Oh, no, thank you. I shall go to the old place where Miss Markham and I lived before. The bishop and Mrs. Kennion sent us there because there is a piano, and the old ladies, being deaf, dont mind musical lodgers. Didnt the concert go off beautifully! Such artists, those two men; so easy to do ones best in such company.
It was a triumph! Doesnt it completely efface the memory of the plate and the pennies?
Yes, Tommy answered. I bear no ill-will to any living creature. The only flaw is my horrid name. Cant you think of another for me? Ive just had an anonymous note. Hear it! (taking it from her glove):
Dear Madam:
The name of Thomasina Tucker is one of those bizarre Americanisms that pain us so frequently in England. I fancy you must have assumed it for public use, and if so, I beg you will change it now, before you become too famous. The grotesque name of Thomasina Tucker belittles your exquisite art.
Very truly yours,A Well Wisher.What do you think of that?
Appleton laughed heartily and scanned the note. It is from some doddering old woman, he said. The name given you by your sponsors in baptism to be condemned as a bizarre Americanism!
I cannot think why the loyalty of my dear mother and father to Tucker, and to Thomas, should have made them saddle me with such a handicap! They might have known I was going to sing, for I bawled incessantly from birth to the age of twelve months. I shall have to change my name, and you must help me to choose. Au revoir!and she darted away with a handshake and a friendly backward glance from the door.
Can I think of another name for her? apostrophized Appleton to himself. Can feminine unconsciousness and cruelty go farther than that? Another name for her shrieks from the very housetops, and I agree with Well Wisher that she ought to take it before she becomes too famous; before it would be necessary, for instance, to describe her as Madame Tucker-Appleton!
VI
These are the verses:
To Miss Tommy Tucker(with a bunch of mignonette)A garden and a yellow wedge
Of sunshine slipping through,
And there, beside a bit of hedge,
Forget-me-nots so blue,
Bright four-oclocks and spicy pinks,
And sweet, old-fashioned roses,
With daffodils and crocuses,
And other fragrant posies,
And in a corner, neath the shade
By flowering apple branches made,
Grew mignonette.
I do not know, I cannot say,
Why, when I hear you sing,
Those by-gone days come back to me,
And in their long train bring
To mind that dear old garden, with
Its hovering honey-bees,
And liquid-throated songsters on
The blossom-laden trees;
Nor why a fragrance, fresh and rare,
Should on a sudden fill the air,
Of mignonette!
Your memry seems a garden fair
Of old-time flowers of song.
There Annie Laurie lives and loves,
And Mary Morison,
And Black-eyed Susan, Alice Grey,
Phillida, with her frown
And Barbara Allen, false and fair,
From famous Scarlet Town.
What marvel such a garland rare
Should breathe sweet odors on the air,
Like mignonette?
VII
There was never such a summer of enchanting weather as that particular summer in Wells. The whole population of Somersetshire, save those who had crops requiring rain, were in a heaven of delight from morning till night. Miss Tommy Tucker was very busy with some girl pupils, and as accompanist for oratorio practice; but there were blissful hours when she studied the cathedral with Fergus Appleton, watching him sketch the stately Central Tower, or the Lady Chapel, or the Chain Gate. There were afternoon walks to Tor Hill, winding up almost daily with tea at the palace, for the bishop and his wife were miracles of hospitality to the two Americans.
Fergus Appleton had declared the state of his mind and heart to Mrs. Kennion a few days after his arrival, though after his confidence had been received she said that it was quite unnecessary, as she had guessed the entire situation the moment she saw them together.
If you do, it is more than Miss Tucker does, said Appleton, for I cant flatter myself that she suspects in the least what I am about.
You havent said anything yet?
My dear Mrs. Kennion, Ive known her less than a fortnight! Its bad enough for a man to fall in love in that absurd length of time, but I wouldnt ask a girl to marry me on two weeks acquaintance. It would simply be courting refusal.
I am glad you feel that way about it, for we have grown greatly attached to Miss Tucker, said the bishops wife. She is so simple and unaffected, so lovable, and such good company! So alone in the world, yet so courageous and independent. I hope it will come out all right for your dear mothers son, she added affectionately, with a squeeze of her kind hand. Miss Tucker is dining here to-morrow, and you must come, too, for she has offered to sing for our friends.
Everybody agreed that Mrs. Kennions party for the young American singer was a delightful and memorable occasion. She gave them song after song, accompanying herself on the Erard grand piano, at which she always made such a pretty picture. It drifted into a request programme, and Tommy, whose memory was inexhaustible, seemed always to have the wished-for song at the tip of her tongue, were it English, Scotch, Irish, or Welsh. There was general laughter and surprise when Madame Eriksson, a Norwegian lady who was among the guests, asked her for a certain song of Halfdan Kjerulfs.
I only know it in its English translation, Tommy said, and I havent sung it for a year, but I think I remember it. Forgive me if I halt in the words:
I hardly know, my darling,
What mostly took my heart,
Unless perhaps your singing
Has done the greater part.
Ive thrilled to many voices,
The passionate, the strong,
But I forgot the singer,
And I forgot the song.
But theres one song, my darling,
That I can neer forget.
I listened and I trembled,
And felt my cheek was wet;
It seemed my heart within me
Gave answer clear and low
When first I heard you sing, dear,
Then first I loved you so!
Tommy had sung the song hundreds of times in earlier years, and she had not the slightest self-consciousness when she began it; but just as she reached the last four lines her eyes met Fergus Appletons. He was seated in a far corner of the room, leaning eagerly forward, with one arm on the back of a chair in front of him. She was singing the words to the company, but if ever a man was uttering and confirming them it was Fergus Appleton at that moment. The blindest woman could see, the deafest could hear, the avowal.
Tommy caught her breath quickly, looked away, braced her memory, and finished, to the keen delight of old Madame Eriksson, who rose and kissed her on both cheeks.
Tommy was glad that her part of the evening was over, and to cover her confusion offered to sing something of her own composing, the Mother Goose rhyme of Little Tommy Tucker Sings for His Supper, arranged as an operatic recitative and aria. The humor of this performance penetrated even to the remotest fastnesses of the staid cathedral circle, and the palace party ended in something that positively resembled merriment, a consummation not always to be reached in gatherings exclusively clerical in character.