Part 31 (1/2)

”So she is a pupil of yours?” asked Mrs. Sherrar, as much enchanted with the musician as were her young people.

”Not exactly. I helped her what I could, but I think most of the credit belongs to Mike O'Hara and the birds in the woods. He set her to imitating them; and she is an apt mimic, you will find. Clap with all your might.”

The very rafters rang with the applause of the enthusiastic audience, as the small whistler took her seat among her mates on the platform, and she was forced to give another selection, and a third. Allee came to her aid in the fourth, and sang to a whistled accompaniment, but the applause was more tremendous and insistent than before; and poor, weary Peace rose to her feet for the fifth time, but instead of pouring forth the torrent of melody they expected, she faced the audience belligerently, and cried in exasperation, ”My pucker is tired out and my throat aches. Do you 'xpect me to stand here all night? Victor Sherrar will play on his cornet now and then you can go home.”

”Mamma,” whispered Frances, while her brother was rendering the closing number of the program, ”I simply must have those two tots at my party next week. They will be a novelty and everyone is sure to like them.

Cecile thinks I can borrow them all right, seeing that it is to be Sat.u.r.day night.”

”Well, we'll see,” smiled the mother indulgently, as the crowd broke up and departed, while Peace and Hector divided the spoils in the corner.

”She surely is an interesting specimen, and it was worth ten times the money just to hear her squelch her audience. Where is Brother Strong?”

He was interviewing the brown-eyed girl, who, with her money in hand, was about ready to follow her companions for home; and they cl.u.s.tered around the little group by Hector's table just in time to hear Peace's dismayed voice cry, ”You're fooling! I didn't believe that of _you_.

Why, Mr. Strong, I read it myself on the poster!”

”Where? What poster?”

”That big one up on the corner back of this house. Allee and me were picking gentians when we saw it. Didn't we, Allee?”

”But, Peace, that was last year's sign. There hasn't been a circus in town this summer, and there isn't going to be. It is past circus time.”

”Are you sure?” she faltered, opening her fist and looking tragically at the pile of nickels and dimes she held.

”Perfectly sure! They were to have been here last year just about this time, but it rained pitchforks, as you children say, and they didn't stop. That poster is ragged and faded with time. If you don't believe me, just come up to the corner and I'll show you the date.”

”Oh, I b'lieve you! Ministers don't often tell lies; but I was just thinking of this heap of money I've earned all for nothing. Eighty cents was my share, and I thought that would take most of our family--s'posing Gail would let us go.”

The amused grown-ups smiled behind her back, but the preacher understood how disappointed she was, and taking her hand sympathetically in his, he drew her aside and whispered a few words in her ear which brought back the sparkle to her eyes and the happy glow to her face, as she exclaimed enthusiastically, ”I'll do it! Sure! No, I won't tell a soul. Course Gail will let me. All right! Good-bye!”

She was off like a shot down the road, and the pastor joined his hostess on the way to the house, with the irrelevant remark, ”Dr. David Peak, a missionary to Africa, is to speak at our Sunday morning service. I hope we have a large attendance, as this will be a rare treat. It isn't often a little country church can secure so notable a speaker. Spread the good news all you can.”

Something in his voice made the Judge's wife say suggestively, ”He is not to be the only unusual attraction, is he?”

”The only one to be advertised,” smiled the parson, and she understood.

The following Sabbath day was glorious, bright, warm, and with the smell of fall in the air. The church was packed; pastor and people were at their best; and an expectant hush fell over the little audience when Mr.

Strong took his seat after reading the weekly announcements. The organ began to play softly, necks were craned to catch a glimpse of the singer, and then a buzz of surprise filled the room. Peace, dressed all in white, and looking like a rosy cherub, had mounted to the organ loft where Faith was playing, and at the proper moment, she began to whistle a beautiful bird melody which surprised even those who had heard her the previous Wednesday. The whole audience sat spellbound. It seemed incredible that Peace,--little, blundering Peace, riotous, rebellious, happy-go-lucky Peace--had such a soul of melody bottled up within her.

It was as if the songsters from the forest were suddenly let loose, and even her own sisters were amazed at her song.

Mr. Strong had been wise when he chose that moment for Peace's music, for the whole congregation was in tune for the grand missionary plea which followed, when Dr. Peak rose to address them; and so inspired, and uplifted was the speaker himself that he preached as he never had done before, bringing his cause so close to the people that they were thrilled and fired with his enthusiasm.

Parker was a well-to-do little village, built originally for the express purpose of permitting wealthy business men of the city to find peaceful retreat from the noisy metropolis, where, week in and week out, they spent the long days of labor. It had now somewhat outgrown this reputation, but still numbered many rich men among its inhabitants, and boasted of an unusually fine church for such a small place, although it was not noted for its spiritual zeal, and particularly was it lacking in its missionary spirit. These were difficulties which the ardent young preacher, Mr. Strong, had sought for many long months to overcome, and while the earnest missionary from Africa was pleading the cause of the heathen, the pastor praying with all his might for his own congregation.

When the wonderful sermon was finished, and Mr. Strong saw the unusual interest in the faces before him, he determined to strike while the iron was hot, and though that Sunday was not scheduled for a missionary collection, he sprang to his feet and made an urgent plea for more funds for the grand and glorious cause.

”Give from the depths of your heart,” he urged. ”Think of these millions of people needing the Gospel. Brother Peak has come direct from the field, he knows conditions better than anyone else can know them. He tells us they need more missionaries. How are they to get them? Through us in our civilized countries. We can't all go in person, but I don't think there is a soul here this morning but can give something to help a little. The ushers will now wait upon you. Who will be the first to give, and what shall it be,--yourself, time, m--”

”My cirkis money!” cried a shrill voice from the organ loft, and there stood Peace, fis.h.i.+ng coin after coin from the depths of her pocket and dropping them over the pulpit into the missionary's outstretched hand.