THE little old grandmothers with their queer caps were perhaps the
feature of the evening. Everybody wanted a bouquet of them. In fact,
long before eight o'clock, Jerry had been hurried away for a fresh
supply, and Nettie had been established behind a curtain, in haste, to
"make more grandmothers." In her excitement she made them even prettier
than before; and sweet, grave little Sate had no trouble in selling
every one. The pretty Roman flower girl was so much admired, that her
father, a fine-looking young mechanic who came after her bringing red
stockings and neat shoes, carried her off at last in triumph on his
shoulder, saying he was afraid her head would be turned with so much
praise, but thanking everybody with bright smiling eyes for giving his
little girl such a pleasant afternoon.
"She isn't Irish, after all," said Irene Lewis, watching them. "And
Mr. Sherrill shook hands with him as familiarly as though he was an
old friend; I wish we hadn't made such simpletons of ourselves. Lorena
Barstow, what did you want to go and say she was an Irish girl for?"
"I didn't say any such thing," said Lorena in a shrill voice; and
then these two who had been friends in ill humor all the afternoon
quarreled, and went home more unhappy than before. And still I tell you
they were not the worst girls in the world; and were very much ashamed
of themselves.
Before eight o'clock, Norm came. To be sure he stoutly refused, at
first, to step beyond the doorway, and ordered Nettie in a somewhat
surly tone to "bring that young one out," if she wanted her carried
home. That, of course, was the little grandmother; but her eyes looked
as though they had not thought of being sleepy, and the ladies were not
ready to let her go. Then the minister, who seemed to understand things
without having them explained, said, "Where is Decker? we'll make it
all right; come, little grandmother, let us go and see about it." So
he took Sate on his shoulder and made his way through the crowd; and
Nettie who watched anxiously, presently saw Norm coming back with them,
not looking surly at all; his clothes had been brushed, and he had on a
clean collar, and his hair was combed, quite as though he had meant to
come in, after all.
Soon after Norm's coming, something happened which gave Nettie a
glimpse of her brother in a new light. Young Ernest Belmont was there
with his violin. During the afternoon, Nettie had heard whispers of
what a lovely player he was, and at last saw with delight that a space
was being cleared for him to play. Crowds of people gathered about the
platform to listen, but among them all Norm's face was marked; at least
it was to Nettie. She had never seen him look like that. He seemed to
forget the crowds, and the lights, and everything but the sounds which
came from that violin. He stood perfectly still, his eyes never once
turning from their earnest gaze of the fingers which were producing
such wonderful tones. Nettie, looking, and wondering, almost forgot the
music in her astonishment that her brother should be so absorbed. Jerry
with some difficulty elbowed his way towards her, his face beaming, and
said, "Isn't it splendid?"
For answer she said, "Look at Norm." And Jerry looked.
"That's so," he said at last, heartily, speaking as though he was
answering a remark from somebody; "Norm is a musician. Did you know he
liked it so much?"
"I didn't know anything about it," Nettie said, hardly able to keep
back the tears, though she did not understand why her eyes should fill;
but there was such a look of intense enjoyment in Norm's face, mingled
with such a wistful longing for something, as made the tears start in
spite of her. "I didn't know he liked _anything_ so much as that."
"He likes _that_," said Jerry heartily, "and I am glad."
"I don't know. What makes you glad? I am almost sorry; because he may
never have a chance to hear it again."
"He must make his chances; he is going to be a man. I'm glad, because
it gives us a hint as to what his tastes are; don't you see?"
"Why, yes," said Nettie, "I see he likes it; but what is the use in
knowing people's tastes if you cannot possibly do anything for them?"
"There's no such thing as it not being possible to do most anything."
Jerry said good humoredly. "Maybe we will some of us own a violin some
day, and Norm will play it for us. Who knows? Stranger things than that
have happened."
But this thing looked to Nettie so improbable that she merely laughed.
The music suddenly ceased, and Norm came back from dreamland and looked
about him, and blushed, and felt awkward. He saw the people now, and
the lights, and the flowers; he remembered his hands and did not know
what to do with them; and his feet felt too large for the space they
must occupy.
Jerry plunged through the crowd and stood beside him.
"How did you like it?" he asked, and Norm cleared his voice before
replying; he could not understand why his throat should feel so husky.
"I like a fiddle," he said. "There is a fellow comes into the corner
grocery down there by Crossman's and plays, sometimes; I always go down
there, when I hear of it."
If Jerry could have caught Nettie's eye just then he would have made a
significant gesture; the store by Crossman's made tobacco and liquor
its chief trade. So a fiddle was one of the things used to draw the
boys into it!
"Is a fiddle the only kind of music you like?" Jerry had been
accustomed to calling it a violin, but the instinct of true politeness
which was marked in him, made him say fiddle just now as Norm had done.
"Oh! I like anything that whistles a tune!" said Norm. "I've gone
a rod out of my way to hear a jew's-harp many a time; even an old
hand-organ sounds nice to me. I don't know why, but I never hear one
without stopping and listening as long as I can." He laughed a little,
as though ashamed of the taste, and looked at Jerry suspiciously. But
there was not the slightest hint of a smile on the boy's face, only
hearty interest and approval.
