Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

swallowed her up, for no eye could find her, no pleasant clamor

win her back.

“Now I can die content,” said Rose, beaming with heartfelt

satisfaction while Archie looked steadfastly at his program, trying

to keep his face in order, and the rest of the family assumed a

triumphant air, as if they had never doubted from the first.

“Very well, indeed,” said the stout man with an approving nod.

“Quite promising for a beginner. Shouldn’t wonder if in time they

made a second Cary or Kellogg of her.?

“Now you’ll forgive him, won’t you?” murmured Charlie in his

cousin’s ear.

“Yes, and I’d like to pat him on the head. But take warning and

never judge by first appearances again,” whispered Rose, at peace

now with all mankind.

Phebe’s last song was another ballad; she meant to devote her

talent to that much neglected but always attractive branch of her

art. It was a great surprise, therefore, to all but one person in the

hall when, instead of singing “Auld Robin Grey,” she placed

herself at the piano, and, with a smiling glance over her shoulder

at the children, broke out in the old bird song which first won

Rose. But the chirping, twittering, and cooing were now the

burden to three verses of a charming little song, full of springtime

and the awakening life that makes it lovely. A rippling

accompaniment flowed through it all, and a burst of delighted

laughter from the children filled up the first pause with a fitting

answer to the voices that seemed calling to them from the vernal

woods.

It was very beautiful, and novelty lent its charm to the surprise, for

art and nature worked a pretty miracle and the clever imitation,

first heard from a kitchen hearth, now became the favorite in a

crowded concert room. Phebe was quite herself again; color in the

cheeks now; eyes that wandered smiling to and fro; and lips that

sang as gaily and far more sweetly than when she kept time to her

blithe music with a scrubbing brush.

This song was evidently intended for the children, and they

appreciated the kindly thought, for as Phebe went back among

them, they clapped ecstatically, flapped their pinafores, and some

caught her by the skirts with audible requests to “Do it again,

please; do it again.?

But Phebe shook her head and vanished, for it was getting late for

such small people, several of whom “lay sweetly slumbering there”

till roused by the clamor round them. The elders, however, were

not to be denied and applauded persistently, especially Aunt

Plenty, who seized Uncle Mac’s cane and pounded with it as

vigorously as “Mrs. Nubbles” at the play.

“Never mind your gloves, Steve; keep it up till she comes,” cried

Charlie, enjoying the fun like a boy while Jamie lost his head with

excitement and, standing up, called “Phebe! Phebe!” in spite of his

mother’s attempts to silence him.

Even the stout man clapped, and Rose could only laugh

delightedly as she turned to look at Archie, who seemed to have let

himself loose at last and was stamping with a dogged energy funny

to see.

So Phebe had to come, and stood there meekly bowing, with a

moved look on her face that showed how glad and grateful she

was, till a sudden hush came; then, as if inspired by the memory of

the cause that brought her there, she looked down into the sea of

friendly faces before her, with no trace of fear in her own, and

sang the song that never will grow old.

That went straight to the hearts of those who heard her, for there

was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of this

sweet-voiced woman singing of home for the little creatures who

were homeless, and Phebe made her tuneful plea irresistible by an

almost involuntary gesture of the hands which had hung loosely

clasped before her till, with the last echo of the beloved word, they

fell apart and were half outstretched, as if pleading to be filled.

It was the touch of nature that works wonders, for it made full

purses suddenly weigh heavily in pockets slow to open, brought