The evening of the concert came, and I was very reluctant to leave my arm-chair and the fire and the slippers. And now that my curate and I had set to work steadily at our Greek authors, to show the Bishop we could do something, I put aside my Homer with regret, and faced the frost of November. The concert was held in the old store down by the creek; and I shivered at the thought of two hours in that dreary room, with the windows open and a sea draught sweeping through. To my intense surprise, I gave up my ticket to a well-dressed young man with a basket of flowers in his button-hole; and I passed into a hall where the light blinded me, and I was dazed at the multitude of faces turned towards me. And there was a great shout of cheering; and I took off my great-coat, and was glad I had come. There was a stage in front, covered with plants and carpeted; and a grand piano peeped out from a forest of shrubs and palms; and lamps twinkled everywhere; and I began to think it was all a dream, when Miss Campion came over, and said she was _so_ glad I had come, etc., and I whispered:-- "I understand all now, when I see the little witch that has made the transformation." Father Letheby sat by me, quiet and demure, as usual. He looked as if he had known nothing of all this wonder-working; and when I charged him solemnly with being chief organizer, builder, framer, and designer in all this magic, he put me off gently:-- "You know we must educate the people, sir. And you know our people are capable of anything." I believed him. Presently, there was a great stir at the end of the long room, and I looked around cautiously; for we were all so grand, I felt I should be dignified indeed. "Who are these gentry, coming up the centre of the hall?" I whispered; for a grand procession was streaming in. "Gentry?" he said. "Why, these are the performers." They were just passing,--dainty little maidens, in satin from the bows in their wavy and crisp locks down to their white shoes; and they carried bouquets, and a subtle essence of a thousand odors filled the air. "Visitors at the Great House?" I whispered. "Not at all," he cried impatiently. "They are our own children. There's Mollie Lennon, the smith's daughter; and there's Annie Logan, whose father sells you the mackerel; and there's Tessie Navin, and Maudie Kennedy, and--" "Who's that grand young lady, with her hair done up like the Greek girls of Tanagra?" I gasped. "Why, that's Alice Moylan, the monitress." "Good heavens," was all I could say. And the doctor sailed in with his cohort, all in swallow-tails and white fronts, their hair plastered down or curled, like the fiddlers in an orchestra; and the doctor stooped down and saw my amazement, and whispered:-- "Didn't I tell you we'd surprise you, Father Dan?" Just then a young lad, dressed like a doll, and with white kid gloves, handed me a perfumed programme. "I charge a penny all around, but not to you, Father Dan."