Nor was Mrs. Tanberry's prediction allowed to go unfulfilled regarding the advent of those persons whom she had designated as vagabonds. It may have been out of deference to Mr. Carewe's sense of decorum (or from a cautious regard of what he was liable to do when he considered that sense outraged) that the gallants of Rouen had placed themselves under the severe restraint of allowing three days to elapse after their introduction to Miss Carewe before they "paid their respects at the house ;" but, be that as it may, the dictator was now safely under way down the Rouen River, and Mrs. Tanberry reigned in his stead. Thus, at about eight o'clock that evening, the two ladies sat in the library engaged in conversation-- though, for the sake of accuracy, it should be said that Mrs. Tanberry was engaged in conversation, Miss Betty in giving ear--when their attention was arrested by sounds of a somewhat musical nature from the lawn, which sounds were immediately identified as emanating from a flute and violin.
Mrs. Tanberry bounded across the room like a public building caught by a cyclone, and, dashing at the candles, "Blow `em out, blow `em out!" she exclaimed, suiting the action to the word in a fluster of excitement.
"Why?" asked Miss Carewe, startled, as she rose to her feet. The candles were out before the question.
"`Why!" repeated the merry, husky voice in the darkness. "My goodness, child precious, those vagabonds are here! To think of your never having been serenaded before!"
She drew the girl to the window and pointed to a group of dim figures near the iliac bushes. "The dear, delightful vagabonds!" she chuckled. "I knew they'd come! It's the beautiful Tappingham Marsh with his fiddle, and young Jeff Bareaud with his flute, and `Gene Madrillon and little Frank Chenowith and thin Will Cummings to sing. Hark to the rascals!"
It is perfectly truthful to say that the violin and flute executed the prelude, and then the trio sounded full on the evening air, the more effective chords obligingly drawn out as long as the breath in the singers could hold them, in order to allow the two fair auditors complete benefit of the harmony. They sang "The Harp that Once Thro' Tara's Halls," and followed it with "Long, Long Ago."
"That," Mrs. Tanberry whispered, between stifled gusts of almost uncontrollable laughter, "is meant for just me!"
"Tell me the tales that to me were so dear," entreated the trio.
"I told `em plenty!" gurgled the enlivening widow. "And I expect between us we can get up some more." "Now you are come my grief is removed," they sang.
"They mean your father is on his way to St. Louis," remarked Mrs.
Tanberry.
"Let me forget that so long you have roved, Let me believe that you love as you loved, Long, long ago, long ago."
"Applaud, applaud!" whispered Mrs. Tanberry, encouraging the minstrels by a hearty clapping of hands.
Hereupon dissension arose among the quintet, evidently a dispute in regard to their next selection; one of the gentlemen appearing more than merely to suggest a solo by himself, while the others too frankly expressed adverse opinions upon the value of the offering. The argument became heated, and in spite of many a "Sh!" and "Not so loud!" the ill-suppressed voice of the intending soloist, Mr. Chenoweth, could be heard vehemently to exclaim: "I will! I learned it especially for this occasion. I will sing it!"
His determination, patently, was not to be balked without physical encounter, consequently he was permitted to advance some paces from the lilac bushes, where he delivered himself, in an earnest and plaintive tenor, of the following morbid instructions, to which the violin played an obligato in tremulo, so execrable, and so excruciatingly discordant, that Mr. Chenoweth's subsequent charge that it was done with a deliberately evil intention could never be successfully opposed:
"Go! Forget me! Why should Sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling?
Go! Forget me, and, to-morrow, Brightly smile and sweetly sing!
Smile! tho' I may not be near thee;Smile! tho' I may never see thee;May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as this gloom of mine!"
Miss Carewe complied at once with the request; while her companion, unable to stop with the slight expression of pleasure demanded by the songster, threw herself upon a sofa and gave way to the mirth that consumed her.
