hisses, which but for a small incident would quickly have broken into
yells.

The incident was this: Just when the piece was wavering to its miserable
and final crash, Hester felt some hot, soft tears dripping on her face.

"I don't like it," said little Sal, "And they don't sing. I'm hungry
to hear 'em sing--I'm hungry to hear 'em sing just one song."

"Yes, it's a biting disappointment," whispered the mother. "Sal ha'
been telling of nothing else all day. She'd give all the world to hear
jest a song, and it seems to me as they can't do nothing--not even
speak."

Just then the crash came. The curtain was lowered, and the manager,
purple in the face, came hastily and eagerly to the front. Little Sal
put her head down on Hester's neck and wept bitterly, and then began
the hisses and the cries of "Shame!"

"Never mind, Sal--I'll sing to you," whispered Hester. Quick as thought
her resolve was taken. She was not the least self-conscious, but she
was full of pity for the people. If every child in the room--and there
were several--wanted a song as badly as Sal did, she could satisfy the
small disappointed hearts.

She pushed her way through the crowd, saying to each who tried to
hinder her--

"Let me pass, I'll sing to you; you know I can sing."