 A Real New England Girl by Anna I. Parsons 1. The Shower 2. Oxford County 3. The Stranger and the Girl 4. The Youth and the Girl 5. Pansy and Richard Go Trading 6. The Marvelous Storyteller 7. The Dinner 8. The The Minister Comes for Tea 9. Pansy's Father 10. Pansy and Her Mother 11. Poland Springs 12. The Birthday Cake 13. Ned Patterson Comes for a Visit 14. The Blue Berrying Party 15. The Beginning of Wisdom 16. The Tempted and the Penitent 17. The Concert 18. Stanley's Ride 19. The Bench by the Wayside 20. The Banker and the Widow 21. The Bag of Nuts 22. How They Kept Thanksgiving at Little Farm 23. Hardly a Merry Christimas 24. A Call Down and a Caller 25. The Pride of Mrs. Bradford 26. A Happy New Year 27. Amusement and Winter Sport 28. Kim 29. Richard, the Lion Hearted 30. A Tour of the White Mountains 31. Talking Over the Trip with Henry Bright 32. Thoughts That Lie Too Deep for Words 33. Economics 34. His Toast 35. The Busy Haunts of Man 36. Christmas in New York 37. The Last Night of Their Visit 38. The Language Understood by All 39. Sugaring Off 40. Correspondence 41. Commencement 42. Conclusion Afterward     |
The Concert "And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infect the day Shall fold their tents like Arabs, And as silently steal away." -- Longfellow In front of the cottage sat Mr. Alden in his large arm-chair, Mrs. Bradford and Ruth in rocking chairs, and Pansy and Richard on the short settee that usually occupied a corner of the living room. Above their heads rose showy spikes of red and white hollyhocks. Two half grown kittens rolled and tumbled on the grass in perfect abandonment of feline sport. Though the open window the old clock slowly struck the hour of eight, and again silence reigned, save for the soft sounds of the summer night vibrating pleasantly on the ear. "Are we to have only the music of the spheres this evening, Pansy?" asked Ruth, smiling at the younger sister. "I requested something more audible, but Mercury could not have delivered my message." "Ned didn't look like any winged messenger to me. When you left him at the top of the hill, he just walked along as if he didn't want to go in that direction. Do you suppose he and Stanley have had a falling out?" Richard turned inquiringly to Pansy. "He said Stanley had gone for a ride, and looked somewhat mysterious, but he didn't appear out of sorts like a boy who had quarreled with his best friend. Ah, there it is!" Pansy clapped her hands and her eyes grew bright and expectant as a few staccato notes one cornet announced that her message had been received. After this short preface, the silvery notes of the instrument floated on the air in sweet and familiar melodies, while between the selections the various members of the family spoke the thoughts conjured up by the music. Cornet: "Once in the dear, dead days beyond recall, When on the world the mist began to fall, Out of the dreams that rose in happy throng, Lo, to our hearts love sang an old sweet song, And in the dusk where fell the fire light gleam, Softly it wove itself into our dreams. Just as a song at twilight, when the lights are low; And the flick'ring shadows softly come and go, Tho' the heart be weary, sad the day and long Still to us at twilight comes love's old song, Come love's old sweet song." Mrs. Bradford: "Your father was very fond of music, and used to take me to all the good concerts within riding distance. The fall before Pansy was born, we attended the Maine Musical Festival at Portland, and heard some very renowned musicians from New York. I did not like the singing in a foreign tongue, but he enjoyed every bit of it, and for weeks afterwards I would hear him whistling the airs as he went about his work. When Pansy was only a few days old, she was crying lustily one evening when he came in, took her from the nurse, and began whistling one of these foreign airs, and she stopped almost instantly. After that his whistle was to Pansy what paregoric is to most babies -- it soothed and quieted her. He always called her his Little Lady Delight, and so we decided to call her Pansy." Cornet: "The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home, 'Tis summer the darkies are gay; The corn top's ripe and the meadows are in bloom, While the birds make music all the day. The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, all happy and bright; B'y'n bye hard times comes knocking at the door, Then my old Kentucky home, good night. Weep no more, my Lady, Oh, weep no more today; We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home, For the old Kentucky home far away." Mr. Alden: "When I was working up in Massachusetts, there used to be a Kentucky chap along side of me that got so homesick everytime he heard that tune he could hardly stick to his job. Some of the fellows thought they'd cure him, and hired a street piano to play it every hour near the works. They kept it up for two days, and on the third he didn't show up. It was more'n a month before we heard from him, and then he sent a postal card saying he'd gone back to Lexington, and he added a