  The next afternoon at four, Nan went down to the music room as it was her hour to practice on the harp, Muriel Metcalf having been there the hour preceding. Before opening the door, Nan listened to be sure that the other young harpist had finished, and, as she heard no sound within, she decided that Muriel had gone, but, upon opening the door, she saw the other girl seated by a table, her head on her arms and her shoulders shaken with sobs. Muriel sprang up when she heard the door close and in her pale blue eyes there was an expression of hatred when she saw who had entered the room. “Dear, what has happened?” Nan Barrington exclaimed with her ever-ready sympathy. Then, putting a loving arm about the girl, she added: “Is there something that I can do to help?” “No, there isn’t!” Muriel flung out. “You’ll probably be glad when you hear what has happened. That horrid old Professor Bentz told me that if I did not have this week’s lesson perfect, he would no longer teach me on the harp. I suppose I am stupid, but I just can’t, can’t get it, and tomorrow is the day that he comes. I wouldn’t care for myself, but my father will be heart-broken. He had a little sister, who played on the harp, and she died. Dad just idolized her, the way he does me. He kept the harp and he is so eager to have me play upon it. I just can’t bear to disappoint him.” For the moment Muriel seemed to have forgotten to whom she was talking. “Nor shall you,” Nan said quietly. “Is this your free hour, Muriel?” “Yes,” was the reply. “Why?” “I thought perhaps you would like to stay while I practice. Our lesson is hard this week, but I might be able to help you. Would you like to stay?” Muriel hardly knew how to reply. Judging others by her own selfish standard, she had supposed that Nan would be glad if she were barred from the coming recital, but instead, the gypsy girl was offering to help her master that part which had seemed to her most difficult. “Thank you, I will stay,” she heard herself saying, and then she sat quietly near while Nan played the lesson through from beginning to the end. “Now, Muriel,” the harpist said, with her friendly smile, “will you play it for me, and then I can better tell which part is your stumbling block?” Patiently Nan showed the other girl how to correct her mistakes, until, at length, a gong rang in the corridor calling them to the study hall. Springing up, the gypsy girl exclaimed: “You did splendidly, Muriel! If I could help you just once more before your lesson, I think that Professor Bentz would have no fault to find with you.” Then she added kindly, “You really have talent, dear, but you haven’t practiced very faithfully of late. If you wish, I will come with you to the music room this evening during our recreation hour and we can go over it once again.” “Thank you! I would like to come,” Muriel replied, but oh, what a strangely troubled feeling there was in her heart as she remembered the words of the gypsy woman: “You are trying to harm someone, who will do much to help you.” That evening at 7 o’clock the two girls were again in the music room and Muriel played the piece through so well that Nan exclaimed with real enthusiasm, “Dearie, you did that beautifully, especially the part where it seems as though a restless spirit is yearning to be forgiven for something. Really, Muriel, the tears came into my eyes, for you played it with true feeling.” Then to the gypsy girl’s surprise the little harpist began to sob. “Oh, Nan, I do want to be forgiven for something. You’ve been so kind to help me and I’ve been so horrid and mean to you.” “Why, Muriel, you have never been horrid or mean to me.” “Oh, yes, I have. Only yesterday I was planning to do something that I thought would turn the girls all against you. I was jealous, I suppose, because Professor Bentz always holds you up as a model. Then I overheard you talking to the gypsies and that night I visited their camp and found out that you were one of them, and so I decided that if you won the gold medal I would tell every one in the school about it. There now, don’t you call that being mean and horrid?” Nan’s joyous laugh rang out, and she gaily exclaimed:—“Oho, so you are the enemy I have been looking for?” Then she added, with sudden seriousness: “My dear Muriel, I am not ashamed because I am a gypsy, and I would gladly have proclaimed it from the top of Little Pine Hill if I had not promised Miss Barrington that I would not.” “And you’re going to forgive me?” Muriel asked, although she knew the answer before it was spoken. “There is nothing to forgive. Hark! Someone is coming. Who do you suppose that it is?” There was a merry rapping on the door, and then it was opened, revealing two maidens. There was an expression of surprise on the pretty face of the younger girl, but it was Phyllis who exclaimed, “Well, Nan, here you are. I have hunted for you high and low. I just met Daisy in the corridor and she was searching for Muriel.” Then, glancing from one expressive face to the other, she added: “What has happened? You girls look as though you had a secret.” “So we have,” Nan laughingly replied. “I was just going to tell Muriel a story and if you girls will come in and be seated, you too, may hear it.” Phyllis, wondering what it all might mean, listened with increasing interest as Nan told about the caravan of Queen Mizella and about the loving kindness of Manna Lou to the little crippled boy, Tirol, and to the little orphan girl whose mother had died so long ago. “I didn’t know that there were such good, unselfish women among the gypsies,” Phyllis declared, “but, Nan, why are you telling us this story?” “Because I am the orphaned girl,” was the quiet reply. “You!” Phyllis exclaimed. “Now I know why you are so wonderful and why you seem to understand the songs of the birds and feel such a comradeship for the trees and sky and all out-of-doors.” “Then you don’t love me any the less?” the question was asked in half seriousness. “Nan, what do I care who your ancestors are?” Phyllis declared. “It is you whom I love.” “Hark!” the gypsy girl said with lifted finger. “The chapel bell is calling us to evening prayer.” And then, as she and Muriel were the last to leave the room, she kissed the younger girl as she whispered, “Good night, dear little friend.” |
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