Meg of the heather

by Evelyn R. Garratt

Perhaps it was a good thing that she did not catch sight of the chairman's face as she began. He had opened a little door at the back of the platform and had smiled at someone whom he evidently found there. He left it open and returned to his seat with a face full of delight.

Since Meg had last sung she had passed through deep waters. She had known what it was to feel absolutely alone and forsaken, to experience darkness and the shadow of death; she had as it were had a look into Hell. It was impossible that these experiences should not affect her singing. When last she had sung the "Last Rose of Summer" she was living in the midst of comfort and luxury; and though the pathos in her voice had affected people to a marked degree, it was nothing to the emotion that was stirring in the heart of one present this evening.

Hidden from view on the other side of the door, leading off the platform, sat a young man, a rather rough looking man with a pair of bright blue eyes, a red handkerchief tied round his throat, and a faded rose in his buttonhole. As Meg's pure voice, rich, and full of feeling was wafted towards him, he bowed his head on his hands and sobbed.

The audience inside the room were also full of appreciation. Many of those present were mothers with babies in their arms, who had been looking forward to a good cry or a good laugh this evening, they cared little which, so long as their emotions were stirred. And they were not disappointed. It was the look of the singer almost as much as her voice that stirred them. Mrs. Webb boldly took her handkerchief out of her pocket and cried, and Willie, not knowing what it was all about, and seeing the tears on his mother's face, set up a howl.

"I must take him out," said his mother to Meg as the latter, having finished her song, came back to her seat. "You won't mind coming home alone, will you? He's sleepy, poor little man, that's what it is."

The meeting over Meg rose to go, but the Rector asked her to stay for a moment, while he shook hands with his flock, as he wanted to speak to her.

Meg was a little disappointed when after the last person had disappeared, and the Rector returned to her, that he said nothing about singing lessons, but simply thanked her for her help, adding with a smile, "particularly for putting your feelings on one side and singing my favourite song." Then he told her that she would be saved several steps if she left by the door behind the platform. "God bless you," he said. To Meg those three words seemed to mean much, as the tone in which they were spoken was that of a prayer, and took off the edge of disappointment at nothing being said about the possibility of her getting pupils.

"Perhaps he doesn't think I sing well enough," she thought as she mounted the platform and passed through the door into the lobby; then she paused breathless, for at the outer door stood Jem.

Without a word Jem placed her hand on his arm, and piloted her out from among the crowd that was lingering around the door.

"Don't you be afeard," he said quietly, "I've learnt my lesson. I'm not worthy to black your boots; I know that well enough by this time. But I'm going to take care of you for all that."