The audience took this act of recognition to themselves, shouting and clapping again and again. The small face grew frightened, but the sight of a certain purple poppy, nervously bobbing among the sea of heads, restored its bravery. The little maid tucked the instrument beneath her chin. The confusion ceased.
“IT WAS AS THOUGH ALL THE PLAINTIVE STORY OF A DYING RACE HAD BEEN STORED IN THAT LITTLE RED CASE”
With her eyes uplifted, as though listening, she drew the bow across the strings—first tremblingly, then lovingly, and, finally, triumphantly. Once only her eyes lowered, sought the purple poppy, and lifted again. With more and more feeling came the music. It was as though all the plaintive story of a dying race had been stored in that little red case. Their hardships and sorrows; their wild life of the woods, the lakes, and the prairies; their weird chants and incantations; their joys and pinings now sobbed, now sung at the touch of small brown fingers.
Not a person stirred; even the children grew intent; for a moment the fans were poised; breathlessly the people listened. The music ceased. Tears were on cheeks fair and seamed.
A man appeared before the platform. It was Mr. Green, the minister. “Our little townswoman has been requested to render, as a special favor, that beloved melody, ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee.’” He spoke with earnestness, and retired immediately.
A strange expression came over the small musician’s face, a look so reverent, so pure, that the audience leaned forward in their seats. With an upward, yearning glance the child began to play.
If before, the dazzling, fantastic garb of the player had blended with the dreamy legends of her tender music, not so now; none looked at the girl save unconsciously to watch her face. Each person felt alone in holy communion with the music which descended as from heaven itself to the depths of their souls.
These strains spoke not of the forest, nor of the sea. They rung out in condemnation; they plead with tender reproachfulness; they swept through each soul, causing it to vibrate the notes in very sympathy with themselves, but it was always “Thou and me,” to each heart the world was not.
The notes died away. A great sigh arose from the audience. The curtain fell, and quietly the concourse of people dissolved. There was no crowding, no laughter; there was little talk. As from a temple the people passed slowly out.