Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days Part 16

"Sing 'Lord Ronald and Fair Eleanor,'" whispered Molly. "I want Professor Green to hear it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The two Kentucky girls made a wonderfully charming picture.-Page 252.]

The two Kentucky girls made a wonderfully charming picture as they took their places to do their part toward entertaining the guests-Molly so fair and slender in her pretty blue dress, with her hair "making sunshine in a shady place," seated with the guitar, while Melissa, tall and stately, with figure more developed, in her clinging black dress stood near her. Judy was so overcome at the picturesque effect that she began to make rapid sketching movements in the air as was her wont.

"Oh, what don't we see when we haven't got a gun! I'd give anything for a piece of charcoal and some paper."

"I don't know all of this song, but I shall sing all I do. I learned it from my grandmother, and she learned it from hers. This is all Granny knows, but she says her grandmother had many more verses," said Melissa as Molly struck the opening chords of the accompaniment.

"So she dressed herself in scarlet red, And she dressed her maid in green, And every town that they went through They took her to be some queen, queen, queen, They took her to be some queen.

"'Lord Ronald, Lord Ronald, is this your bride That seems so plaguey brown?

And you might have married as fair skinned a girl As ever the sun shone on, on, on, As ever the sun shone on.'

"The little brown girl, she had a penknife, It was both long and sharp; She stuck it in fair Eleanor's side And it entered at the heart, heart, heart, It entered at the heart.

"Lord Ronald, he took her by her little brown hand And led her across the hall; And with his sword cut off her head, And kicked it against the wall, wall, wall, And kicked it against the wall.

"'Mother, dear mother, come dig my grave; Dig it both wide and deep.

By my side fair Eleanor put, And the little brown girl at my feet, feet, feet, And the little brown girl at my feet.'"

As the beautiful girl finished the plaintive air there was absolute stillness for a few seconds. The audience was too deeply moved to speak.

Melissa's voice was sweet and full and came with no more effort than the song of the mocking bird heard in her own valleys at dawn. She took high note or low with the same ease that she had stooped and lifted her little hair trunk at Wellington station.

The song in itself was very remarkable, being one of the few original ballads evidently brought to America by an early settler, and handed down from mother to daughter through the centuries. Edwin Green recognized it, and noted the changes from the original from time to time. Richard Blount was the first to find his tongue, although he was the one most deeply moved by the performance.

"My, that was fine!" was all he could say, but he broke the spell of silence, and there was a storm of applause. Melissa bowed and smiled, pleased that she met with their approval, but with no airs or affectation.

"She has the stage manner of a great artist who is above caring for what the gallery thinks, but has sung for Art's sake, and, as an artist, knows her work is good," said Richard to Professor Green. "Miss Hathaway, you will sing again for us, please. I can't remember having such a treat as you have just given us, and I have been to every opera in New York for six years."

The demand was general, so Melissa graciously complied. This time she gave "The Mistletoe Bough."

"The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, And the holly branch shone on the old oak wall; And all within were blithe and gay, Keeping their Christmas holiday.

Oh, the mistletoe bough, Oh, the mistletoe bough."

And so on, through the many stanzas of the fine old ballad, telling of the bride who cried, "I'll hide, I'll hide," and then of the search and how they never found the beautiful bride until years had pa.s.sed away, and then, on opening the old chest in the attic, her bones were discovered and the wedding veil.

When the applause subsided, Miss Grace asked Richard Blount to sing.

"I'll do it, Cousin Grace, but I have never felt more modest about my little accomplishments. Miss Hathaway has taken all the wind out of my sails. I am going to sing a little thing that I clipped out of a newspaper and put to music. 'It is a poor thing, but mine own.' I think it is appropriate for this party, and hope you will agree with me."

"Now, d.i.c.ky, you know we love your singing, and because Miss Hathaway has charmed us is no reason why you cannot charm us all over. Caruso can sing, as well as Sembrich," said Miss Grace.

Richard Blount had a good baritone voice, and sang with a great deal of taste; and he played on the piano with real genius. With a few brilliant runs he settled down to the simple, sweet air he had composed for the little bit of fugitive verse, and then began to sing:

"The holly is a soldier bold, Arrayed in tunic green, His slender sword is never sheathed, But always bared and keen.

He stands amid the winter snows A sentry in the wood,- The scarlet berries on his boughs Are drops of frozen blood.

"The mistletoe's a maiden fair, Enchanted by the oak, Who holds her in his h.o.a.ry arms, And hides her in his cloak.

She knows her soldier lover waits Among the leafless trees, And, weeping in the bitter cold, Her tears to jewels freeze.

"But at the holy Christmas-tide, Blessed time of all the year, The evil spirits lose their power, And angels reappear.

They meet beside some friendly hearth, While softly falls the snow- The soldier Holly and his bride, The mystic Mistletoe."

