When the party reached the school-house it was already late. The Greenways were always late on such occasions. The room was full, and Mr Martin, the curate, who had the arrangement of it all, was bustling about with a programme in his hand, finding seats for the audience, greeting acquaintances, and rushing into the inner room at intervals to see if the performers had arrived.
“All here?” he said. “Then we’d better begin. Drum and fife band!”
The band, grinning with embarrassment and pleasure, stumbled up the rickety steps on to the platform. The sounds of their instruments and then the clapping and stamping of the audience were plainly heard in the green room, which had only a curtain across the doorway.
“Lor’!” said Bella, pulling it a little on one side and peeping through at the audience, “there is a lot of people! Packed just as close as herrings. There’s a whole row from the Rectory. How I do palpitate, to be sure! I wish Charlie was here!”
Mr Buckle soon arrived with vexation on his brow. No sign of Busby! He was down twice in the programme, and there was hardly a chance he would turn up. It was too bad of Busby to throw them over like that. He might at least have come.
“Well, if he wasn’t going to sing I don’t see the good of that,” said Bella; “but it is a pity.”
“It just spoils the whole thing,” said Mr Buckle, and the other performers agreed. But to Lilac nothing could spoil the concert. It was all beautiful and glorious, and she thought each thing grander than the last. Uncle Joshua’s solo almost brought tears to her eyes, partly of affection and pride and partly because he extracted such lovely and stirring sounds from the clar’net. It made her think of her mother and the cottage, and of so many dear old things of the past, that she felt sorrowful and happy at once. Next she was filled with awe by Mr Buckle’s recitation, which, however, fell rather flat on the rest of the assembly; and then came the “Edinburgh Quadrilles”, in which the performers surpassed themselves in banging and clattering. Lilac was quite carried away by enthusiasm. She stood as close to the curtain as she could, clapping with all her might. The programme was now nearly half over, and Mr Busby’s first blank had been filled up by someone else. Mr Martin came hurriedly in.
“Who’ll sing or play something?” he said. “We must fill up this second place or the programme will be too short.”
His glance fell upon Lilac.
“Why, you’re the little girl who was Queen? You can sing, I know. That’ll do capitally—come along.”