THE CONCERT
Before the little party reached the lodge Pablo had rushed on ahead
to give the news of Joanne’s safety, and presently a beacon fire shot
up from the top of the hill, so that almost as soon as Joanne arrived
the searchers for her began to come in, first Mr. Clover, then Mr.
Pattison, last of all Unc’ Aaron.
Mrs. Pattison was the first to greet her. “If I wasn’t so glad to
see you,” she said, hugging and kissing her, “I’d scold you well for
running away and scaring us all nearly to death.”
“But I didn’t run and I didn’t mean to get lost. I was scared, too.”
“Of course you were, and after all it was my fault for not keeping you
in sight. I told Ned that.”
“Was he very angry?”
“More alarmed than angry. We didn’t know what might have happened.
Well, dear child, I don’t think I was ever so glad to see any one. You
must be half starved. Come in and get something to eat.”
“The boys saw to it that I had something,” Joanne told her. “I want
you to meet my friends, Bob Marriott and Jack Barry. They are my
rescuers from the snare of the fowler and the terror that walketh by
night.”
Mrs. Pattison shook hands with them both, saying, “I can’t thank you
enough for taking care of this poor child, and for finding her.”
“We didn’t find her; she found us,” declared Jack. “She walked into our
camp just like that.”
“And wasn’t I surprised and delighted when I saw two Boy Scouts?” said
Joanne. “And when I discovered that one of them was an old friend, you
may imagine how pleased I was.”
“Well, even if you have had supper you must have a fresh appetite after
your long walk,” said Mrs. Pattison, “so do come in and have a bite.”
The boys were glad of an excuse to see the interior of the lodge, so
they all went inside, Joanne still clinging to her basket of flowers,
and it is safe to say that all three gave no evidence of having eaten
an hour earlier, from the way they despatched sandwiches, milk and
cakes.
The meal was not finished before Mr. Clover appeared, to whom Joanne
must tell the story of her wanderings, then Cousin Ned had to have an
account, and last of all Unc’ Aaron, whose ejaculations were a steady
accompaniment to the recital.
“Praise de Lawd yuh is safe! I say don’ know whicher way to go! All in
de dark, po’ li’l lamb! Tard an’ hongry! Bress de Lawd yuh sees dat
fiah! Whar yuh be now ef yuh hasn’t? Uh! uh! ain’ it de troof dey Boy
Scouches?” These and others were his frequent interruptions.
They were all sitting around the fire, Joanne the center of attention,
when presently the growling of thunder was heard, a flash of lightning,
a second and louder crash of thunder, then the pattering of drops on
the roof. Unc’ Aaron, Pablo and Mr. Clover scudded away hastily. The
boys prepared to follow.
“You mustn’t think of going back to camp,” exclaimed Mr. Pattison
putting a detaining hand on Bob’s arm. “There is plenty of room here. I
am used to stowing away twice as many.”
The boys hesitated, protested, but finally gave in. The prospect of a
walk in a heavy thunder-storm did not appeal to them. Joanne hid her
face in her Cousin Sue’s lap. “Suppose, just suppose, I were still out
in the woods,” she said quaveringly.
“Thank God, you are not,” returned her cousin caressing the dark head
on her knees.
“And but for me you would all be safe at home in Washington,” Joanne
went on, lifting her head.
“I’m rather glad of an excuse to be here,” said Mrs. Pattison.
Joanne mentally agreed with her. It was very cosey sitting there by
the open fire, safe from the lashing rain, and joining in the pleasant
talk of friends, then when the thunder died away to occasional distant
mutterings, to snuggle down in bed and listen to the gentle patter of
the rain on the roof.
The morning broke bright and clear. Everything had been washed
clean. The river sparkled in the sunlight; the misty green of trees
showed fresher color; the grass was hung with myriads of glistening
drops; shining rills ran down the hillside. Joanne looked out from
her little window to see it all. The odor of griddle cakes soon took
her down-stairs, however, and there she found Unc’ Aaron busy in
the kitchen, the boys already up and out exploring, Mrs. Pattison
setting the table, and Mr. Pattison tinkering at something about his
automobile. Joanne’s appearance was the signal for Unc’ Aaron to sound
the horn which hung outside the kitchen door, and presently the old
man was kept so busy baking cakes that he could do nothing else, and
the boys took turns in hurrying them from griddle to table. How they
did eat! Fortunately Unc’ Aaron was never anything if not bountiful in
his providing, and there was still a little batter left when all had
declared there was an end to appetite.