Richard had been delighted by Melissa's performance, and now she returned the compliment by being so carried away by his singing and the song that she forgot all shyness and reserve and openly congratulated him, praising his music with so much real appreciation and fervor that the young man was persuaded to sing again. He sang the beautiful Indian song of Cadman's, "The Moon Hangs Low," and was beginning the opening chords to "The Land of Sky-blue Water," when there came a sharp ringing of the bell, followed by some confusion in the hall as the door was opened and a gust of wind blew in the fast falling snow. Then a man's voice was heard inquiring for Professor Green.

CHAPTER VI.-MORE SURPRISES.

"Whose voice is that?" exclaimed Molly and Judy in unison; and without waiting to be answered they rushed into the hall to find Kent Brown being warmly greeted by Professor Green. Before he had time to shake the snow from his broad shoulders, Molly seized him and he seized Judy, and they had a good old three-cornered Christmas hug.

"Did you get my note tied to the mistletoe?"

"Yes, you goose; but we did not know you were really coming. I thought you were speaking in parables," said Molly, but Judy only blushed.

"Well, it is powerful fine to get here. My train is four hours late."

"I know you are tired and hungry," said Miss Green, who was as cordial as her brother in her reception of the young Kentuckian. "But where is your grip, Mr. Brown?"

"Oh, I left it at the inn in the village. I could not think of piling in on you in this way without any warning."

"Well, Edwin will 'phone for it immediately. You Southern people think you are the only ones who can put yourselves out for guests. It would be a pretty thing for one of Mrs. Brown's sons to be in Wellington and not at our house."

So Kent was taken into the Greens' house with as much cordiality and hospitality as Chatsworth itself could have shown. The odor of coffee soon began to invade the hall and parlors, and in a little while the dining-room doors were thrown open and the feasting began. Miss Green was an excellent housekeeper, and knew how to cater to young people's tastes as well as Mrs. Brown herself, so the food was plentiful and delicious. Molly noticed with a smile that some of the precious ham was smuggled to the plates of Dr. and Mrs. McLean and Mr. Oldham, where it was duly appreciated, and that later on the favored three were regaled with slices of the fruit cake.

Kent found a cozy seat for Judy by the hall fire, and soon joined her with trays of supper.

"Oh, Miss Judy, it has been years since last July. I have worked as hard as a man could, hoping to make the time fly, but it hasn't done much good,-except that it made my firm suggest that I let up for a few days at Christmas, and here I am! I am working awfully hard trying to learn to do water coloring of the architectural drawings. I wish I had you to help me, you are so clever. I am hoping to get to New York or Paris some day to learn the tricks of the trade, but in the meantime there are lots of things to learn in Louisville; and I am getting more money for my work than I did. Did Molly give you my message tied to the mistletoe?"

"Yes, Kent."

"Will you wait? I was speaking in parables. I think somehow that I must arrive a little more, before I can catch you under the mistletoe; and you must do your work, too. Oh, Judy, it is hard to be so wise and circ.u.mspect! But will you wait?"

"Yes, Kent. I am working hard, too, harder than I have ever worked in my life. I was terribly disappointed when papa would not let me go to Paris this winter, but insisted on the year of hard drawing in New York, to test myself and find myself, as it were, and I have been determined to make good. I am drawing all the time, and you know that is virtuous when I am simply demented on the subject of color. I let myself work in color on Sat.u.r.day in Central Park, but the rest of the time it is charcoal from the antique or from life, with cla.s.ses in composition and design.

There is no use in talking about being a decorator if you can't draw. I hope to be in Paris next year, and then I shall reap my reward and simply wallow in color."

When supper was over, they were all called on to stand up for the Virginia Reel, which Mrs. McLean played with such spirit that Mr. Oldham and Dr. McLean could not keep their feet still; and before the astonished eyes of Edwin Green and Andy McLean, who had other plans, Mr.

Oldham seized Molly and Dr. McLean Nance, and they danced down the middle and back again with as much spirit as they had ever shown in their youth.

"It takes the old timers to dance the old dances, hey, Mr. Oldham?" said the panting doctor as he came up the middle smiling and cutting pigeon wings, while Nance arose to the occasion and "cha.s.seed" to his steps like any belle of the sixties. Even Miss Alice Fern forgot her dignity and romped, but she was very gay, as Edwin had sought her out when Molly danced off with Mr. Oldham. He had remembered that he had been rather remiss in his attentions to his fair cousin.

How they did dance!-and all of the extra men danced with each other, so there were no wall flowers. Richard Blount claimed Melissa as a partner, and they delighted the crowd by singing as they danced a song that Melissa had taught Richard, as she told him of some of the mountain dance games, the words fitting themselves to Mrs. McLean's lively tunes.