Will you play, my dear?"
"Ah, yes, please do," exclaimed some of the children who had gathered
around her.
"In mercy to us poor mortals for whom there is no escape save going
to bed, please comply," whispered the old lady in her ear.
The light in Miss Burton's eyes was mirthful rather than sacred as
she rose and went to the piano, and at once an air of breezy and
interested expectancy took the place of the previous bored expression.
"Come, Van," said Stanton, throwing away his cigar, "we'll need
your tenor voice. We must stand by that little woman. The Chints
tribe have incited to profanity long enough, and shall make the
night hideous no more. If we could only drown them instead of their
voices, what a mercy it would be!" and the young men went around
and stood in the open door near the piano.
"You are to sing," said Miss Burton, with a decided little nod at
them.
"We intend to," replied Stanton, "since you are to accompany us."
She started "Coronation," that spirited and always inspiriting
battle song of the church--jubilant and militant--a melody that is
also admirably adapted for blending rough and inharmonious voices.
For a moment her own voice was like that of a singing lark, mounting
from its daisy covert; or rather, like the flow of a silver rill
whose music was soon lost, however, in the tumultuous rush of other
tributary streams of sound; still, the general effect was good, and
the people enjoyed it.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215