To the rescue came tripping a bevy of Barn Swifts. Even the most critical could find little to complain of in that ballet. The piano and violin (Helen played behind the scenes now)—this music inspired the sprites rhythmically and when finally they danced around, surrounding Dickey, and carrying her off to the woodlands, the house “went mad,” as Gloria Gude expressed it. More London scenes of trials and trouble, pathetic and miserable, the story not the acting, then came the climax! A real little chimney sweep, a ragged urchin, made “his” awful way down the chimney (a slide cased in around the old brick fireplace) and after the wildest, weirdest strains of music (Helen at her best) the urchin came down—down until finally he landed in a very dim light, all huddled up close to the big, ramshackle chimney. There should have been applause—the work deserved it, still the house was silent—spellbound. Not a hand clapped! Weirdly the violin strains wailed and wafted the plaint of the inspired, yet mad Chimney Swift! This was the original music, this was the much talked of star act of Helen Powderly, the promising artist of Europe, the little freshman who was delaying her musical studies to obtain a correct knowledge of English. Now the entire scene changed. It was no longer a school girls’ amateur comedy, but a performance of such musical merit as Wellington had never before discovered among her own students. When the plaint was finished, and the violin slipped down under the pile of leaves and brambles, Helen’s face could not be seen, so dim was the light. She had insisted on that sombre accompaniment. For a few moments everyone waited, then one of the faculty ventured to start the applause. Instantly the tumult amounted to an ovation. Jane and Judith were breathless and allowed everyone else to do the applauding, while they wondered. That was really Helen! She had composed that sighing, wailing, moaning strain out in the trees, when she caught the tune of the winds. They knew! But the students would not now be satisfied, and Helen was obliged to respond to an encore. Trite as is that statement, it expresses the fact, and Helen did finally respond. When she stepped out to the edge of the platform she revealed herself the true artist. Not the absurd rags, nor the comic make-up hid the personality of Helka Podonsky. The very manner of that graceful bow, the splendid tilt of her pretty curly head and above all the way she carried and caressed her violin proclaimed her the artist. For an encore she played the “Wellington Etude.” This was the composition advertised, and it fully bore out the promised merit. When finally after the last note, like a bit of spun glass, blew its way to the heaven of true sounds, again came the thunderous applause. “Just as I expected,” groaned Dickey Ripple. “We won’t be able to go on with the drama.”