"'Come Marguerite, it is time to go, if you wish to see Madam Valena.' and that made me open my eyes wide, I did so wish to see you."

Quite like a miniature lady she made the little courteous speech, but she was every inch a child as she clambered up into a chair where, upon tip-toe she offered her lips for a kiss. Then away like a gay little b.u.t.terfly she flew to join her friends.

Helen, taking Randy's hand, led her across the room and presented her.

The singer and Miss Dayton's mother had been firm friends, and Helen was always accorded a most cordial welcome.

The table was heaped with flowers, and Randy, seeing such a profusion of blossoms, wondered that she had thought for a moment of offering the lovely rose which she held in her hand, to one to whom a single blossom must seem of little value.

With the cordial greeting and firm handclasp, Randy realized that the sweet face bending over her, belonged to a woman as lovely in character, as in person, and she gathered courage to speak the words which were nearest her heart.

"I did not know that any living being could sing as you sang this afternoon," she said, "it made me think of the birds in the trees at home, of the brook in the woods, of the white rose in my hand, and I longed to give it to you, but when I saw all these lovely flowers, I felt that you would not care for my one blossom, you would not understand,--" with a queer little break in her voice, Randy ceased speaking and looking up into the brilliant face was surprised to see two bright tears upon her cheek.

"Not care for your flower? I want it more than all of these," she said, gently taking the rose from the slender hand which held it, and placing it in the folds of lace upon her breast.

"With all the honors which I have won, with all the praise for my work which I have received, no compliment ever offered me was more genuine, or sincere, and this rose I shall keep in memory of the girl who gave it.

"Let me give some of my flowers to you, in return for your words which have moved me more than you think.

"O! Helen," she continued. "I received my first inspiration from the birds and the brook at home, when as a little country girl I listened to their voices, and longed to make my tones as pure as theirs. This young girl has brought it all back to me so clearly, that I see myself, a little barefoot child, wading in the brook and mocking the birds which sang in the branches above me."

A maid approached, and laid a long fur wrap about Madam Valena's shoulders, at the same time announcing that her carriage was waiting.

Clasping the great cl.u.s.ter of brilliant blossoms closely, Randy said as they parted,

"I shall never forget you," and looking from her carriage window the singer smiled as she said,

"I shall keep your rose in memory of you."

As they rode homeward Helen told Randy much of Madam Valena's life as her mother had known her, of her close application to study, and of her success, and when at home they found Aunt Marcia seated before the fire place, placidly watching the dancing flames, Randy rushed in, and sitting upon a low ha.s.sock, she related all the wonders of the afternoon, ending with,

"And oh, I wish that you had been there to see and hear it all."

"Why, Randy, child!" exclaimed Aunt Marcia laughing, "I thought it rather cold this afternoon, and stayed cosily at home instead of accompanying you and Helen, but now your eyes shine like stars, and I begin to believe that I missed much by not attending the concert. I knew the program was a fine one, and Madam Valena is truly a most charming person."

"Indeed she is," a.s.sented Randy, "and she looked so queenly, I never thought she would really talk to me, but oh, do you know that she was once a little country girl? When I looked at her I could not imagine it."

"I know a little country maid, who no one would suppose had not spent all her life in the city," said Aunt Marcia, with a smile, "only that she enjoys every pleasure with a keen delight unknown to the girl who feels that she has seen all that there is to be seen many, many times."

"I shall never feel that way," said Randy, "how could I tire of the sweet music, or of watching the crowd in the city streets? I was never tired of listening to the birds at home and I'm sure," she added with a laugh, "I even enjoyed watching the people coming into our little church. There is always something new everywhere; and I am looking for it."

"That is a part of the secret of your happiness, Randy," said Aunt Marcia, "you intend to be delighted and usually succeed."

"Why, I am still holding the flowers which Madam Valena gave me," said Randy, "I must place them in water," and she hastened to find a suitable vase in which to arrange them. They formed a brilliant bit of color in the centre of the table when dinner was served, and caused Randy to talk once more of the concert.

"It was all so charming that I suppose I stared; at least Polly Lawrence said that I did."

"I saw Polly with you just as we were leaving the hall," said Helen, "what did you say that she said?"

