"Celia
tunes between practice; Charlotte takes it for granted she's all right
and fires ahead. Your E string is off!"
The second violin grudgingly tightened the E string; then all her
strings in turn, lengthening the process as much as possible. The 'cello
did the same--the 'cello always stood by the second violin. Jeff gave
Charlotte a glance of loyalty. His G string had been flatter than her E.
Lansing wheeled about and picked up his instrument, carefully trying its
pitch. He gave the signal, and the "_March of the Pilgrims_" began--in
the remote distance. The double-bass viol gripped his bow with his
stubby twelve-year-old fingers, and hardly breathed as he strove to keep
his notes subdued. The 'cello murmured a gentle undertone; the first
violin sang as sweetly and delicately as a bird, her _legato_ perfect.
The second violin fingered her notes through, but the voice of her
instrument was not heard at all.
The leader glanced at her once, with a frown between his fine eyebrows,
but Charlotte played dumbly on. The Pilgrims approached--_crescendo_;
drew near--_forte_; passed--_fortissimo_; marched away--_diminuendo_;
were almost lost in the distance--_piano_--_pianissimo_.
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