THE CONCERT.
The concert was a great affair. They had not only the singing and
playing from the musical pupils, but refreshments afterward and a little
reception. Many of the townspeople came and the boys from Hill-Top. Our
Assembly Hall was full to overflowing. Miss Jane Cox was in a highly
nervous state.
"I have two pupils who will sing flat," she confided to me, "and if they
do it to-night, I'll die of mortification."
"Well, Annie Pore is going to do you credit, anyhow, I feel sure," I
said, hoping Miss Cox would take a more cheerful view.
"Yes, I am looking to her to save the day. Have you seen her? She looks
beautiful."
I had seen her; in fact, I had hooked her up. My slippers fitted finely
and Annie's dress was without doubt the best-looking one on the stage
that evening.
Mabel Binks headed the programme with a flashy selection on the piano.
She was in her element, showing off. Everything about her proclaimed _le
dernier cri_ of fashion. Even her hair was the latest creation of twists
and rolls. Her hands were covered with rings and her arms had several
bracelets in the form of snakes coiling around them. These rings and
bracelets had a way of clicking ever so slightly but just enough to
accentuate the effect that her performance was a purely mechanical one.
"Pianola," whispered Dee to me. Dee and I had captured dear old Captain
Leahy and made him sit between us. The old fellow was in fine feather
and full of jokes. Miss Peyton smiled approval when she saw that we had
taken care of her old friend, who always came to the school
entertainments by her especial invitation.
"And do ye call that music? I'd rather hear 'Sweet bye and bye' played
on the whistle of an engine by a freight engineer on our line than that
rattle bang. The freight engineer puts some sowl into his worrk, some
meaning. He wants to let his frinds know he is a-cooming home, and his
wife to know that 'tis toime to put on the frying pan and get the pot to
b'iling. But that, what does that mean? Nothing but nimble fingers.
There's no heart in it,--just noise."
We heartily agreed with the old man, but at the close of Mabel's
performance there was such a storm of applause from the Juniors who were
her especial admirers that the perfunctory clapping from the rest of the
audience was completely drowned. She bowed and smiled and rattled her
bangles and then sat down and played "Annie Laurie" with her foot on the
loud pedal all the time, and with all the variations possible to weave
around the beautiful old air.
"Now isn't that too Mabel Binksy for anything?" hissed Dum in my ear.
She was right behind us sitting next to Harvie Price, who had sought us
out on his arrival at Gresham. "She knows perfectly well that Annie Pore
is to sing 'Annie Laurie,' and she chose that for her encore
deliberately and without the knowledge of Miss Cox or the piano teacher,
either. Cat!"
"And why should ye insult poor pussy so, Miss Tucker?" asked the
Captain, who had overheard Dum's remark. "I haven't a cat to me name who
would do such a trick."
Annie followed Mabel immediately. I wondered if she would be upset by
Mabel's having just played her song, but she was not a whit. She
whispered to Miss Cox, who was to play her accompaniment and they
evidently decided to change the program.
As Annie came on the stage, I verily believe half of the girls did not
at first recognize her. Her dress had that unmistakable air that a good
dressmaker can give, and twenty years had not diminished the style; but
it was Annie's walk and manner that astonished everyone, even her best
friends. Could this be the same, tearful little Annie? She wasn't really
little, but I always had thought of her as small just because she seemed
to need protection. She was quite as well grown as the Tuckers and a
little larger than I was. Her carriage had dignity, and there was a
poise and ease to her that is rare in a school girl. Miss Cox played the
opening bars to Tom Moore's beautiful and touching song, "Believe me if
all those endearing young charms," and Annie sang with the simplicity
and confidence of a great artist.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheek unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose.
There is something in that song that touches everyone, old and young. As
Annie finished, for a moment there was perfect silence and then such an
ovation as the little English girl did have! Old Captain Leahy beat his
peg leg on the floor. "Forgetting me manners in me enthusiasm," he
declared. Annie bowed and smiled, no more flustrated than Alma Gluck
would have been.
"Did you ever see such stage presence?" whispered Dee. "Why, she is more
at home there than we are in 117 in our kimonos."
"That's because she loves to sing and knows she can do it," and at the
risk of being considered Annie's claque, I started fresh applause which
was taken up by the whole audience; and after another whispered
conference with Miss Cox, Annie sang again. This time it was "Bonnie,
sweet Bessie, the maid of Dundee." These were songs her mother had
taught her, and I could almost fancy the spirit of the mother had
entered into the daughter.
"I could almost see her mother as she sang," Harvie Price said to me
later on. "I believe Annie's voice is going to be stronger than her
mother's and it has the same note of pathos in it. Why, it was all I
could do to keep from sobbing when she sang 'Sweet Bessie.' And did you
see Shorty? Why, Shorty had his face buried in his hands, and now he
pretends he has caught a bad cold! Isn't she pretty, too? The old man
must have loosened up some to get that swell dress for her. Grandfather
wrote me the other day that Mr. Pore is so economical these days that he
won't go to church because he does not want to part with his nickel. He
says he is making money, too, on the store, since there is absolutely no
competition at the Landing."
"I am so glad you liked her dress," I answered, nearly dead to tell this
nice, sympathetic boy all about it; but keeping to my role of Father
Confessor, I naturally said nothing about how she came by it.
"I am hoping I can spend part of next summer with my grandfather,"
continued Harvey. "You know my Governor and his Father fell out about
politics and I had to stop going there, but, thank goodness, they have
made up now. Father would vote for Roosevelt, while Grandfather thinks
anybody belonging to him must be a Democrat. And not long ago Father
decided that President Wilson was, after all, about the best President
we have ever had, so he wrote to Grandfather and said he was sorry he
had ever voted for a Republican; and now the row is over and the family
is reunited. Grandfather is very arbitrary and of course it is hard to
live with him, but he is the kindest and most generous old man, and I
truly love him."
"Annie Pore says he is charming and delightful and that her mother cared
so much for him," I said, feeling that that much of Annie's talk with me
it would be all right to repeat. This conversation with Harvie was after
the concert when we were having refreshments in the Gymnasium. The
concert had gone off very well. Miss Cox was jubilant because her pupils
who would sing flat had refrained for the occasion. Miss Cox herself had
sung delightfully and had won the heart of old Captain Leahy by giving
"The Wearing of the Green" as an encore.
When the programme was all over and everyone had done the best she
could, Miss Peyton made a little speech and said that by especial
request from some of the older guests Miss Annie Pore was to sing "Annie
Laurie."
That was really the treat of the evening. We were delighted because it
made Mabel Binks so mad.
"I am some weary of that sob stuff from 'Orphan Annie,'" I heard her say
to one of the Hill-Top boys.
"Why, I think it is great!" was his unsympathetic reply. "And what a
little beauty she is, too!"
Once off the stage, Annie's shyness returned in full force, but it soon
wore off under the genial good fellowship of the Tuckers and Mary
Flannigan, and Harvie's big-brother air of pride in her success, and
Shorty's funny reproaches for making him catch such a bad cold. She
looked very happy, and not even Mabel Binks could mar her cheerfulness,
although she plainly heard Mabel say to a Junior: "I wonder who lent her
that dress. It certainly looks familiar to me and anyone could see it
was shortened for the occasion."
My stitches were not so small as they might have been!