"And do ye call that music? I'd rather hear 'Sweet bye and bye' played on the whistle of an engine by a freight engineer on our line than that rattle bang. The freight engineer puts some sowl into his worrk, some meaning. He wants to let his frinds know he is a-cooming home, and his wife to know that 'tis toime to put on the frying pan and get the pot to b'iling. But that, what does that mean? Nothing but nimble fingers. There's no heart in it,—just noise."
We heartily agreed with the old man, but at the close of Mabel's performance there was such a storm of applause from the Juniors who were her especial admirers that the perfunctory clapping from the rest of the audience was completely drowned. She bowed and smiled and rattled her bangles and then sat down and played "Annie Laurie" with her foot on the loud pedal all the time, and with all the variations possible to weave around the beautiful old air.
"Now isn't that too Mabel Binksy for anything?" hissed Dum in my ear. She was right behind us sitting next to Harvie Price, who had sought us out on his arrival at Gresham. "She knows perfectly well that Annie Pore is to sing 'Annie Laurie,' and she chose that for her encore deliberately and without the knowledge of Miss Cox or the piano teacher, either. Cat!"
"And why should ye insult poor pussy so, Miss Tucker?" asked the Captain, who had overheard Dum's remark. "I haven't a cat to me name who would do such a trick."
Annie followed Mabel immediately. I wondered if she would be upset by Mabel's having just played her song, but she was not a whit. She whispered to Miss Cox, who was to play her accompaniment and they evidently decided to change the program.
As Annie came on the stage, I verily believe half of the girls did not at first recognize her. Her dress had that unmistakable air that a good dressmaker can give, and twenty years had not diminished the style; but it was Annie's walk and manner that astonished everyone, even her best friends. Could this be the same, tearful little Annie? She wasn't really little, but I always had thought of her as small just because she seemed to need protection. She was quite as well grown as the Tuckers and a little larger than I was. Her carriage had dignity, and there was a poise and ease to her that is rare in a school girl. Miss Cox played the opening bars to Tom Moore's beautiful and touching song, "Believe me if all those endearing young charms," and Annie sang with the simplicity and confidence of a great artist.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheek unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose.
There is something in that song that touches everyone, old and young. As Annie finished, for a moment there was perfect silence and then such an ovation as the little English girl did have! Old Captain Leahy beat his peg leg on the floor. "Forgetting me manners in me enthusiasm," he declared. Annie bowed and smiled, no more flustrated than Alma Gluck would have been.
"Did you ever see such stage presence?" whispered Dee. "Why, she is more at home there than we are in 117 in our kimonos."
"That's because she loves to sing and knows she can do it," and at the risk of being considered Annie's claque, I started fresh applause which was taken up by the whole audience; and after another whispered conference with Miss Cox, Annie sang again. This time it was "Bonnie, sweet Bessie, the maid of Dundee." These were songs her mother had taught her, and I could almost fancy the spirit of the mother had entered into the daughter.