"I don't want it to be hard for you to tell me anything, Amarilly," he said reassuringly. "Suppose you show me that you trust me by telling me about your concert."
So once more Amarilly gave a recital of her plan for raising money for the mission, and of its successful fulfilment. John listened with varying emotions, struggling heroically to maintain his gravity as he heard of the realization of the long-cherished, long-deferred dream of Mrs. Hudgers.
"And we took in thirty-seven cents," she said in breathless excitement, as she handed him the contents of the pie tin.
"Amarilly," he replied fervently, with the look that Colette was learning to love, "you did just right to use the surplices, and this contribution means more to me than any I have received. It was a sweet and generous thought that prompted your concert."
Amarilly's little heart glowed with pride at this acknowledgment.
At that moment came Bud, singing a snatch of his solo.
"Is this the little brother that sang the offertory?"
"Yes; that's him—Bud."
"Bud, will you sing it again for me, now?"
"Sure thing!" said the atom of a boy, promptly mounting a soap box.