The schoolroom looked like a little paradise to the poor waifs assembled
there. Many flags hung from the roof, and festoons of evergreens
decorated the walls. A raised platform was covered with scarlet cloth.
On this were many well-dressed ladies, the seat of honour being filled
by Lord Eltonville, who had consented to distribute the prizes. The
geraniums were displayed around the room. Some amongst them were frail
and sickly looking,--they had not been able to thrive in their squalid
and sunless abodes,--others appeared more promising, and a few
amongst the number had grown strong and handsome.
[Illustration]
Of the four hundred plant cuttings thirty alone had not been returned
for competition.
At one side of the platform was a table upon which the prizes were
arranged. They consisted of workboxes, paints, tops, knives, drums,
books, blotters, aprons, pencils, etc.
Miss Brand, much distressed at the news of Ermen's arrest, and at his
son's nonappearance, had told the story to some of the visitors, and a
great deal of interest and sympathy were excited in his favour.
Father Francis had just uncovered the prizes. The crowd of children
pushed and scrambled to get a look at the good things; but at a word
from their lady chief even the most turbulent grew quiet.
Some lovely countenances were discernible among the little gathering.
Under ordinary circumstances they would hardly have been noticed for the
dirt and grime which covered them; but this was a gala day, and, thanks
to Miss Brand's kind care, each child's face and hands had been washed,
and their white collars lent an air of cleanliness even to the most
ragged and worn dress.
Suddenly there was a stir in the room. A boy was seen advancing through
the crowd holding a magnificent geranium in his arms.
Father Francis welcomed George in a quiet, kindly way. His plant was
placed upon the platform for inspection, and it was universally agreed
that had it been in time for the competition George would have taken the
first prize.
Grieved that her little friend should be too late, Miss Brand hastily
unfastened a silver compass from her watch chain and gave it to Lord
Eltonville, to whom she said a few private words.
The atmosphere was stifling, and George was faint for want of food. Many
of the children's mothers were present holding infants in their arms.
Their worn, anxious faces beamed with delight as Lord Eltonville rose to
distribute the prizes.
"George Ermen, in consideration of your misfortune, Miss Brand wishes to
overlook the fact that your geranium was not entered for the competition
this morning. I have, therefore, the great pleasure of awarding you a
special extra prize, the presentation of which shall have precedence in
our day's business."
George walked to the platform and received the pretty silver compass, a
flush of pride and delight colouring his pale cheek.
"Let me advise you to cultivate smilax round your window," added his
lordship, doubtless thinking of his magnificent greenhouses, and little
realising the misery and squalor in which the waifs of the great city
dwelt.
"Smilax!" murmured George wonderingly.
"Yes, it is a beautiful creeper, and ought to grow nicely round your
window and make you quite a little bower."
The excitement of the children could no longer be curbed. Miss Brand was
heartily glad when the distribution was over, and she could see the poor
waifs happy with their little presents. It would be difficult to
describe their joy. Many of their number had never possessed anything
before. To have a book, a doll, a top, a pencil--something that was
their very own--seemed like a delightful dream.
Father Francis had resolved to strike a blow for his _protege_ before
the day was over. Just as Lord Eltonville was preparing to depart, he
told him that there was a little chorister among his flock who had a
lovely voice, and that if his lordship would oblige him by staying
through the short prayer with which they were about to end the day's
pleasure he would hear the boy sing.
The nobleman graciously complied, and stood, hat in hand, while the
priest said a Paternoster and three Aves, the children joining in
fervently. Then Father Francis rose and sat at the harmonium. His
lordship watched George take his place beside his spiritual director. He
noticed the lad's pale, worn face, his ragged clothes, and his air of
utter helplessness, and felt sorry that the good priest should have
prevailed upon him to stay and witness the poor little fellow's failure.
There was not a sound in the schoolroom. The grand ladies held their
breath in pity. Miss Brand looked anxious. The children longed for the
success of their gentle comrade, and Maggie's heart beat with suppressed
excitement.
"_Te Deum Laudamus, te Dominum confitemur._"
The voice seemed to pierce the heavens, so fresh and pure was its tone.
Lord Eltonville's heart stood still. The waif's face had changed with
those first words of praise; it had become illuminated with a great
light, his insignificant little figure had gained a king's dignity.
"_Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur._"
Lord Eltonville's imagination was fired by the music. He seemed to be in
a little church of his own that was full of the perfume of incense. The
low of distant oxen and the ripple of the river came through the open
window. His only son, who died at about George's age, lay buried in the
churchyard; the small grave was yellow with early primroses. He, too,
had an angel's voice, stilled for ever excepting in his father's memory.
"_Tu Rex gloriae, Christe._"
Tears fell from the nobleman's eyes. Nor song of lark, nor rustle of
waving grass, nor anything he had ever heard in all nature, had touched
him so deeply as the waif's rendering of that hymn of praise.
As the last words died away Lord Eltonville stepped forward with
outstretched hand; but George's strength was exhausted, the flush died
away from his face, and he fell backwards into the priest's arms.