs Greenways; "with Charlie making all that noise on the drum, you
only hear the piano now and again. But where's Lilac!" she added.
"It's more than time we started."
Lilac had been ready long ago, and waiting for her cousins, but just
before they came downstairs she had caught sight of Peter looking into
the room from the garden, and making mysterious signs to her to come
out. When she appeared he held towards her a bunch of small red and
white chrysanthemums. "Here's a posy for you," he said. "Stick it in
your front. They're a bit frost-bitten, but they're better than
nothing."
Lilac took the flowers joyfully; after all she was not to be quite
unadorned at the concert.
"You ain't got a new frock," he continued, looking at her seriously when
she had fastened them in her dress. "You look nice, though."
"Ain't you coming?" asked Lilac. She felt that she should miss Peter's
friendly face when she sang, and that she should like him to hear her.
"Presently," he said. "Got summat to see to first."
When the party reached the school-house it was already late. The
Greenways were always late on such occasions. The room was full, and
Mr Martin, the curate, who had the arrangement of it all, was bustling
about with a programme in his hand, finding seats for the audience,
greeting acquaintances, and rushing into the inner room at intervals to
see if the performers had arrived.
"All here?" he said. "Then we'd better begin. Drum and fife band!"
The band, grinning with embarrassment and pleasure, stumbled up the
rickety steps on to the platform. The sounds of their instruments and
then the clapping and stamping of the audience were plainly heard in the
green room, which had only a curtain across the doorway.
"Lor'!" said Bella, pulling it a little on one side and peeping through
at the audience, "there _is_ a lot of people! Packed just as close as
herrings. There's a whole row from the Rectory. How I do palpitate, to
be sure! I wish Charlie was here!"
Mr Buckle soon arrived with vexation on his brow. No sign of Busby!
He was down twice in the programme, and there was hardly a chance he
would turn up. It was too bad of Busby to throw them over like that.
He might at least have _come_.
"Well, if he wasn't going to sing I don't see the good of that," said
Bella; "but it _is_ a pity."
"It just spoils the whole thing," said Mr Buckle, and the other
performers agreed. But to Lilac nothing could spoil the concert. It
was all beautiful and glorious, and she thought each thing grander than
the last. Uncle Joshua's solo almost brought tears to her eyes, partly
of affection and pride and partly because he extracted such lovely and
stirring sounds from the clar'net. It made her think of her mother and
the cottage, and of so many dear old things of the past, that she felt
sorrowful and happy at once. Next she was filled with awe by Mr
Buckle's recitation, which, however, fell rather flat on the rest of the
assembly; and then came the "Edinburgh Quadrilles", in which the
performers surpassed themselves in banging and clattering. Lilac was
quite carried away by enthusiasm. She stood as close to the curtain as
she could, clapping with all her might. The programme was now nearly
half over, and Mr Busby's first blank had been filled up by someone
else. Mr Martin came hurriedly in.
"Who'll sing or play something?" he said. "We must fill up this second
place or the programme will be too short."
His glance fell upon Lilac.
"Why, you're the little girl who was Queen? You can sing, I know.
That'll do capitally--come along."
Lilac shrank back timidly. It was an honour to be singled out in that
way, but it was also most alarming. She looked appealingly at her
cousin Bella, who at once came forward.
"I don't think she knows any songs alone, sir," she said; "but I'll play
something if you like."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Greenways," said Mr Martin hastily, "we've had so
much playing I think they'd like a song. I expect she knows some little
thing--don't you?" to Lilac.
Lilac hesitated. There stood Mr Martin in front of her, eager and
urgent, with outstretched hand as though he would hurry her at once to
the platform; there was Bella fixing a mortified and angry gaze upon
her; and, in the background, the other performers with surprise and
disapproval on their faces. She felt that she _could_ not do it, and
yet it was almost as impossible to disoblige Mr Martin, the habit of
obedience, especially to a clergyman, was so strong within her.
Suddenly there sounded close to her ear a gruff and friendly voice:
"Give 'em the `Last Rose of Summer', Lilac. You can sing that very
pretty." It came from Uncle Joshua.
"The very thing!" exclaimed Mr Martin. "Couldn't possibly be better,
and I'll play it for you. Come along!"
Without more words Lilac found herself hurried out of the room, up the
steps, and on to the platform, with Mr Martin seated at the piano.
Breathless and frightened she stood for a second half uncertain whether
to turn and run away. There were so many faces looking up at her from
below, and she felt so small and unprotected standing there alone in
front of them. Her heart beat fast, her lips were as though fastened
together, how could she possibly sing? Suddenly in the midst of that
dim mass of heads she caught sight of something that encouraged her. It
was Peter's round red face with mouth and eyes open to their widest
extent, and it stood out from all the rest, just as it had done on May
Day. Then it had vexed her to see it, now it was such a comfort that it
filled her with courage. Instead of running away she straightened
herself up, folded her hands neatly in front of her, and took a long
breath. When Mr Martin looked round at her she was able to begin, and
though her voice trembled a little it was sweet and clear, and could be
heard quite to the end of the room. Very soon she forgot her rears
altogether, and felt as much at her ease as though she were singing in
Uncle Joshua's cottage as she had done so often. The audience kept the
most perfect silence, and gazed at her attentively throughout. It was a
very simple little figure in its straight black frock, its red and white
nosegay, and thick, laced boots, and it looked all the more so after the
ribbons and finery of those which had come before it; yet there was a
certain dignity about its very simplicity, and the earnest expression in
the small face showed that Lilac was not thinking of herself, but was
only anxious to sing her song as well as she could. She finished it,
and dropped the straight little curtsy she had been taught at school.
