Dry Fish and Wet Part 25

There had been a number of wrecks during the recent gales, and Amanda could not keep her thoughts from Carljohan and his ship. The voice of the parson, and the singing rang in her ears like the rush of waters; she sat staring blankly at her hymn-book, open at No. 106, though there had been three since that.

Once or twice she woke, to hear her father's voice trailing behind the rest in a hymn, sounding all through the church, till people turned to look. Amanda flushed with embarra.s.sment, but Bramsen went on all unconscious, plodding through each verse in his own time, regardless of the rest.

But always she fell back upon her own thoughts, of the ship and Carljohan; it was a wonder to her how Mother Christiansen, whose husband was also on board, could sit there so calmly, as if there was nothing to fear. And she with all those children to think of!

The sermon now--but Carljohan was out on the North Sea and terrible weather. Great seas breaking over the bows, till the fo'c'stle was almost hidden.

And up in the rigging was Carljohan shortening sail--oh, how the vessel pitched and rolled, till the yards almost touched the water.

If he should lose his hold--if he should be swept away--Amanda gasped at the thought, and clutched her father's hand.

"What is it, Amanda? Are you ill?" whispered Bramsen anxiously.

"No, no; only keep still. I'll be all right directly."

The organ pealed and the sound of the hymn filled the church.

Amanda could not sing a note; she was certain now that something had happened to Carljohan. Her tears flowed in streams, and she was hard put to it to hide them behind handkerchief and book.

She could hear Mother Christiansen's cracked voice just behind, and tried in vain to join in herself.

Already she glanced out of the big window beyond the choir. On the farther side of the harbour lay a vessel at anchor.

But--it had not been there before! Surely ... yes, it was a vessel just in--its flag still flying!--Heavens, it was the _Erik_!

She stood up to make sure. Yes, it was she. It was she! There was the big white figure-head--there was no mistake.

And Amanda joined in the singing with her masterful voice, till those near at hand looked at her in wonder. Bramsen himself stopped singing for a moment to listen. Then he took up the verse again and sang on bravely as before.

XI

THE CONCERT

There was to be an evening concert at the a.s.sembly Rooms. The local papers for the previous day had leading articles about "Hans Martinsen, the boy musician who has been studying in Christiania, and is now appearing for the first time in public in his native town.

Critics from all quarters are unanimously agreed as to his remarkable talent, and already prophesy a brilliant future, though his powers, at this early stage, have naturally not yet attained their full development. It is to be hoped that the music-loving section of our community will be numerously represented, that the promising young artist may receive the support and encouragement he deserves."

The fine hall was splendidly illuminated. The great windows fronting the street shed a glow of light over the crowd of staring idlers outside.

Malla Trap crossed the road, making towards the entrance, but meeting a group of young girls who were admiring the illuminations, she stopped to speak to them.

"Well, children, going to the concert?"

"No--o," answered one or two regretfully, curtsying as they spoke.

They knew Miss Trap as a sister at the poor school, which most of them had attended.

"Well, come along, and I'll get you in."

The girls followed delightedly, and Malla Trap took tickets for them all.

Across the bridge came Hans Martinsen, with his mother. On reaching the entrance he had to stop and look round, everyone was nodding and waving to him in kindly greeting.

"Good-day, Hans!" came in a fresh young voice behind him. He turned, and saw a girl smiling and nodding. "I'm coming in to hear you play."

And she waved a big yellow ticket.

"Why, surely--is it you, Amanda? How are you getting on?"

"Splendid, thanks. This is Carljohan; he's just come back from a voyage."

"And your father and mother? Give them my love, won't you?"

"Thanks, I will. Oh, but Hans"--she came close to him and whispered--"Dear Hans, _do_ play 'The Little Fisher-Maid' to please me--will you?"

"I'm not sure if I can, Amanda."

"Oh, of course you can. Why, you played it hundreds of times at old Clemmetsen's."

"Well, I'll see.... But I must go in now. Good-bye."

The great hall was filled to overflowing. All the musical element was present as a matter of course, and in addition a number of those who never went to concerts as a rule, as for instance the Mayor and Broker Vindt, who took seats at the back. Up in the gallery were a number of Hans' old schoolfellows, all greatly excited at the event.

Suddenly the buzz of talk was hushed, and all eyes were turned towards a group coming up the centre of the hall.

It was Banker Hermansen, still and solemn, with Mrs. Rantzau, fresh and smiling, at his side. Behind them walked William Holm and Miss Rantzau, evidently somewhat embarra.s.sed by the general scrutiny.

Holm senior, who was also one of the party, lagged behind a little, stopping to exchange a word with the Mayor and his friend.

Mrs. Rantzau found her place in one of the upper rows, and stood looking down for Holm, beckoning with a smile when she caught his eye. She let her gaze wander over the a.s.sembly, and something like a murmur of applause went up. Mrs. Rantzau was undeniably a splendid woman, and was at her best that evening.

"Get along up to the front with you, old fossil," said Vindt, with a friendly nudge, and Holm walked up, nodding genially to acquaintances all round.

"Fine figure of a woman, what?" whispered the Mayor, glancing towards Mrs. Rantzau.

"H'm," said Vindt. "Handsome enough to look at, but a bit of a handful to look after, if you ask me. Like the cakes in a cookshop window--I like 'em, but they don't agree with me!"

There was silence in the hall as the first notes rang out. All were watching the young performer; a little anxiously perhaps, as if in fear lest he should break down. And all felt that in some degree the honour of the town was here at stake, for the boy was one of their own.

But the little figure at the piano sat calm and free from nervousness; he was in another world, where he felt himself at home.

The watching eyes and listening ears did not trouble him; he seemed gazing inwardly at a starry sky far above them all.

The music swelled and sank, now wild and furious as the north-east wind raging over the rocky coast in autumn, then gentle as the evening breeze of a summer's day.

Eyes glistened now with fervour, hearts beat proudly. All present seemed to share in his happiness, to have some part in the triumph of his genius.