hands which shook with a violence that made the music useless.
She looked only a frightened, countrified child as she stood on the high platform in her frock of figured pink calico, scarcely ankle length, with its ruffles of cheap lace in the elbow sleeves and a string of glass beads for ornament.
The hoots from the rear of the hall grew louder as she lost the key, and sibilant sounds from all parts stung her nearly to tears as she tried shrilly for notes which, in her panic, she could not reach. Yet she stood her ground with something of a bantam's spirit. Nan could see the trembling of her knees beneath her skirts.
The howls increased, her plucky defiance seeming only to arouse further opposition and antagonism. Had they no pity? Could they not see the appeal in the child's eyes? This, then, was the chivalrous West? Nan's lips curled contemptuously and her cheeks burned with anger as clownish witticisms and coarse comments were bellowed from different parts of the house.
"Take that calf out to its maw!"