The boys could not resist a scamper over the wet roads on Chico, coming
back enthusiastic about the pony’s good points. “Little did I think
when I first saw the little fellow that I would some day be riding him
down here in Maryland,” said Bob. “One never knows what will happen.
How interested mother will be when I tell her of this adventure.”
The temptation to eat one of Unc’ Aaron’s chicken dinners was too much
for the boys to withstand, and after some faint protests they consented
to stay till the others should start back home.
“After eating all those cakes this morning I don’t see how I could have
eaten all this dinner,” said Bob, looking at his empty plate.
“I do,” returned Mr. Pattison. “I don’t think any one of us can throw a
stone at the others. My plate is as empty as yours, Bob, and the same
can be said of the rest.”
“That makes me feel better,” said Bob.
Leaving the boys at their camp the others went on to Washington to
reach there before dark. Joanne, laden down with her basket of arbutus,
a store of eggs, and a pair of chickens, was not questioned too closely
by her grandmother, though she was honest enough to say: “I got lost in
the woods when I was hunting arbutus, but I came across two Boy Scouts
and they took me home. Guess who one of them was, Gradda.”
“How should I know? I am not acquainted with any of your Boy Scouts.”
“You are with this one; you know his mother, too. I was so surprised
when I ran across him. It was Bob Marriott, Gradda, and the boy with
him was named Jack Barry.”
“I wonder if he is any relation to Eleanor Lewis; she married a John
Barry. I knew the Barrys well,” said Mrs. Selden reminiscently, more
concerned in this question than in the manner of Joanne’s meeting the
boys. “Eleanor Lewis was an intimate friend of your mother’s, Joanne. A
mighty nice girl she was, too. I should be glad to meet her again. Do
these Barrys live in Washington, did you say?”
“They live at Chevy Chase. Jack’s uncle owns the place next to Cousin
Ned’s; that’s how they happened to be up there. The boys promised to
come to see us; then you can find out if it is the same family of
Barrys. Bob is visiting Jack, you know.”
This matter so occupied Mrs. Selden’s mind that she asked no more
questions, and Joanne congratulated herself that she had avoided a
lecture. She told her grandfather all about it, however. He listened
gravely and shook his head solemnly as she concluded her story.
“Joanne, Joanne,” he said, “I’m afraid I can’t permit you to go to the
country again unless you promise on your word of honor never to go into
the woods alone.”
“But I didn’t go alone; Cousin Sue was with me and we kind of got
separated. I wandered off, as it were.”
“Then you must promise never to do so again; always keep your
companions in sight.”
“You bet I will,” replied Joanne so fervently that her grandfather
realized that he need not lay any greater emphasis on his command.
The boys were prompt in making their call, when it was discovered that
Jack’s father was _the_ John Barry who married Eleanor Lewis, a fact
which gave Joanne as much satisfaction as it did her grandmother, and
when it was discovered that Mrs. Barry was also an intimate friend of
Mrs. Marriott’s there was given an added zest to the acquaintance. Mrs.
Barry lost no time in coming to see Mrs. Selden and left Joanne in a
state of blissful anticipation when she said that she expected a visit
from Mrs. Marriott very soon and she would insist upon Joanne’s coming
out to spend a day with them.
“So many lovely things are happening,” sighed Joanne when she met
Winnie the next day, and told of all that had been going on.
“I don’t call getting lost in the dark woods a lovely thing,” remarked
Winnie.
“Yes, but what it led to was lovely, and loveliest of all will be to
see dear Mrs. Marriott again.”
“Well, don’t get so absorbed in her that you can’t think of the concert
which is to be next week, you know. We must all hustle and sell as many
tickets as we can. Has any one promised to buy from you?”
“Oh, dear, I haven’t even asked.”
“Just what I thought. You should sell at least ten. There are the
Pattisons, your grandparents, and these new people, the Barrys, that
should mean eight at least, and you should get rid of two more without
half trying.” Winnie checked them off on her fingers.
“I’ll start in right away,” Joanne promised rather half-heartedly,
“though I hate to do things like that.”
“You should be glad to do it for a good cause like this.”
“Maybe I shall be when I get waked up to it. Is the programme all
arranged?”
“I think so. Miss Dodge is working hard over it. The violin numbers
are to be the chief attraction, of course. We girls are to sing a
spring chorus, you know that of course, for we have been rehearsing for
ages. We are to dress in pale green; the soloist in pink and white; it
will be rather pretty, I think. The Boy Scouts have offered to act as
ushers.”
“Do you mean the violinist is to dress in pink and white?” asked Joanne
slyly.
“Of course not, silly. I mean the singing persons. Claus is to take one
solo, Miriam Overton another. Mirry has a nice voice if she is fat.