"After all it had not been so bad," she thought with relief, as she
turned to go away in the midst of an outburst of claps and stamps from
the audience. But she was not allowed to go far, for it soon became
evident that they wanted her to sing again; nothing in the whole
programme had created so much excitement as this one little simple song.
They applauded not only in the usual manner but even by shouts and
whistling, and through it all was to be heard the steady thump, thump,
thump of a stick on the floor from the middle of the room where Peter
sat. Lilac looked round half-frightened at Mr Martin as the noise rose
higher and higher, and made her way quickly to the steps which led from
the platform.
"They won't leave off till you sing again," he said, following her,
"though we settled not to have any encores. You'd better sing the last
verse."
So it turned out that Lilac's song was the most successful performance
of the evening; it was impossible to conceal the fact that it had won
more applause than anything, not even excepting the "Edinburgh
Quadrilles." This was felt to be most unjust, for she had taken no
trouble in preparing it, and was not even properly dressed to receive
such an honour.
"I must own," said Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone, "that I did feel
disgraced to see Lilac standing up there in that old black frock. I
can't think what took hold of the folks to make so much fuss with her.
But there! 'Tain't the best as gets the most praise."
"I declare," added Bella bitterly, "it's a thankless task to get up
anything for the people here. They're so ignorant they don't know
what's what. To think of passing over Charley's recitation and encoring
a silly old song like Lilac's. It's a good thing Mr Busby _didn't_
come, I think--he wouldn't 'a been appreciated."
"'Twasn't only the poor people though," said Agnetta. "I saw those
friends of Mrs Leigh's clapping like anything."
"Ah, well," said Mrs Greenways, "Lilac's parents were greatly respected
in the parish, and that's the reason of it. She hasn't got no cause to
be set up as if it was her singing that pleased 'em." Lilac had indeed
very little opportunity of being "set up." After the first glow of
pleasure in her success had faded, she began to find more reason to be
cast down. Her aunt and cousins were so jealous of the applause she had
gained that they lost no occasion of putting her in what they called her
proper place, of showing her that she was insignificant, a mere nobody;
useless they could not now consider her, but she had to pay dearly for
her short triumph at the concert. The air just now seemed full of sharp
speeches and bitterness, and very often after a day of unkind buffets
she cried herself to sleep, longing for someone to take her part, and
sore at the injustice of it all.
"'Tain't as if I'd wanted to sing," she said to herself. "They made me,
and now they flout me for it."
But her unexpected appearance in public had another and most surprising
result.
About a week after the concert, when the excitement was lessening and
the preparations for Bella's wedding were beginning to take its place,
Mrs Greenways was sent for to the Rectory--Mrs Leigh wished to speak
to her.
"I shouldn't wonder," she said to her husband before she started, "if it
was to ask what Bella'd like for a present. What'd you say?"
"I shouldn't wonder if it was nothing of the kind," replied Mr
Greenways. "More likely about the rent."
But Mrs Greenways held to her first opinion. It would not be about the
rent, for Mrs Leigh never mentioned it to her.
No. It was about the present; and very fitting too, when she called to
mind how long her husband had been Mr Leigh's tenant. To be sure he
had generally owed some rent, but the Greenways had always held their
heads high and been respected in spite of their debts.
On her way to the Rectory, therefore, she carefully considered what
would be best to choose for Bella and Charlie. Should it be something
ornamental--a gilt clock, or a mirror with a plush frame for the
drawing-room? They would both like that, but she knew Mrs Leigh would
prefer their asking for something useful; perhaps a set of tea-things
would be as good as anything.
These reflections made the distance short, yet an hour later, when, her
interview over, Mrs Greenways reappeared at the farm, her face was
lengthened and her footstep heavy with fatigue. What could have
happened? Something decidedly annoying, for she snapped even at her
darling Agnetta when she asked questions.
"Don't bother," she said, "let's have tea. I'm tired out."
During the meal her daughters cast curious glances at her and at each
other, for it was a most unusual thing for their mother to bear her
troubles quietly. As a rule the more vexed she was the more talkative
she became. It must therefore be something out of the common, they
concluded; and before long it appeared that it was the presence of Lilac
that kept Mrs Greenways silent. She threw angry looks at her, full of
discontent, and presently, unable to control herself longer, said
sharply:
"When you've finished, Lilac, I want you to run to Dimbleby's for me. I
forgot the starch. If you hurry you'll be there and back afore dusk."