THE MUSICAL SENSE
Mrs. Francis, in the sweetest of tea gowns, was intent upon Dr.
Ernestus Parker's book on "Purposeful Motherhood." It was the chapter
dealing with the "Musical Sense in Children" which engrossed Mrs.
Francis's attention. She had just begun subdivision C in the chapter,
"When and How the Musical Sense Is Developed," when she thought of
Danny. She fished into the waste-paper basket for her little red
note-book, and with her silver mounted pencil she made the following
entry:
DANIEL WATSON,
AGED 4.
MUS. SENSE. DEVELOPED. IF SO, WHEN. IF NOT,
HOW, AND AT ONCE.
She read on feverishly. She felt herself to be in the throes of a great
idea.
Then she called Camilla. Camilla is always so practical, she thought.
To Camilla she elaborated the vital points of Dr. Parker's theory of
the awakening of the musical sense, reading here and there from the
book, rapidly and unintelligibly. She was so excited she was
incoherent. Camilla listened patiently, although her thoughts were with
her biscuits in the oven below.
"And now, Camilla," she said when she had gone all over the subject,
"how can we awaken the musical sense in Daniel? You know I value your
opinion so much."
Camilla was ready.
"Take him to hear Professor Welsman play," she said. "The professor
will give his recital here on the 15th."
Mrs. Francis wrote rapidly. "I believe," she said looking up, "your
suggestion is a good one. You shall have the credit of it in my notes."
Plan of awakening mus. sense suggested by C--.
Camilla smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Francis. You are very kind."
When Camilla went back to the kitchen and took the biscuits from the
oven, she laughed softly to herself.
"This is going to be a good time for some further suggestions. Pearl
must go with Danny. What a treat it will be for poor little Pearl! Then
we must have a new suit for Danny, new dress for Pearl, new cap for D.,
new hat for P., all suggested by C. There are a few suggestions which
C. will certainly make."
On the evening of the professor's recital there were no two happier
people in the audience than Pearlie Watson and her brother Daniel
Mulcahey Watson; not because the great professor was about to interpret
for them the music of the masters--that was not the cause of their
happiness--but because of the good supper they had had and the good
clothes they wore, their hearts were glad. They had spent the afternoon
at Mrs. Francis's (suggested by C.). Danny's new coat had a velvet
collar lovely to feel (suggested by C.). Pearl had a wonderful new
dress--the kind she had often dreamed of--made out of one of Mrs.
Francis's tea gowns. (Not only suggested but made by C.). It had real
buttons on it, and there was not one pin needed. Pearl felt she was
just as well dressed as the little girl on the starch box. Her only
grief was that when she had on her coat--which was also new, and
represented one-half month of Camilla's wages--the velvet on her dress
did not show. But Camilla, anticipating this difficulty, laid back the
fronts in stunning lapels, and to complete the arrangement, put one of
her own lace collars around the neck of the coat, the ends coming down
over the turned-back fronts. When Pearl looked in the glass she could
not believe her eyes!
Mr. Francis did not attend piano recitals, nor the meetings of the
Browning Club. Mrs. Francis was often deeply grieved with James for his
indifference in regard to these matters. But the musical sense in James
continued to slumber and sleep.
The piano recital by Professor Welsman was given under the auspices of
the Ladies' Aid of the Methodist Church, the proceeds to be given
toward defraying the cost of the repairs on the parsonage.
The professor was to be assisted by local talent, it said on the
programmes. Pearl was a little bit disappointed about the programmes.
She had told Danny that there would be a chairman who would say: "I see
the first item on this here programme is remarks by the chair, but as
yez all know I ain't no hand at makin' a speech we'll pass on to the
next item." But there was not a sign of a chairman, not even a chair.
The people just came up themselves, without anybody telling them, and
did their piece and went back. It looked sort of bold to Pearl.
First the choir came in and sang: "Praise Waiteth for Thee, O Lord, in
Zion." Pearl did not like the way they treated her friend Dr. Clay.
Twice when he began to sing a little piece by himself, doing all right,
too, two or three of them broke in on him and took the words right out
of his mouth. Pearl had seen people get slapped faces for things like
that. Pearl thought it just served them right when the doctor stopped
singing and let them have it their own way.
When the professor came up the aisle everybody leaned forward to have a
good look at him. "He is just like folks only for his hair," Pearl
thought. Pearl lifted Danny on her knee and told him to look alive now.
She knew what they were there for.
Then the professor began to play. Indifferently at first after the
manner of his kind, clever gymnastics to limber up his fingers perhaps,
and perhaps to show how limber they are; runs and trills, brilliant
execution, one hand after the other in mad pursuit, crossing over, back
again, up and down in the vain endeavour to come up with the other
hand; crescendo, diminuendo, trills again!
Danny yawned widely.
"When's he goin' to begin?" he asked, sleepily.
Mrs. Francis watched Danny eagerly. The musical sense was liable to
wake up any minute. But it would have to hurry, for Daniel Mulcahey was
liable to go to sleep any minute.
Pearl was disgusted with the professor and her thoughts fell into
vulgar baseball slang:
"Playin' to the grand stand, ain't ye? instead o' gettin' down to work.
That'll do for ketch and toss. Play the game! Deliver the goods!"
Then the professor began the full arm chords with sudden fury, writhing
upon the stool as he struck the angry notes from the piano. Pearl's
indignation ran high.
"He's lost his head--he's up in the air!" she shouted, but the words
were lost in the clang of musical discords.
But wait! Pearl sat still and listened. There was something doing. It
was a Welsh rhapsodie that he was playing. It was all there--the
mountains and the rivers, and the towering cliffs with glimpses of the
sea where waves foam on the rocks, and sea-fowl wheel and scream in the
wind, and then a bit of homely melody as the country folk drive home in
the moonlight, singing as only the Welsh can sing, the songs of the
heart; songs of love and home, songs of death and sorrowing, that stab
with sudden sweetness. A child cries somewhere in the dark, cries for
his mother who will come no more. Then a burst of patriotic fire, as
the people fling defiance at the conquering foe, and hold the mountain
passes till the last man falls. But the glory of the fight and the
march of many feet trail off into a wailing chant--the death song of
the brave men who have died. The widow mourns, and the little children
weep comfortless in their mountain home, and the wind rushes through
the forest, and the river foams furiously down the mountain, falling in
billows of lace over the rocks, and the sun shines over all, cold and
pitiless.
"Why, Pearlie Watson, what are you crying for?" Mrs. Francis whispered
severely. Pearl's sobs had disturbed her. Danny lay asleep on Pearl's
knees, and her tears fell fast on his tangled curls.
"I ain't cryin', I ain't cryin' a bit. You leave me alone," Pearl
blubbered rudely, shaking off Mrs Francis's shapely hand.
Mrs. Francis was shocked. What in the world was making Pearl cry?
The next morning Mrs. Francis took out her little red book to enter the
result of her experiment, and sat looking long and earnestly at its
pages. Then she drew a writing pad toward her and wrote an illuminative
article on "Late Hours a Frequent and Fruitful Cause of Irritability in
Children."