It was a new piece and alas! only half prepared. A wretched performance it would have been at its best, badly put on, badly acted--coarse, common, the reverse of all that was lifelike; but, nevertheless, these eager, hungry, expectant people would have been abundantly content with the most extravagant representations if they had only been carried on with the smallest show of life or spirit. The actors, however, who none of them knew their parts, struggled on miserably for a scene or two, and then broke down utterly. It does not cost much to go to a penny theatre, but the people who frequent such places are, of all those in the world, the most anxious to get their money's worth. There was instantly an uproar and a clamor, and the house resounded with 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." Her words were caught up, and cheers for Hester Wright ran through the house from her friends--and most there knew her, and were her friends--long before she reached the wings, and joined the astonished manager, who stood wavering, and in a considerable state of terror, on his deserted stage. "I'll sing," said Hester, speaking to him eagerly and quickly. "The children are bitterly disappointed, and a song or two will quiet the whole house. Let me; I know how." The manager was a stranger in the town, and had no acquaintance with the dark-eyed, intense woman who addressed him. The crowd, however, cheered and vociferated. Their ill-humor was changed into the most hearty approval. "Just like Hetty, bless her," whispered Susan Jakes to her sweetheart. "Just like Hetty," resounded all over the small house. Be the woman mad or not, the manager saw she was popular, and his brow cleared.