A Popular Schoolgirl, Angela Brazil [recommended reading txt] 📗

somebody who's enthusiastic and able and willing to organize things."

"That's the point, of course. Dr. Linton is very able, but not willing to bother with us beyond our lessons—he's so frightfully busy. I suppose he feels that after training the Abbey choir, and conducting choral societies to sing his cantatas, he doesn't care to trouble himself over schoolgirls."

"He's a real musician, though. I often wish I could study under him. I'd love to play something with him, just once, to see how it feels to have him accompany me. I think it would be so inspiring, it would just make one let oneself go! I stay every Sunday evening after service at the Abbey to hear his recitals. Occasionally somebody plays the violin, and his accompaniment is simply gorgeous. He manages to make it sound like a whole orchestra. I've never played with an organ. It's so much fuller than a piano."

"Yes," agreed Ingred contemplatively.

Bess's remarks had given her an idea, but she did not want to communicate it at once to her friend. It was nothing more or less than that she should ask Dr. Linton to allow Bess to play with him some time in the Abbey. She wondered whether she dared. His temper was still decidedly irritable, and it was quite uncertain whether he would receive the suggestion graciously, or snap her head off. She thought, however, it was worth venturing.

"I'll try to catch him in an amiable mood," she decided.

In order not to arouse any grounds for irritation, she practiced particularly well, and took her next work to him at a high stage of excellence.

"Bravo!" he said, when she had finished her "Serenade." "I believe you've really got some music in you! You brought out that crescendo passage very well indeed. We want a little more delicacy in these arpeggios, and then it will do. Your touch has improved very much lately."

It was so seldom that her master launched forth into praise, that Ingred colored with pleasure. Now certainly seemed the time, if ever—to put in a word for Bess.

"Oh, Dr. Linton, may I ask you to do something for me?" she blurted out.

He thrust back his hair with a mock-pathetic gesture.

"What is it?" he inquired humorously. "Another autograph album? Or a subscription? I've grown cautious by experience, and I don't answer 'Yes, thou shalt have it to the half of my kingdom!' I never give blind promises."

"It isn't an autograph album (though I'd be glad to have your name in mine, all the same, if I may bring it some day), it is this: I've a friend at school, Bess Haselford, who plays the violin very well. She has lessons from Signor Chianti. She goes to all your recitals, and she would so love some time to try a piece over with the organ. Do you think, some day when you are in the Abbey, you could let her? I know it's fearful cheek to ask you!"

"Why, bring her by all means," said Dr. Linton heartily. "Let me see, I have an organ pupil to-morrow at 3.30. Suppose you come at half-past four, and I'll give her ten minutes with pleasure. I can fit it in before the choir practice, I dare say."

"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Ingred. "We can come straight on from school."

It was delightful to have caught Dr. Linton in such an amiable mood. Ingred hastened to tell the good news to Bess, and also to beg the necessary permission from Miss Burd.

Bess, greatly thrilled, turned up next afternoon with her violin and music-case, and when classes were over they walked across to the Abbey. The pupil was just finishing his lesson, and some rather extraordinary sounds were palpitating among the arches and pillars of the old Minster.

"It must take ages to learn to manage all those stops and pedals properly," commented Bess. "I'm glad a violin has only four strings—they're quite enough!"

They sat in a pew, and waited till the lesson was over, then ventured into the chancel. Dr. Linton saw them in the looking-glass which hung over his seat, and turning round beckoned them to him.

"So you want to hear what it's like to play with an organ?" he said kindly to Bess, sounding the notes for her to tune her violin, and at the same time turning over her music. "What have we got here? It must be something I know, so that I can improvise an accompaniment. Let us try this Impromptu. Don't be afraid of your instrument, and bring the tone well out. Remember, you're in a church, and not in a drawing-room."

Bess, fluttered, nervous, but fearfully excited and pleased, declared herself ready, and launched into the Impromptu. Dr. Linton accompanied her with the finished skill of a clever musician. He subdued the organ just sufficiently to allow the violin to lead, but brought in such a beautiful range of harmonies that the piece really became a duet.

"Why, that's capital!" he declared at the conclusion. "What else have you inside that case? We'll have this Prelude now; it's rather a favorite of mine. The Bourrée? Oh, we'll take that afterwards!"

Ingred had only expected Dr. Linton to play one piece with Bess, but he went on and on, and even kept the choir waiting while he made her try the Prelude over again.

"I've had quite an enjoyable half-hour," he said, shutting the books at last. "You're a sympathetic little player! Look here, the lady who was to have helped me with my recital on Sunday week has failed me. Suppose you take her place, and play the Prelude. It would go very well if we practiced it a few times together."

"Play at the recital!" gasped Bess.