postscript, "You fellows can stick to your cod fish and beans, but hereafter, I'll stick to my old Kentucky home." Cornet: "In happy moments day by day, the sands of life may pass, In swift but tranquil tide away, from time's unerring glass, Yet hopes we used as bright to deem, remembrance will recall; Whose pure and whose unfading beam is dearer than them all, Whose pure and whose unfading beam, is dearer than them all. Tho' anxious eyes upon us gaze, and hearts with fondness beat; Whose smile upon each feature plays with truthfulness replete. Some thoughts none other can replace remembrance will recall; Which in the flight of years we trace, is dearer than them all, Which in the flight of years we trace, is dearer than them all." Ruth: "It is certainly much pleasanter to listen to music than to be obliged to teach it to pupils with little or no talent for it. Last spring term a member of the committee was visiting my school one day and undertook to examine the children in music. The first girl he called on to sing the scale blew her nose and cleared her throat vigorously and then answered, "I have a cold, sir." He tried another, and she also suddenly developed influenza and answered, "I have a cold, sir." He tried a third, a young girl that was very stupid in class. To my surprise, she arose and in a voice excruciatingly shrill and loud sang "do-o-o-o-o-o." A very pained expression passed over the committee's face, he pointed his long finger at her and said abruptly, "You have a cold, sit down!" and the examination ended then and there. I'm afraid my reputation as a teacher of music with that member of the committee is bankrupted altogether." Cornet: "Soft o'er the fountain, ling'ring falls the southern moon, Far o'er the mountain breaks the day too soon! In they dark eyes splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell, Weary looks yet tender, speak their fond farewell. Nita, Juanita! ask thy soul if we must part! Nita, Juanita! lean thou on my heart. When in they dreaming, moons like these shall shine again, And daylight beaming proves thy dreams are vain, Wilt thou not relenting, for thine absent lover sigh, In thy heart consenting to a pray'r gone by? Nita, Juanita! let me linger by thy side! Nita, Juanita! be my own fair bride." Pansy: "When I hear some music, it is just as though all the sad, sweet things I ever knew were stood in a row and called to me one after another. "I know why the children of Hamlin town followed the Pied Piper; I know why the mariners could not pass the Sirens on the Isle of Circe; I know why the fishermen lost their boats when the Loreli stood on the rocks above the Rhine and sang her bewildering melodies. "Ole Bull boasted he could pull down the house with his violin, and when they defied him, he played on one string until the house vibrated so they begged him to desist. "To me music is just as resistless. I know I should be as yielding as Alexander in Dryden's poem if Timotheus were placed on high with his tuneful lyre to test the power of music over me." Cornet: "Y'heave ho! my lads the wind blows free, A pleasant gale is on our lee And soon across the ocean clear, Our gallant bark shall bravely steer; But ere we part from England's shore tonight A song we'll sing for home and beauty bright. Then here's to the sailor, and here's to the heart so true, Who will think of him up on the waters blue. Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main, For many a stormy wind shall blow, ere Jack comes home again; Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main, For many a stormy wind shall blow, ere Jack comes home again." Richard: "Songs nearly always have a lot of sentiment about them, but sometimes they do a fellow a good turn. There is a tradition which says that the English king who bore my name -- Richard, couer de lion -- was discovered by the singing of a song when held a prisoner in Germany on his return from the third crusade. For greater safety, he left his followers, and assumed a disguise, but was captured and placed in the dungeon of Dürrenstein on the Danube. None of his subjects knew where he was, but his favorite minstrel Blondel, known as 'His familiar,' went searching for him throughout Europe, going from place to place and singing his ballads as was the custom of minstrels. Finally he came to a castle where there was said to be a prisoner whose name no one could tell. By winning the favor of its lord, he gained admittance, and peered about on every hand in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of the mysterious captive. At last he was rewarded by hearing a voice singing a song that was known only to King Richard and himself and which they had together composed. Through his narrow prison window, King Richard had seen and recognized Blondel, and took this means of letting him know where he was being detained. Blondel then informed the two abbots, sent as ambassadors from England to find the king, of his whereabouts, and thereafter, they successfully negotiated for his release by the payment of a ransom." Cornet: "Good night!" Click Here for Chapter 18 |