Margaret Maliphant

								

one of those natures who throw themselves ardently into whatever they
take up; and he was just as eager over this entertainment, of which he
had accepted the responsibility, as though it were going to be given
before a select company instead of before a handful of country bumpkins.
Well, he was rewarded for his pains. The concert was voted a brilliant
success, and by a long way the best that had ever been given in the
village.
"When stars are in the quiet skies," and "Robin Adair," which I sang
"by request," as an encore, were greatly applauded, as were also
the glees that we had so patiently practised; and though, of course,
the crowning point of the evening was Captain Forrester's own song,
poured forth in his rich, mellow barytone, we had none of us reason to
complain of the reception that we got; and the stone walls of the old
town-hall, that had stood since the days when the headsman was still an
institution, responded to the clapping of the people.
To be sure, they wanted father to stand up and give them a speech, but
he would have nothing to do with that on this occasion; he said it was
one of relaxation and not of work; and he always refused to touch upon
things that were sacred to him, for mere effect, or in anything but the
most serious spirit. He wished them all good-night, and told them so.
I remember a curious incident that occurred that night. One of the
American oil-lamps that lighted the hall took fire; a panic arose in
the little crowd; the women pressed to the door. But Captain Forrester,
calling out to the people in strong, reassuring tones to keep their
seats, seized the lamp, carried it burning above the heads of the
throng, and threw it down into the little court-yard without.
When the fright was over I missed father and Joyce. Him I found
at once, sitting on the steps with two sobbing little ones on his
knees--two little ones whose sisters had run out without them, and
whose little hearts had been numbed with fear. Father would generally
neglect any grown-up person in preference to a child. But Joyce I could
not see.
I felt sure that she must have gone to look after Captain Forrester;
but when presently he came back with his hand bandaged, and said that
he had seen nothing of Joyce, I was really frightened. I discovered her
sitting down in a dark corner of the court-yard, crying.
She said that she had been terrified by the accident, and had run out
for safety before any one else. But her manner puzzled me. And for a
whole week after that her manner continued to puzzle me.
Frank Forrester came every day to the Grange to see father. They had
a new scheme on hand, an original scheme, a pet scheme of my dear
father's--the scheme of all his schemes which he held most dear, and
one which I know he had had for years, and had never dared hope would
find favor with any one. It was a scheme for the succor of those poor
children who had either no parents, or whose parents were anxious to