"I like music, too, almost any sort; but I don't believe I like it as
well as you. Your face looked while you were listening as though you
could make some yourself if you tried."
The smile went out quickly from Norm's face, and Jerry thought he heard
a little sigh with the reply:
"I never had a chance to try; and never expect to have."
"Well, now, I should like to know why not? I never could understand why
a boy with brains, and hands, and feet, shouldn't have a try at almost
anything which was worth trying, sometime in his life." It was not
Jerry who said this, but the minister who had come up in time to hear
the last words from both sides. He stopped before Norm, smiling as he
spoke. "Try the music, my friend, by all means, if you like it. It is a
noble taste, worth cultivating."
Norm looked sullen. "It's easy to talk," he said severely, "but when a
fellow has to work like a dog to get enough to eat and wear, to keep
him from starving or freezing, I'd like to see him get a chance to try
at music, or anything else of that kind!"
"So should I. He is the very fellow who ought to have the chance; and
more than that, in nine cases out of ten he is the fellow who gets it.
A boy who is willing and able to work, is pretty sure, in this country,
to have opportunity to gratify his tastes in the end. He may have to
wait awhile, but that only sharpens the appetite of a genuine taste;
if it is a worthy taste, as music certainly is, it will grow with his
growth, and will help him to plan, and save, and contrive, until one of
these days he will show you! By the way, you would like organ music, I
fancy; the sort which is sometimes played on parlor organs. If you will
come to the parsonage to-morrow night at eight o'clock, I think I can
promise you something which you will enjoy. My sister is going to try
some new music for a few friends, at that time; suppose you come and
pick out your favorite?"
All Jerry's satisfaction and interest shone in his face; to-morrow
night at eight o'clock! All day he had been trying to arrange something
which would keep Norm at that hour away from the aforesaid corner
grocery, where he happened to know some doubtful plans were to be
arranged for future mischief, by the set who gathered there. If only
Norm would go to the parsonage it would be the very thing. But Norm
flushed and hesitated. "Bring a friend with you," said the minister.
"Bring Jerry, here; you like music, don't you, Jerry?"
"Yes, sir," said Jerry promptly; "I like music very much, and I would
like to go if Norm is willing."
"Bring Jerry with you." That sentence had a pleasant sound. Up to this
moment it was the younger boy who had patronized the elder. Norm called
him the "little chap," but for all that looked up to him with a curious
sort of respect such as he felt for none of the "fellows" who were his
daily companions; the idea of bringing him to a place of entertainment
had its charms.
"May I expect you?" asked the minister, reading his thoughts almost as
plainly as though they had been printed on his face, and judging that
this was the time to press an acceptance.
"Why, yes," said Norm, "I suppose so."
One of these days Norman Decker will not think of accepting an
invitation with such words, but his intentions are good, now, and the
minister thanks him as though he had received a favor, and departs well
pleased.
[Illustration: STUDYING THE EGGSHELL.]
And now it is really growing late and little Sate must be carried
home. It was an evening to remember.
They talked it over by inches the next morning. Nettie finishing the
breakfast dishes, and Jerry sitting on the doorstep fashioning a
bracket for the kitchen lamp.
Nettie talked much about Ermina Farley. "She is just as lovely and
sweet as she can be. It was beautiful in her to come over to me as she
did when she came into that yard; part of it was for little Trudie's
sake, and a great deal of it was for my sake. I saw that at the time;
and I saw it plainer all the afternoon. She didn't give me a chance
to feel alone once; and she didn't stay near me as though she felt she
ought to, but didn't want to, either; she just took hold and helped do
everything Miss Sherrill gave me to do, and was as bright and sweet as
she could be. I shall never forget it of her. But for all that," she
added as she wrung out her dishcloth with an energy which the small
white rag hardly needed, "I know it was pretty hard for her to do it,
and I shall not give her a chance to do it again."
"I want to know what there was hard about it?" said Jerry, looking up
in astonishment. "I thought Ermina Farley seemed to be having as good a
time as anybody there."
"Oh, well now, I know, you are not a girl; boys are different from
girls. They are not so kind-of-mean! At least, some of them are not,"
she added quickly, having at that moment a vivid recollection of some
mean things which she had endured from boys. "Really I don't think they
are," she said, after a moment's thoughtful pause, and replying to the
quizzical look on his face. "They don't think about dresses, and hats,
and gloves, and all those sorts of things as girls do, and they don't
say such hateful things. Oh! I _know_ there is a great difference; and
I know just how Ermina Farley will be talked about because she went
with me, and stood up for me so; and I think it will be very hard for
her. I used to think so about you, but you--are real different from
girls!"
"It amounts to about this," said Jerry, whittling gravely. "Good boys
are different from bad girls, and bad boys are different from good
girls."
Nettie laughed merrily. "No," she said, "I do know what I am talking
about, though you don't think so; I know real splendid girls who
couldn't have done as Ermina Farley did yesterday, and as you do all
the time; and what I say is, I don't mean to put myself where she will
_have_ to do it, much. I don't want to go to their parties; I don't
expect a chance to go, but if I had it, I wouldn't go; and just for her
sake, I don't mean to be always around for her to have to take care of
me as she did yesterday. I have something else to do."