"She said, 'Why Randy Weston, you are staring at everybody and everything as if you'd never attended a concert before!'"

"How singularly rude," said Aunt Marcia, little pleased that Randy should be thus spoken to.

"And what did you say to that, Randy," asked Helen, wondering if Polly's speech had cut deeply.

With a frank smile Randy answered,--"I said, 'Well this _is_ my first concert. Possibly _you_ would be surprised if you had never before experienced such a pleasure.'"

Helen and her aunt were much amused that Randy could answer so readily a remark which was intended to embarra.s.s her, and they realized that Randy's frankness in admitting herself a country girl quite unused to city pleasures, would disarm a girl like Polly, more successfully than any amount of artifice or pretense.

CHAPTER IX

A SCOTCH LINNET

The sky was a cold, leaden gray, and down from the mountains swept a pitiless wind, which whistled through the bare branches of the trees and tossed a few dried leaves before it, as it hurried on as if with a fixed determination to reach every corner of the village and chill everything which it could touch.

It leveled the few standing cornstalks and caused the dry twigs to rap a tattoo upon the windows of the farm houses. It attacked the shivering form of a lonely little cur who took his tail between his legs and scurried away down the road in search of some sheltering barn or shed; it nipped little Hi Babson's ears and s.n.a.t.c.hing his cap, tossed it over the wall and across the field where it lay, held fast in a clump of bushes.

Hi secured the cap, and as he pulled it down about his ears he looked back in the direction from which the gust had blown, and shaking his little fist exclaimed,

"Nasty old wind! I hate ye and ye know it. 'F I'd a been 'lowed ter stay home an' whittle like I wanted ter, I wouldn't a lost my cap. I scratched my fingers gittin' it, an' _that_ makes me mad."

Again he shook his little fist at his enemy, the wind, but as it did not cease blowing, he drew on his mittens and sulkily plodded on toward school. His cold fingers smarted where the briers had torn them, and he felt resentful that he should be on his way toward the despised school house, quite forgetting that by the fireside with his beloved whittling he usually managed to cut his fingers.

Whistling l.u.s.tily, Jack Marvin came down the road, overtaking Hi as he stumbled along, a most disconsolate little figure.

"h.e.l.lo, Hi," said Jack. "Why, look here little feller," as he noticed tears in the bright black eyes.

"'Most frozen, and didn't want ter come ter school, either? Say, gimme yer hand, mine are warm, an' you'n me'll be in school in no time. What's that?

Ain't done yer sums? Well, now, little chap, you jist come along quick, an' 'fore ye know it ye'll be gittin' warm in the school room an' I'll show ye 'bout yer sums 'fore the bell rings. My, but it takes you'n me ter make good time over the road!"

Jack Marvin never could bear to see a child in tears, and his kind heart was delighted when little Hi skipped along beside him, laughing gaily, in spite of the traces of tears upon his cheeks.

Hi looked up to Jack as one of the best among the "big boys," and to race along beside him and be a.s.sured of help with his lessons, took every care from the little fellow's mind, and he laughed and whistled in company with Jack.

The boys turned up their collars or ducked their chins beneath the folds of woollen m.u.f.flers; and the girls drew their wraps about them and hurried on, eager to reach the schoolhouse and gain shelter from the icy blast.

About the great stove they hovered, scorching their faces, while they endeavored to get thoroughly warmed before the hands of the clock should point to nine. Two girls were missing from the group around the stove.

Randy Weston, who had been at school in Boston for three months, and Phoebe Small, whose incessant teasing had at last prevailed, and who had six weeks before experienced the joy of going away to boarding school. It was not that Phoebe did not love her home, or enjoy the friendship of her mates, but she had long entertained the idea that a boarding school was the only school worth attending.

She had wished Randy good luck when she started for Boston, but she could not stifle a feeling of envy, and it seemed impossible for her to stay quietly at home attending the district school.

In vain Mrs. Small insisted that Phoebe would be homesick, that Randy was with friends, while at boarding school all would be strangers. Phoebe invariably answered,

"Well I'd just like to try it and see how it would seem. I could write letters home to the girls as Randy does, and I think that would be just grand."