Miss Chesney will be at the piano. The tickets will be ready in a day
or two, so you’d better get busy, Jo.”
Joanne did get busy and in her impetuous way made short work of selling
her tickets, for the Pattisons took three and Mrs. Barry five instead
of the four counted on, saying that she hoped Mrs. Marriott would be
one of her party. The remaining two Joanne lost no time in selling
to her grandparents, therefore, though she was the last to enter the
selling list, she was the first to dispose of her tickets.
“I never saw anything like you,” complained Winnie; “you sweep through
a thing like a cyclone. I no sooner announce that I have begun a thing
than you breeze in and tell me you have finished.”
Joanne laughed. “I vas always yust like dot,” she answered. “You don’t
set sufficient value upon my imaginative qualities. When I am going
to attack a problem I always plan what I would do if my first effort
failed. For instance, if I hadn’t sold those tickets right hot off
the bat, I knew exactly where I would go next. In my mind’s eye I saw
Mrs. Barry turning me down because of some previous engagement or
something like that, and I was all ready to fly off to some of Grad’s
navy friends who would do anything for him or for me because I am his
granddaughter.”
“Dear me, I always said you were lucky in your grandparents,” sighed
Winnie. “Here I have four tickets I can’t get rid of and look at you.”
“Look at me good and hard,” responded Joanne, holding out her hand.
“Give me your tickets; I’ll get rid of them.”
“But I thought you hated to do that kind of thing. I couldn’t think of
imposing on you.”
“You needn’t worry. The breath of battle is in my nostrils. I am all
girded for the fray. My fires of enthusiasm haven’t died out yet, so
you’d better let me go to it while I am inspired. Moreover, beloved
Winifred, I want to offer my services in the cause of friendship.”
Thus appealed to Winnie drew forth the tickets, and the next evening
Joanne reported to her over the ’phone that she had sold them all.
There was great excitement behind the scenes at the hall where the
concert was to take place on a certain evening in April. Some of the
girls had already arrived when Joanne reached there in her pretty dress
of misty green. Claudia, in pink and white, rushed up to her. “The most
awful thing has happened,” she announced, “and poor Miss Dodge is very
nearly in tears.”
“What in the world is the matter?” asked Joanne, laying aside her cloak.
“She has had a telegram from the man who was to play the violin. He
has been taken ill with grippe and cannot possibly come. Miss Dodge is
madly telephoning in every direction to get some one, any one, to take
his place. It is tragic. The hall is already filling up and there is no
time to spare. It will be a perfect fizzle if something can’t be done.”
Joanne stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the
ground. “Perhaps--perhaps----” she said presently. Then she broke off
with the inquiry, “Where is Miss Dodge?”
“In there,” said Claudia, pushing her toward the door, then pulling her
back. “I wouldn’t disturb her with expressions of sympathy, Jo; she’s
worked up to the highest pitch.”
“I’m not going to offer her sympathy,” returned Joanne with a toss
of her head. “I have an idea. If it works it will help her out of her
difficulty.”
She walked on toward the door, closed it after her and left Claudia
staring.
Just then Winnie came up. Claudia repeated her conversation with
Joanne. The worried look left Winnie’s face. “Trust Jo,” she said.
“I’ll bet you anything that she has some scheme in her noddle and that
it will work. Just you wait and see.”
The two girls hung around the door till, in a few minutes, they saw
Miss Dodge come out, a smile upon her face, her arm around Joanne.
“This dear child has saved the day,” said Miss Dodge. “I was desperate
when she came in.”
“What did you do, Jo?” cried the other two girls.
“I called up Bob Marriott. I was awfully afraid he had left. He is
staying with the Barrys at Chevy Chase, you know, but they have a car
and hadn’t started. I explained the situation and begged Bob to bring
his violin. He plays really wonderfully well, and he said he would do
it. I asked him to wear his Boy Scout uniform, for I thought that would
make an appeal to the audience, so he will be along directly and we can
go on with the programme all right.”
“He won’t be able to play the numbers on the programme, perhaps,” said
Miss Dodge, “but we’ll get some one to announce them, and I think Miss
Chesney is equal to playing his accompaniments. Get to your places,
girls, for the curtain must go up.”
