The whole town was in excitement over the affair, and upon the first day the thoroughfares were quite crowded with carriages and foot passengers. Everything went off beautifully. A great deal was sold; the refreshments were excellent, the band good; and the people went away declaring they should come again upon the morrow, which accordingly they did.
The concert was almost the most exciting experience for Sheila—she had so much accompanying to do; but she soon lost her first feeling of nervousness, and forgot everything in the effort to help everything to go well.
It was all a great success. Effie sang her song very creditably, and got an encore; though some people did say it was her father who so stubbornly led the rounds of applause. May’s singing delighted everybody, and the glees went beautifully; Miss Adene was there, kindly and encouraging, giving steadiness to any wavering part by her clear rounded tones, and taking the greatest interest in everything.
Indeed, all the Monckton Manor party had come in force; and they were to appear also upon the next day, for May had a part in several of the tableaux, and two of the brothers also, and they were both very clever and helpful as scene shifters. For everything was done as far as possible by volunteers, and there was no professional aid which could possibly be dispensed with.
The third day was in some sort the grandest, for, though the things from the bazaar were mostly sold off, there was great interest over the tableaux; and there was to be a troop of performing dogs in the great hall for the young folks, since the upper room would not hold everybody, and all must be entertained. Also the tea was to be on a grander scale; and the hall was early thronged with eager buyers and spectators.
There was nothing, perhaps, very original in the tableaux, but they were very prettily got up, and it was interesting to the spectators because they knew the actors in them.
One of the most effective ones was the presentation of the French ambassadors at Queen Elizabeth’s court after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. Effie was the sharp-featured Queen in sable robes, and the stage was crowded by her black-robed courtiers and ladies-in-waiting; whilst Oscar, Cyril, Fred Monckton, and a few more, in their gorgeous frippery, stood evidently taken aback and confounded by the unwonted sight of this evidence of stern woe and regal horror and offence.
The applause for this picture was loud and long, and the curtain was just rising again when in the hush that had succeeded the clamour there penetrated a sound of noise and confusion from the hall below, and then the clear terrible cry:
“Fire! Fire!”
(To be continued.)