Miss Jane stopped and turned.
“Professor Hedden thinks,” Lucille cooed, “or, really, I'm not sure which of us thought of it, but we quite agree, that you must play at least once to-morrow morning! To christen your organ with you taking no part would be quite too shameful. So”—she hesitated and her smile was wicked—“so we want you to play the congregation out after the professor is through. You know they will never leave while he is playing.”
The taunt was cruel and plain enough—that the congregation would leave if Miss Jane played—and Miss Jane reddened. Professor Hedden, with Sam Wiggett, came up to them.
“Of course you must play!” he said through his beard, in his gruff, kindly voice.
“But, I—I—” stammered Miss Jane.
“Good-night! Good-night, all!” said Lucille. “It's all arranged, Miss Hurley,” and she bore the professor away.
“I shall not dare!” Miss Jane said to David. “After such music as the professor will give! Even the biggest thing I know—”
“But you'll not play the biggest thing you know,” said David.
The church was crowded the next morning. Even before the Sunday school was dismissed the seats began to fill. Sam Wiggett was on hand early, grim but proud of his great gift; his daughter came later with Lucille and Professor Hedden. When David came to take his seat behind his pulpit the church was filled as it had never been filled before, and many were standing. The two ladies of the choir had new hats. Professor Hedden took his place on the organist's bench and little Miss Jane cowered behind the rail curtain of terra-cotta wool. From the body of the church nothing could be seen but the top of the quaint little rooster wing on her hat. The praise service began.
I cannot remember now what Professor Hedden played, but it was wonderful music, as we all knew it would be. There were moments when the whole church edifice seemed to tremble, and others when we held our breath lest we fail to hear the delicate whispering of the organ. From my seat in the diagonal pews at the side of the church I could see old Sam Wiggett's face, grim and set, and Lucille Hardcome's triumphant glances and David's thin, clean-cut features, his whole spirit uplifted by the music, and I could see Miss Jane's rooster wing sinking lower and lower behind the terra-cotta curtain.