“Well you haven’t much longer to wait,” said Helen, as the carriage stopped before the entrance to the great hall.

As the crowd surged toward the doorway, Randy began to think that all the people whom she had seen and many more had decided that the concert was too great a treat to miss.

Once in their seats, Randy looked about her, and found great delight in studying the faces and costumes of the vast audience.  She smiled as she thought of that summer day when in old Nathan Lawton’s front parlor she took part in the school exhibition and received the prize in the presence of an assemblage of fifty persons, and considered it a “crowd.”

A slight commotion caused Randy to turn just in time to see the members of the great orchestra taking their places.  Then some late arrivals attracted her attention.  Two ladies with a beautiful little girl were seating themselves on the opposite side of the aisle, and the child’s face, with her soft curls and brown eyes reminded Randy of the little sister at home.  Then a strange hush pervaded the hall, and as the director swayed his baton, twenty bows were drawn across the strings of as many violins in one grand chord of sweetest harmony.

Randy started, and laid her hand upon Helen’s, while with parted lips she gazed at the musicians who were making the fairy-like music which so enthralled her.  Her sensitive lips quivered, and her breath came quickly as the orchestra played the varying movements of a grand sonata.

Enraptured with the music, tears filled her eyes during the gentle adagio, and a bright smile chased away the tears when the next movement, a brilliant polacca, filled the hall with its tripping measures.  When the last chord had died away Randy turned toward Helen and whispered, “Oh, I never heard anything like that!  Will they play again?”

With a smile, Helen pointed to the other numbers upon the program which the orchestra would perform, and Randy, with a contented little sigh, leaned back to await the next number, when the Prima Donna, a vision of loveliness, came forward to sing.

Randy watched and listened and wondered, vaguely, if an angel could sing like that.

Her solo ended, the singer, bowing low, retired, but not for long, for others beside Randy realized the beauty of the song and the wonderful voice of the vocalist, and round after round of applause pleaded for her return.

Yet more applause, and again she stood before them, gracefully bowing her acknowledgment of the compliment.

Again the sweet notes filled the hall, and Randy leaned eagerly forward to catch each silvery tone.

When the song was finished, Helen said “Was not that a wonderful bit of music?”

“Oh, yes,” said Randy, “how I wish that I could tell her that I think her voice is like the violins.”

“I know her very well,” Helen replied, “and I will tell her how her singing has entranced you.”