"Why not? Ask your father when you go home, and send me a note to-morrow, for I want to get the thing fixed up. These boys are waiting for me now. I have to train them for an anthem. You can come and practice with me on Friday at the same time, 4.30."

Dr. Linton dismissed the girls as if he took it entirely for granted that the matter was settled. Bess was almost overwhelmed by the proposal. It was considered a great honor to play in the Abbey, and she had never dreamed that it could fall to her lot to be asked to take part in the Sunday recital. She was not sure how her father and mother would view the idea, but rather to her surprise they both readily acquiesced.

"We shall have to get your grandfather to come over and hear you," said Mr. Haselford.

"Oh yes! And may I ask Ingred to stay with us for the week-end? You see, she can't come all the way from Wynch-on-the-Wold for Sunday recitals, and it's entirely owing to her that I'm playing. I should so like her to be there."

Ingred accepted the invitation with alacrity. She had grown very fond of Bess lately—so fond, indeed, that Verity's nose was put considerably out of joint. Verity, though an amusing school comrade, was not a "home" friend. Apart from fun in their dormitory, she and Ingred had little in common, and had never arranged to spend a holiday together. She was a jolly enough girl, but so fond of "ragging" that it was impossible to do anything but joke with her. Bess, on the contrary, was a real confidante who could be trusted with secrets. The two friends spent an idyllic Saturday together. Mr. Haselford motored over to Birkshaw to fetch his father, and took the girls with him in the car. Mr. Haselford the elder proved a delightful old gentleman, deeply interested in music, and much gratified that his grand-daughter was to play at the Abbey.

"It was a happy thought of yours, my dear!" he said to Ingred. "Why, I've often attended those recitals, and never guessed little Bess would be asked to take part in one! I sang in Grovebury Abbey choir when I was a boy, and I've always had a tender spot in my heart for the old town."

"And you're not going to forget it, are you, Grandfather?" said Bess pointedly.

"Well, well, we shall see," he evaded, stroking her brown hair.

Even poor delicate Mrs. Haselford made a supreme effort and went to church on Sunday evening. It was a beautiful service, and the old Minster looked lovely with the late sunshine streaming through its gorgeous west window. Some of the congregation went away after the sermon and concluding hymn were over, but a large number stayed to hear the recital. Bess, horribly nervous, went with Ingred to the choir, where she had left her violin. There were to be two organ solos, and her piece was to separate them. She was thankful she had not to play first. She sat on one of the old carved Miserere seats, and listened as Dr. Linton's subtle fingers touched the keys, and flooded the church with the rich tones of Bach's Toccata in F Major. She wished it had been five times as long, so as to delay her own turn. But a solo cannot last for ever, and much too soon the last notes died away. There was a pause while the verger fetched a music stand and placed it close to the chancel steps. Dr. Linton was looking in her direction, and sounding the A for her. With her usually rosy face almost pale, Bess walked to the organ, tuned her violin, then took her place at the music stand. It was seldom that so young a girl had played in the Abbey, and everybody looked sympathetically at the palpably frightened little figure. It was the feeling of standing there facing all eyes that unnerved poor Bess. For a second or two her hand trembled so greatly that she could scarcely hold her bow. Then by a sudden inspiration she looked over the heads of the congregation to the west window, where the sunset light was gleaming through figures of crimson and blue and gold. Down all the centuries music had played a part in the service of the Minster. She would not remember that people were there to listen to her, but would let her violin give its praise to God alone. She did not need to look at her notes, for she knew the piece by heart, and with her eyes fixed on the west window she began the "Prelude."

Once the first notes were started, her courage returned, and she brought out her tone with a firm bow. The splendid harmonies of the organ supported her and she seemed spurred along in an impulse to do her very best. Ingred, listening in the choir, was sure her friend had never played so well, or put such depth of feeling into her music before. It was over at last, and in the hush of the church, Bess stole back to her seat, while Dr. Linton plunged into the fantasies of a "Triumphal March."

"I'm proud of you!" whispered Ingred, as they walked down the aisle together afterwards.

"Oh, don't! I felt as if it wasn't half good enough," answered Bess, giving a nervous little shiver now that the ordeal was over.

When Ingred returned to Wynch-on-the-Wold next Friday afternoon she found the family had some news for her. Old Mr. Haselford had been to Mr. Saxon's office, and had confided to him a scheme that lay very near to his heart. He had prospered exceedingly in his business affairs at Birkshaw, and he was anxious to do something for his native town of Grovebury, where he had been born and had spent his boyhood. He asked Mr. Saxon to prepare designs for a combined museum and art gallery, which he proposed to build and present to the public.

"I can trust the architect of 'Rotherwood' to give us something in the best possible taste," he had remarked. "I want the place to be an object of beauty, not the blot on the landscape that such buildings often prove. Fortunately I have the offer of a splendid