CHAPTER X.
IN the morning, as he had promised, Mr. Farrar came to take Cousin Gertrude to drive.
“Chee! Chee! Nut-Brown Maiden, where are you?” Stepping to the stairway, Gertrude called, more earnestly, “Birdie, I want you.”
A shy little face peered over the railing, “Please, Cousin Gertrude, have Igotto come down?”
“Why, Chee, wouldn’t you like to? There is some one here I want you to see.”
“Yes, I know, but I’d rather look at him through the parlor blinds.”
Gertrude showed her disappointment. Chee watched her and yielded, exclaiming, “Well, you must be awful proud of him to feel so bad. I suppose I’d ought to come.”
Cousin Gertrude’s cheeks grew pinker, but she did not look displeased; she only held out her hand to Chee. Wondering what she might say toput the little girl more at ease, she led her to the veranda.
A gentleman was standing by the carriage block, stroking the mane of a horse. At sight of Chee he quickly removed his hat, as though to some fine lady. “So this is little Chee,” said he, “our sweet singer, only she doesn’t really sing, she plays. Good morning, my dear.”
“Good morning. I don’t know just what to call you yet. It doesn’t seem quite kind to say ‘Mr. Farrar,’ when you are Cousin Gertrude’s best friend, does it? She calls you ‘my Herman,’ but I’m afraid she’d rather I wouldn’t say that, too.”
Mr. Farrar was pleased with this artlessness, characteristic of Chee, so unlike any boldness, so like open confidence in one she instinctively recognized to be worthy. Her voice at such times seemed to say, “I’ll trust you, you may trust me.”
His eyes twinkled, but he said gravely, seeming not to notice Gertrude, “Suppose you compromise, and say ‘our Herman.’”
Chee gave a perplexed glance toward Gertrude. Suddenly a smile brightened her face, as she exclaimed, “Oh, I’ve got it. Why didn’t we thinkbefore? S’pose I call you ‘Cousin Herman.’” She gave no opportunity for dissent before adding, “It’s so much more comfortable, now I know who you are.”
Cousin Gertrude appeared somewhat confused, but her friend patted the little girl’s head approvingly, saying, “Quite right, little Chee, the very thing, indeed—”
“But Birdie,” hastily interrupted Gertrude, “we haven’t thanked you yet.” The child cast furtive glances toward the house. Her companions changed the conversation. Their eyes, following hers, had seen others, steel blue, peering through a lace curtain.
“Is Aunt Mean busy?” asked Gertrude.
After a discreet silence Aunt Mean appeared in the front doorway. A brief introduction had scarcely passed before she said, aside to Gertrude, in low but decidedly distinct tones, “A very likely young man, my dear, very likely. You showed good taste. I persume there ain’t a better looking in our neighborhood,” adding, reflectively, “It’s a mighty serious business, this gittin’ a man.”
Chee wondered if Aunt Mean spoke from experience,and if it wouldn’t have been a very serious matter indeed if Aunt Mean had ever attempted to “git” any man other than her brother. During the embarrassment that followed, Mr. Farrar found occasion to remark that it was getting late, and Cousin Gertrude felt obliged to go for her hat. But before entering the carriage she managed to whisper to Chee, “Don’t undress when you go up-stairs to-night—we shall be home early.”
What a long day it seemed to Chee! How anxiously she listened for the sound of wheels on the driveway!
After all she watched in vain, for they had left the carriage before the Bend was reached. The first she knew of their coming was a step on the stairway—very soft, like stocking feet. She opened the door a little. “Take off your shoes please, Chee, and come down into the parlor awhile.”
It was fortunate that the bedrooms occupied by Miss Almeana and her brother were at the extreme end of the house. Furthermore, both were slightly deaf and extraordinarily sound sleepers.
In the parlor the cousins and Mr. Farrar gathered around Chee’s tin lamp. “And so you have had no instructor but that minister,” he began. “We saw him to-day, and, as he himself says, he doesn’t know much about music. You can read notes, he tells me.”
“Easy music,” answered Chee, bashfully. The dreaded ordeal had come—her secret was out.
“Well, that’s good, but how in the world did you learn to manage the instrument? Who taught you to hold it, child?”
