The musical box finished its waltz, and almost immediately struck up a solemn march.
“Now we’re soldiers,” said Dennis, “marching to the funeral of one of our comrades killed in battle. I’m captain.”
All the games suggested by the musical box were successful: even Philippa was pleased and happy, and Miss Mervyn began to think that the party might pass off without any quarrels or disturbance. But, unfortunately, Philippa at last had an idea which led to the overthrow of this pleasant state of things. This idea was that they should join in with the musical box when it played the “Bluebells of Scotland,” and have a concert. She herself would conduct, and play the violin. One child could sing the tune, another could whistle it, another could play it on a comb, another was provided with a small drum. Every one thought it a beautiful idea, and Philippa, very much excited, mounted on the window-seat by the musical box, violin in hand, with her band disposed round her.
But alas! Instead of the sweet sounds she hoped to hear, the most terrible discords arose at the first tinkling notes of the musical box. It was wonderful that such a small band could produce such a great noise, but perhaps this was because each child wanted to be heard above the rest. The whistling, screaming, squeaking, and banging, all in different keys and different time, quite overpowered the gentle plaintive notes of the violin and the correct melody of the musical box. Miss Mervyn at the end of the room covered her ears, and Philippa dropped her bow, and exclaimed angrily: “Stop! it’s a horrid noise.”
That was easily said, but no one paid any attention to it. The band went on screaming, banging, tootling, and whistling harder than ever.
“Stop, I say!” cried Philippa again, stamping her foot. “I’m the conductor. I say stop!”
But it had no result. She threw down her violin, and shook the musical box angrily, but there was no way of stopping that either: it went steadily on, regardless that she was beside herself with rage. In another moment she would have dashed it on the floor; but, fortunately, just at that instant Mrs Trevor appeared at the door. The sight of her had more effect than all Philippa’s rage. The band suddenly stopped, the din ceased, peace was restored. Miss Mervyn took her hands from her ears, and advanced from the other end of the room. Philippa flew to her mother, and hid her face in her gown.
“What is it, my darling?” said Mrs Trevor, looking fondly at her daughter, and severely at Miss Mervyn. “Why have you been making this dreadful noise?”
Philippa poured forth her complaints. She had wanted to have a concert—a proper concert—and they had done it all wrong, and they wouldn’t stop when she told them, and—
“Poor darling,” said Mrs Trevor, stroking Philippa’s hair caressingly, “she has such a sensitive ear.—It was hardly wise, I think, Miss Mervyn,” turning to that lady, “to allow such a noise. Really, when I opened the door, it was quite like a number of cats quarrelling. Quite enough to give Philippa one of her bad headaches for the rest of the day.”