CHAPTER XIII

An Indian Love Song

Although Polly O'Neill could never afterwards be persuaded that her failure had not marred the Camp Fire play, nevertheless there were many members of the audience who never realized that anything had gone wrong, so promptly had the other girls acted and so swiftly had the curtain been rung down.

And then, within a remarkably short space of time, Esther had reappeared to close the entertainment with her song. The stage had been left as it was in the final act, the piano was already there, and almost immediately the accompanist, Esther's music teacher in the village, seated herself before it.

The only delay was of a few minutes, caused by the fact that Esther had insisted on wearing her ordinary clothes. A week before, therefore, Betty had had made for her a simple white dress and this Miss McMurtry very quickly helped her into, braiding her red hair into a kind of crown about her head. Her toilet was of course made in a great hurry, but then Esther was so convinced of her own homeliness that she cared very little except to look neatly and appropriately dressed.

Herr Crippen and Esther then walked out on the platform together, the man leading the girl with one hand and carrying his violin with the other, and it was curious the similarity in their coloring.

Very little of the Indian idea had the girls thus far brought into their Christmas Camp Fire entertainment, but now Esther's song was to bring with it this suggestion, although it had been chosen chiefly because of its beauty and suitability to Esther's voice. It was, however, a wonderful Indian love song, which Dick had found quite by accident the summer before for his sister's friend.

Esther was also dreadfully nervous and frightened at the beginning of her song, but fortunately for her she was thinking more of the music itself than of the effect she was to produce. Nevertheless, it was with sensations of disappointment that the friends, who cared most for her singing, listened to the first verse of her song. Dick Ashton, who had found himself a seat in the back of the room, when he was no longer needed to assist with the management of the curtain, moved impatiently several times, thinking that Betty had probably been making unnecessary sacrifices to cultivate her friend's voice and that they had all probably been mistaken in the degree of Esther's talent.

However, Dick changed his mind so soon that he never afterwards remembered this first thought, but sat spellbound with delight, feeling every nerve in his body thrill and quiver with the pathos and loveliness of a voice that was so clear, so true and so sympathetic that not a single member of Esther's audience failed to respond to its beauty. The song had a kind of plaintive cadence and had been arranged either for a tenor or soprano.

"Fades the star of morning, west winds gently blow, Soft the pine trees murmur, soft the waters flow. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, to the hill-tops nigh, Night and gloom will vanish when the pale stars die. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover's cry.

"From my tent I wander seeking only thee, As the day from darkness comes for stream and tree. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, to the hill-top nigh; Lo! the dawn is breaking, rosy beams the sky. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover's cry.

"Lonely is our valley, though the month is May, Come and be my moonlight, I will be thy day. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, oh, behold me nigh; Now the sun is rising, now the shadows fly. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover's cry."

Hearing the applause which broke out like a storm at the close of Esther's singing, Betty managed to get away from Polly and to find Esther shivering in the kitchen which opened just off their stage and had been used for the entrance way that evening. But no power or persuasion could have induced Esther to go back upon the stage, not even when Herr Crippen added his entreaties, nor when Dick slipped out into the cold and came around through the back door to congratulate her. If Esther had pleased Betty and Dick and Miss McMurtry, really she cared very little for any one else's criticism.

Nevertheless, later that evening, when the company was enjoying a kind of informal reception, she could not refuse to be introduced to the celebrated Miss Margaret Adams, who sent one of the girls especially for her. Esther was awkward and tongue-tied and nervous as usual when the great lady congratulated her, very different from Polly, who when she had recovered from her faintness had come immediately out into the living room and gone straight up to Miss Adams and taken her hand.

"If I wasn't so used to failing at most of the important moments of my life, I think I couldn't bear to live after to-night," she said with characteristic Polly exaggeration. Then, with one of the sudden smiles that so transformed her face and made her fascinating both to strangers and friends she added: "But, after all, I have seen _you_ and I am talking to you now, and as that is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, I am going to try and not care about anything else."

Then the older woman pressed Polly's hot hand in both of hers, looking keenly into the girl's expressive face. Only she knew how much Polly did care about her failure and also that her suffering had not yet fully begun, because until the excitement of the evening was well over the girl would not fully realize all that she at least believed this failure meant.

"Come and see me for half an hour to-morrow, I can judge nothing by to-night. And do please remember, child, that one person's judgment in this world fortunately does not count for much at best. I want to have a little talk with you just because my cousin, whom I love very dearly, has told me so much about you."

"And because," Polly added with her lips trembling, "because you are sorry for me. But I don't care so much why you want me, I only know I want to come more than anything in the world."

Of course at the close of the Camp Fire play it was then impossible for Miss Adams to escape recognition, so she was evidently tired on her way back home from the cabin and therefore did little talking. However, after the cousins had undressed for the night she called softly into the next room:

"My dear Mary, I think your Polly is charming, but I am afraid your little girl has the dream and the temperament and that the other plainer girl has the talent. But, then, who can tell when they are both so young?"