“I don’t know, Cousin Herman, I think perhaps I hold it just as Daddy did, maybe I don’t, though. It’s so long since I’ve seen him I can’t be sure.” This last was added a little wearily. “What has the way I hold Daddy’s fiddle to do with Cousin Herman?” she wondered.
“It’s just as I say,” exclaimed Mr. Farrar, turning to Gertrude,—“inherited talent. Probably the father was only a fair player, but unless I’m stepping down a peg, the child’s a genius.” Chee wondered if a genius was something nice, but, because she disliked to show her ignorance, refrained from asking.
“Of course the child has run to weeds—it couldn’t be otherwise. I must hear her play again, but at all odds she is a musician.” Then turning suddenly to Chee, he asked, “Where is your violin, my dear? You must play your best for me, then Gertrude shall tell you our plan.”
Chee looked frightened, “Why, Cousin Herman, I couldn’t, she’d hear me—I couldn’t for anything.”
“Who? Oh, I forgot. Well, we’ll have to fix it somehow. Where have you been playing all this while? Up attic? What’s the harm now, then?” So saying, Mr. Farrar proceeded to unlace his shoes.
Chee was a little tremulous over the undertaking, but Cousin Herman was firm; so carrying her small lamp she led the way up the front stairs, shielding the flickering flame with her hand. The light fell full upon her excited face. Now and then she paused in the slow, careful ascent to give whispered warning where a stair-riser might creak—all so familiar to her. Mr. Farrar easily stepped over these places, as did Chee, but, lest there should be any slight noise and their stealthyjourney to the attic be disclosed, he assisted Gertrude over the treacherous places as indicated by their little Indian guide. When the garret was reached, Gertrude seated herself on a trunk. Mr. Farrar leaned against the chimney. Chee lingered at the railing, anxiously listening.
SHE STOOD A MOMENT IN MEDITATION“SHE STOOD A MOMENT IN MEDITATION, THE VIOLIN ALREADY UNDER HER CHIN”
“SHE STOOD A MOMENT IN MEDITATION, THE VIOLIN ALREADY UNDER HER CHIN”
“SHE STOOD A MOMENT IN MEDITATION, THE VIOLIN ALREADY UNDER HER CHIN”
“Chee!” they both impatiently called, at the same time glancing curiously around.
She approached the familiar hiding-place, and very slowly drew out the old violin box. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips met in a straight line. A brave determination burned in her eyes. She realized in a vague way that much depended upon this effort, but with a pleased, expectant look she deftly attuned the strings of her instrument.
When this was done, she stood a moment in meditation, the violin already under her chin, lightly tapping one foot with the bow.
It was a queer place in which to make one’s début,—that dusty corner of the old loft. The tin lamp on a box lighted up the beams hung with long drooping garlands of cobwebs. Not within reach of the lamplight, or the pale moonshine coming through the curtainless windows, huge blackshadows gathered around. But the weirdness of the aspect did not impress Chee; for her a more familiar spot could not have been chosen. Oh, how many happy hours she had spent in that dim little corner!
Soon her meditative position changed, she had come to a decision, and began to play.
At first, embarrassment hindered her, but before many notes trembled out on the stillness, she had forgotten everything except her song.
It was only the old-fashioned air, “Annie Laurie.” The child must have known the words, for her music told, even plainer than any words could tell, the sentiment of the old-time refrain. Perhaps she had guessed more of her listeners’ state of mind than they knew. However this may have been, she had chosen well; while the song lasted, her listeners forgot to be critics—they were only lovers.
The last strains had scarcely died away, when, close upon them, followed the opening notes of “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” If the first piece had been selected for her audience, this was for herself.
It was her favorite, the one she most often played. No embarrassment now—with a far-away expression in her eyes, she gave variation after variation of the familiar hymn. Suddenly the bow paused—the note just begun was never finished. A slight noise came from the stairway. After a moment of listening, Mr. Farrar crept to the railing and looked down. Everything was still.
“It must have been only mice,” he said, but Chee was thoroughly frightened. Nothing could induce her to continue. At the first sign of alarm Daddy Joe’s fiddle had disappeared.