The girls hurried to the stage and when the curtain was raised it
disclosed a row of green-clad maidens, and at each end of the row, like
a blossom, was a girl in pink and white. They were greeted by cordial
applause and the spring chorus began. Joanne, a little nervous, kept
watching for Bob’s arrival, but she was not disappointed, for she saw
him off in the wings before the last note of the chorus ended. While he
was conferring with Miss Chesney over the music he had brought, Miss
Dodge made a little speech of explanation, but no one appeared to be
greatly chagrined when, instead of the expected performer, a slender
lad in khaki appeared. A great clapping of hands welcomed him and he
responded so well that even greater applause was given him at the end
of his number. He gave Joanne a flashing smile as he passed her on his
way off stage, while she, flushed and pleased, wondered what would come
next, since the programme must be entirely altered.
Her surprise was great when Miss Dodge again came forward to say: “I
am sure you will all be gratified when I tell you that Madame Risteau,
whom many of you have heard, has most generously offered to sing for
us this evening. It is an unexpected treat for all of us, and I am
sure that none of you will go away regretting the substitute of vocal
numbers for those originally intended to be given by the violinist.”
“Madame Risteau!” whispered Joanne looking at Winnie, who sat next her.
Winnie responded with the same puzzled expression, but Joanne’s wonder
gave place to absolute amazement when who should walk out upon the
stage but Mrs. Marriott!
While the beautiful voice rang out clear and true, Joanne sat in a sort
of daze. It was Mrs. Marriott; it must be, yet and yet, it was Madame
Risteau. How could she be two persons, or how could two persons look
so exactly alike? She had not solved the problem even when the singer,
in passing, gave her a brilliant and intimate smile. Again and again
was she called to the front of the stage, receiving a perfect ovation.
Then Bob came with his violin. Again a cycle of song and at last a
concluding chorus. The concert was over.
The curtain had scarcely dropped before Joanne had darted from her
place and had rushed to the back, where she found Bob waiting. She gave
him both her hands. “You are a perfect dear,” she said, “to come to
our rescue, and you played wonderfully. Thank you a thousand million
times. But, Bob, before I go crazy please tell me how your mother--it
is your mother, isn’t it? How can she be Madame Risteau as well as Mrs.
Marriott?”
Bob laughed. “That’s an easy one. She was Madame Risteau before she
married my father, and she went upon the concert stage under that name.
She sings in public very seldom now, but when she does, it is under the
name she was known by. In private life she prefers to be Mrs. Marriott.
She sings in church and for charity, she did often during the war, but
not in regular concerts.”
The look of bewilderment gradually left Joanne’s face. “Please tell
me where she is,” she said tremblingly. Now the moment of meeting had
arrived, she was all of a quiver of excitement. More than ever was her
heroine adored.
Bob led the way to the little room where his mother, surrounded by
friends, was receiving thanks. “Here she is, mum,” cried Bob.
Joanne held back a second, but Mrs. Marriott held out welcoming hands
and presently Joanne was clasped in close embrace, and almost ready to
weep with joyful excitement.
Then up came sweet Mrs. Barry, Dr. and Mrs. Selden in search of Joanne,
so that quite a crowd gathered around the performers, and there was
much chatter.
“I said it was Madame Risteau the picture looked like,” Winnie found
her chance to say.
Joanne laughed and drew Winnie into the circle. “Mrs. Marriott,” she
said, “I want you to know my dear friend, Winnie Merryman.”
It was Winnie’s turn to look bewildered. She could hardly acknowledge
the introduction for surprise. “But, but----” she stammered, “I thought
Miss Dodge said it was Madame Risteau.”
“So it is,” returned Mrs. Marriott, “though I seldom use the name now.
I married at seventeen a young French musician, and have kept his
name for use on the concert stage, as it was by that name I made my
success. My husband lived only a few years and after a while I married
Mr. Marriott, so in private life I am Mrs. Marriott.”
“The concert was simply great,” said Chet Lacey, rushing up. “I never
heard so many compliments in all my life. People were simply wild.
Where is Aunt Nan? I want to tell her about them.”
“I’m here,” said Miss Chesney coming forward, “but don’t think I come
in for any compliments. The success is all due to Madame Risteau and
her son.”
“No, it isn’t,” spoke up Bob; “it’s entirely due to Joanne. We expected
to be in the audience till she called us up and told us the thing had
slumped and couldn’t we come to the rescue.”
“You are always coming to my rescue, it seems to me,” said Joanne in an
aside. “Besides, Bob, your mother volunteered. I hadn’t the ghost of an
idea that she was here or that she was a famous singer.”
“Oh, well, give mother all the credit you choose,” said Bob, “but leave
me out. I only filled in.”
“Gee! if you call that filling in,” said Chet, “it’s what I’d be
perfectly satisfied to do. You filled in and then some.”
Then everybody began praising everybody else, the Boy Scouts coming
in for their share, and all went home happy; Joanne, probably, the
happiest of them all.