CHAPTER XII.
BUSY weeks followed. Mr. Farrar frequently came and went—of course to see Gertrude, but often their afternoon drive together was only to and from the parsonage gate.
Finally the day for the concert was set. Artists from a distance were engaged, and the children’s rehearsal commenced. Chesterfield life had begun to lag. For the farmers it was less dull than for the townsfolk, on account of the haying. But gossip was scarce, and the news of a concert ahead was a genuine treat.
“Now I wouldn’t snap my fingers to hear the school youngsters holler, but regular music fellers from the city—that’s something we don’t get a chance at every day.”
The choir-leader made this remark with his usual nasal drawl. The big bulletin of the coming event was being fastened against the wall of thepost-office. A little knot of men and boys had gathered around.
“Well, I don’t know as I could ’zactly afford to pay for city finery, but as Sadie and Bill are both a-going to sing, mother ’n’ me cal’ated as how we’d have to see they did right proper,” replied wee Sadie’s grandpa.
“Stuff and nonsense,” growled the doctor, as he peered impatiently at the postmistress, as though that meek little person was to blame for the tardiness of a letter, “waste of time and money.” But the doctor was a bachelor, and “took in the shows,” so the people said, during his city trips. He was a gruff man, and though they had often proved his kind-heartedness in a case of measles, or scarlet fever, small urchins stepped aside with alacrity as he passed.
“Some on you is wrong, and some on you is maybe right,” said Bill Saulswick, the village wag and philosopher, “but I know good tunes when I hears ’um; just gimme the sort, be it fiddlin’, or singin’, or drummin’,—that tells me why I’m who, and which I’m what, and when I’m where, and I’ll sit there till the lights go out.”
While the villagers enjoyed the gossip, poor little Chee was in a whirl of excitement. Her days seemed a series of ups and downs. At times she could hardly wait for the great day to arrive, then in a moment her heart would sink with terror, and she would hide herself for hours until she had conquered the temptation to tell Cousin Gertrude she must break her promise. But she came of a sturdy, resolute race,—to falter would be worse than to fail, so she struggled with herself, Gertrude claiming more and more of her time as the eventful day drew nearer.
“It do beat all,” Aunt Mean would exclaim, as from the pantry window she watched the girls go through the meadow lot, “what Gertrude finds so entertainin’ about that child. She hasn’t eyes for nobody but her, gaddin’ off every day, or ridin’ to town. I should most expect her beau would make some kind of a row over it.”
For they did “gad off” every pleasant day, sometimes to the grove to plan, but more often to the minister’s. There Chee would practise on Mr. Green’s violin, while Gertrude read or talked with Mrs. Green.
A few days before the concert, Mr. Farrar met them that he might hear, for the last time, Chee’s piece.
“Cousin Herman, if I play very well indeed, will you please say ‘yes’ to something?”
“That’s rather broad,” replied the gentleman; “suppose I can’t say ‘yes.’”
“Oh, but I know you can, just as well as not.”
“What is it about?”
Chee flushed a little, but answered, smilingly, “Clothes.”
“Ho, ho, that’s it! Well, I guess I can go it.”
Mr. Farrar considered himself an apt student of human nature. “It’s only natural the child should have a little pride. It’s a good thing Gertrude intends to see to a gown for her.” So said the young man to himself, little doubting the exact nature of Chee’s request.
Satisfied with his promise to say “yes,” the little girl began to play her chosen piece.
It had taken so long to make a selection from her old pieces, Cousin Herman had bought severalnew ones—marvels of creation they were to Chee. “Fixed up with the baby songs all in,” as she styled the turns and trills. She had tried to play true to the notes, but it was a hard task. To-day as she was conscientiously measuring them out, he left the room a moment to speak with the minister. Returning, he was surprised at the progress she had made in his absence. Thinking his presence had hindered her, he stole softly to the door.
With a listening expression on her face, Chee was slowly pacing the floor. The sheet of music lay on the table, face down. Undoubtedly, as Mr. Farrar recalled the selection, it was the one she was playing—but how changed! It seemed to have been but the framework for the little artist to build upon.
She finished, and brushing the damp hair from her warm forehead, looked up. Cousin Herman stood in the doorway. Chee glanced at the neglected sheet of music with a guilty look. “I forgot, Cousin Herman, I really did,” she explained, hurriedly.
“I guess you needn’t bother with the notes. Isee you have the melody in your head.” He tried to speak unconcernedly.
Chee was relieved. “I’m ever so glad. You don’t know how much easier it will be.”
“After you have a teacher I suppose it will be necessary to tie you down to accurate reading, but until then we won’t spoil your own way.”
The minister came in just then, followed by his wife and Gertrude. “Is the lesson over?” he asked.
“Cousin Herman has got to say ‘yes’ now.”
“Say ‘yes?’ What to?”
“That’s just what he hasn’t been told,” replied Mr. Farrar.
Going to him, Chee drew down his head, that she might whisper in his ear. He looked perplexed. A private consultation followed, much to the amusement of the others in the room.
At first he seemed hard to persuade, but finally yielded, and Chee left him with a satisfied, “That’s a good Cousin Herman.”
“Gertrude,” he said at parting, “you needn’t order Chee’s dress; that matter has already been attended to.”
Gertrude was not only astonished, she was disappointed, and started to speak, then checked herself.
“After all, Herman must know what he is about. I’ll leave it to him.” Gertrude had learned one lesson; it could not be forgotten soon.