Soon her meditative position changed, she had come to a decision, and began to play.
At first, embarrassment hindered her, but before many notes trembled out on the stillness, she had forgotten everything except her song.
It was only the old-fashioned air, “Annie Laurie.” The child must have known the words, for her music told, even plainer than any words could tell, the sentiment of the old-time refrain. Perhaps she had guessed more of her listeners’ state of mind than they knew. However this may have been, she had chosen well; while the song lasted, her listeners forgot to be critics—they were only lovers.
The last strains had scarcely died away, when, close upon them, followed the opening notes of “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” If the first piece had been selected for her audience, this was for herself.
It was her favorite, the one she most often played. No embarrassment now—with a far-away expression in her eyes, she gave variation after variation of the familiar hymn. Suddenly the bow paused—the note just begun was never finished. A slight noise came from the stairway. After a moment of listening, Mr. Farrar crept to the railing and looked down. Everything was still.
“It must have been only mice,” he said, but Chee was thoroughly frightened. Nothing could induce her to continue. At the first sign of alarm Daddy Joe’s fiddle had disappeared.
CHAPTER XI.
AFTER Mr. Farrar had bade them good night and stolen out the front doorway, Gertrude revealed to Chee their plan.
“We are going to have a concert,” she announced. “Mr. Green says you haven’t had one here in town since last Christmas—and we’re going to get people so interested the whole place will turn out. Herman knows how, for he has gotten up several in the city.”
“Get up a concert, why, how can he?” asked Chee, incredulously.