Soon the people began to come in, and after a while the lights were turned up, and the exercises commenced. There were dialogues and music, and at last the master of ceremonies announced the reading of “The Romance of the Swan’s Nest,” by Miss Kate Oswald.
Other people had been interested in what went before, no doubt; but to Sally Green the whole evening had been but a prelude to this one triumphant moment for which she waited.
Pretty Miss Kate came forward like a little queen,—tall and slight, with her coronet of fair, braided hair, in which a shy, sweet rosebud nestled. She wore a dress of white muslin, as light and fleecy as a summer cloud, with a sash that might, as far as its hue went, have been cut from the deep blue sky over which that summer cloud floated. A little bunch of flowers was on her bosom, and other ornament she had none. She looked like one of the pretty creatures, half angel and half woman of fashion, which some of the modern French artists paint.
As she stepped forward she was greeted with a burst of irrepressible applause, and then the house was very still as she began to read. How her soft eyes glowed, and the blushes burned on her dainty cheeks, when she came to the lines:—
“Little Ellie in her smile
Chooseth: ‘I will have a lover,
Riding on a steed of steeds!
He shall love me without guile,
And to him I will discover
That swan’s nest among the reeds.
“‘And the steed shall be red-roan,
And the lover shall be noble,
With an eye that takes the breath,
And the lute he plays upon
Shall strike ladies into trouble,
As his sword strikes men to death.’”
She had the whole audience for her lovers before she was through with the poem, and the last verse was followed with a perfect storm of applause. Was she not young and beautiful, with a voice as sweet as her smile? And then she was Squire Oswald’s daughter, and he was the great man of the village.
She stepped off the stage; and then the applause recalled her, and she came back, pink with pleasure. A bow, a smile, and then a step too near the poorly protected foot-lights, and the fleecy white muslin dress was a sheet of flame.
How Sally Green sprang over those foot-lights she never knew; but there she was, on the stage, and “the shawl” was wrapped round pretty Miss Kate before any one else had done any thing but scream. Close, close, close, Sally hugged its heavy woollen folds. She burned her own fingers to the bone; but what cared she? The time of the poor little mouse had come at last.