Cherry had made some sort of lace arrangement for the hair, three cornered and arabesque, and when Mrs. Hartlett had finished singing she crowned her with it.
It wasn’t particularly becoming, but when I said so Ethel said I was horrid.
Just after the singing I saw Minerva whisper something to James, and the two went off. At the time I supposed that she had gotten tired of standing around among white folks, with nothing to do, and in a measure I had guessed right, but I was not prepared for what followed.
The windows of Mrs. Hartlett’s parlour were open; it had been her intention to hold her reception in the house until she saw that it would be impossible with such an out-pouring of neighbours and friends.
Suddenly from out the open windows came the sound of melodious voices—negro voices singing one of the most plaintive of the darkey melodies: “Steal Away to Jesus.”
Our proposed concert at Egerton had fallen through, owing to various reasons. We had made it all right with Deacon Fotherby by sending him the goodly amount of a collection taken up one evening among the Clover Lodgers.
But when I heard the music and recognized that there were four voices concerned in it I realized that the concert had merely been changed in point of time and place and that we were now listening to it, and that it was one of Minerva’s sudden inspirations. She had come to Mrs. Hartlett’s with no gift and the generous-hearted girl had proposed that she and James and the others give the only thing in their power to give.
The effect was strangely beautiful. The voices were softened just a little; they were in perfect accord and the four sang with the sincerity of feeling that negroes always throw into their songs, whether grave or gay.
“It’s Minerva’s present to you, dear,” said Cherry, leaning over and patting Mrs. Hartlett’s hand.
“Niggers can sing, annyway,” was Pat’s Irish comment.