She held nightly rehearsals for the proposed entertainment. After the
first the novelty was exhausted, and on the next night there was a
falling off in attendance, so the young, director diplomatically
resorted to the use of decoy ducks in the shape of a pan of popcorn, a
candy pull, and an apple roast. By such inducements she whipped her
chorus into line, ably assisted by Bud, who had profited by his
attendance at St. Mark's.
The Jenkins dwelling was singularly well adapted for a public
performance, as, to use Mrs. Wint's phraseology, "it had no insides."
The rooms were partitioned off by means of curtains on strings. These
were taken down on the night of the concert. So the "settin'-room," the
"bedroom off" and the kitchen became one. Seats were improvised by means
of boards stretched across inverted washtubs.
At seven o'clock on the night set for the concert the audience was
solemnly ushered in by the Boarder. No signs of the performers were
visible, but sounds of suppressed excitement issued from the woodshed,
which had been converted into a vestry.
Presently the choir, chanting a hymn, made an impressive and effective
entrance. To Amarilly's consternation this evoked an applause, which
jarred on her sense of propriety.
"This ain't no show, and it ain't no time to clap," she explained to the
Boarder, who cautioned the congregation against further demonstration.
Flamingus read a psalm in a sing-song, resonant voice, and then Amarilly
announced a hymn, cordially inviting the neighbors to "jine in." The
response was lusty-lunged, and there was a unanimous request for another
tune. After Amarilly had explained the use to which the collection was
to be put, Gus passed a pie tin, while an offertory solo was rendered by
Bud in sweet, trebled tones.
The sacred concert was pronounced a great success by the audience, who
promptly dispersed at its close. While the Boarder was shifting the
curtains to their former positions, and Mrs. Jenkins and Amarilly were
busily engaged in divesting the choir of their costumes, the front door
opened and disclosed a vision of loveliness in the form of Colette.
"I knocked," she explained apologetically to the Boarder, "but no one
heard me. Are the family all away?"
"They are in the woodshed. Walk right out," he urged hospitably.
Colette stepped to the door and, on opening it, gazed in bewilderment at
the disrobing choir.
"These are not St. Mark's choir-boys, are they?" she asked wonderingly.
Mrs. Jenkins felt herself growing weak-kneed. She looked apprehensively
at Amarilly, who stepped bravely to the front with the air of one who
feels that the end justifies the means.