A GOOD FREE CONCERT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue V, 30 July 1898, Page 159

A GOOD FREE CONCERT.

Two ladies waiting for a ear on the

corner of a dingy street started and winced at the same moment as the long-drawn screech of a fiddle pierced the air. One of them laughed and frowned, the other drew her brows into a pucker of silent misery. The fiddle was quiet. Then came another screech, and a prolonged tuning and twanging and tightening and testing ensued, carried on evidently just behind the bow-window of the nearest house.

‘I hope the car will come soon,’ murmured the elder lady; ‘there ought to be padded attics and cellar retreats with double doors for beginners on the violin. There! I expected it!’ The unseen violinist had begun to play ‘Comrades’ very badly indeed, and this he presently tried to follow with ‘Annie Rooney,’ but stuck half way and broke off with ignominious abruptness.

‘What a relief!’ sighed the fastidious listener, and at the same time an eager voice beside her cried out, ‘O Mick, don’t you ’spose he’s goin’ to play any more?’

She looked down and perceived at her side a boy and girl, a big brother about ten years old, and a little sister of eight, who were staring with round eyes at the window, oblivious of everything in the world except music.

But Mick was evidently a frequenter of that corner who had brought his small sister with him to hear the music, for he hastened to reassure her with an air of patronage. ‘Most like he will, and it don’t rnatther if he don’t. That’s on’y Billy Jones practisin’. He’s nothin’. He’s learnin’. He plays first, an’ then his big brother takes the fiddle a bit, an’ then his sisther strikes in at the planner, an’ then the both of ’em tries it together, an’ thin ye may say it’s worth bearin’! An’ afther that they sing. Whisht! There; she’s goin’ again.’

There she was going indeed, —she being the violin, affectionately imagined as feminine, —and this time the steadier stroke showed that Billy had resigned the instrument to his brother. The boy and girl listened blissfully. Other children gathered as if by magic, and farther away the voice of an anxious little fellow who was loyally waiting for a chum, but sharp with impatience, oould be heard entreating him to hurry or the best would be over before they got there. The twilight deepened, and the smaller listeners cuddled against the larger ones, but none of them went away. Within, Mrs Jones was singing to a soft accompaniment. Lights had been brought, and through the thin curtains the family could be seen grouped about the piano. ‘They leaves their curtains up a-pur-pose,’ Mick confided to the ladies, whohe pereeivedwere interested; ‘they knows there’s some of us listenin’ out here, an’ we likes to see in when they’re playin'. They play an’ sing every evenin’. They always end up with ‘America,’ so’s we’ll know it's over an’ not hang round for nothin’.’ ‘Who are they?’ asked the lady. ‘lt’s Mr Jones that lives there. It's Billy Jones is [earnin’ to play the fiddle.’

The belated ear for which the ladies waited came at that moment, and that was all they ever learned of the family of Jones, for whom nevertheless they have ever since entertained «i warm regard. ‘lt was as delightful a free concert as one could wish to hear,’ said one of them, half-penitently, half-humor-ously, ‘and I only wish 1 could have stayed it out. and thanked the Joneses afterward. They are public benefactors.’

She was right. Would that we all could realise that every family that sheds abroad the influence of a happy home confers perliajis the best kind <vf a. public benefaction, nor can any member of it ever know how far and wide that influence may reach.