The Ship of Stars | Page 5

played
alone broken phrases and scraps of remembered tunes came into his
head and repeated themselves over and over. Then he would drop his
game and wander about restlessly, trying to fix and complete the
melody; and somehow in the process the melody always became a
story, or so like a story that he never knew the difference. Sometimes
his uneasiness lasted for days together. But when the story came
complete at last--and this always sprang on him quite suddenly--he
wanted to caper and fling his arms about and sing aloud; and did so, if
nobody happened to be looking.

The bandmaster, too, had music, and a reputation for imparting it.
Famous regimental bands contained pupils of his; and his old pupils,
when they met, usually told each other stories of his atrocious temper.
But he kept his temper to-night, for his youngsters were playing well,
and the small crowd standing quiet.
The English melodies had scarcely closed with "Come, lasses and
lads," when across in Mayoralty a blind was drawn, and a window
thrown open, and Taffy saw the warm room within, and the officers
and ladies standing with glasses in their hands. The Colonel was giving
the one toast of the evening:
"Ladies and gentlemen--The Queen!"
The adjutant leaned out and lifted his hand for signal, and the band
crashed out with the National Anthem. Then there was silence for a
minute. The window remained open. Taffy still caught glimpses of
jewels and uniforms, and white necks bending, and men leaning back
in their chairs, with their mess-jackets open, and the candle-light
flashing on their shirt-fronts. Below, in the dark street, the bandmaster
trimmed the lamp by his music-stand. In the rays of it he drew out a
handkerchief and polished the keys of his cornet; then passed the cornet
over to his left hand, took up his baton, and nodded.
What music was that, stealing, rippling, across the square? The
bandmaster knew nothing of the tale of Tannhauser, but was wishing
that he had violins at his beck, instead of stupid flutes and reeds. And
Taffy had never heard so much as the name of Tannhauser. Of the
meaning of the music he knew nothing--nothing beyond its wonder and
terror. But afterward he made a tale of it to himself.
In the tale it seemed that a vine shot up and climbed on the shadows of
the warm night; and the shadows climbed with it and made a trellis for
it right across the sky. The vine thrust through the trellis faster and
faster, dividing, throwing out little curls and tendrils; then leaves and
millions of leaves, each leaf unfolding about a drop of dew, which
trickled and fell and tinkled like a bird's song.

The beauty and scent of the vine distressed him. He wanted to cry out,
for it was hiding the sky. Then he heard the tramp of feet in the
distance, and knew that they threatened the vine, and with that he
wanted to save it. But the feet came nearer and nearer, tramping
terribly.
He could not bear it. He ran to the stairs, stole down them, opened the
front door cautiously, and slipped outside. He was half-way across the
square before it occurred to him that the band had ceased to play. Then
he wondered why he had come, but he did not go back. He found
Honoria standing a little apart from the crowd, with her hands clasped
behind her, gazing up at the window of the banqueting-room.
She did not see him at once.
"Stand on the steps, here," he whispered, "then you can see him. That's
the Colonel--the man at the end of the table, with the big, grey
moustache."
He touched her arm. She sprang away and stamped her foot.
"Keep off with you! Who told you?--Oh! you bad boy!"
"Nobody. I thought you hated boys who wait to be told."
"And now you'll get the whooping-cough, and goodness knows what
will happen to you, and you needn't think I'll be sorry!"
"Who wants you to be sorry! As for you," Taffy went on sturdily, "I
think your grandfather might have more sense than to keep you waiting
out here in the cold, and giving your cough to the whole town!"
"Ha! you do, do you?"
It was not the girl who said this. Taffy swung round, and saw an old
man staring down on him. There was just light enough to reveal that he
had very formidable grey eyes. But Taffy's blood was up.
"Yes, I do," he said, and wondered at himself.

"Ha! Does your father whip you sometimes?"
"No, sir."
"I should if you were my boy. I believe in it. Come, Honoria!"
The child threw a glance at Taffy as she was led away. He could