else can
do anything? Francie Hall, come along at once!"

"I can't! I can't!" objected Francie. "So it's no use asking me; it
isn't indeed! I'll tell you what--Bess Haselford plays the violin, and,
what's more, she's got it with her, for I saw her put it away in the
dressing-room."

"O-O-Oh! It was my lesson with Signor Chianti this afternoon, that's why
I had to bring it!" said Bess, turning red.

"Go and fetch it, Francie!" ordered Lispeth. "You know where it is."

Francie returned in a short time, and handed the neat leather case to
its owner. Bess, looking flustered and nervous, drew out the violin, and
began to tune it.

"I've brought your music too!" said Francie, triumphantly opening a
folio, "so you've no excuse for saying you can't remember anything.
Who'll play your accompaniment? Here, Ingred!"

"Oh! somebody else would do it far better," protested Ingred.
"Janie----"

"I'm no reader."

"Lilas?"

"Couldn't to save my life!"

"Go ahead, Ingred, and don't waste time!" said Lispeth firmly.

Ingred sat down to the piano without a smile. Her schoolmates took her
unwillingness for modesty, but in her heart of hearts her main thought
was: "Why should _I_ help this new girl to show off?" She would have
played accompaniments gladly for anybody else, but she considered that
Bess had already received quite enough attention in one afternoon. For
her own credit, however, she must do her best, so she concentrated her
energies on the prelude. When the first strains of the violin joined in,
her musical ear recognized immediately that Bess's playing was of a very
high quality. The tone was pure, the notes were perfectly in tune, and
there was a ringing sweetness, a crisp power of expression, and a
haunting pathos in the rendering of the melody that showed the performer
to be capable of interpreting the composer's meaning. In spite of her
disinclination, Ingred warmed to the accompaniment. When the violin
seemed to be bringing out laughter and tears, the piano must do its
part, and not merely supply a succession of unimpassioned chords. Ingred
was a good reader for a girl of fifteen, but she surpassed herself on
this occasion, and seemed to accomplish the difficult passages almost by
instinct. She played the final notes very softly as the last fairy
strains of the melody thrilled slowly away.

There was a second of silence, then the girls, inside and outside the
room, clapped their loudest.

"It was capital!"