"To be superficial is to be all on the surface—shallow," he replied. "But why do you ask that?"
"Aunt Lizzie says I'm superficial," Mavis explained. "I heard her tell Uncle John so. But he said no, I was not. Indeed, I was not trying to listen," she proceeded quickly. "I was coming downstairs, and they were in the hall. I didn't know they were talking about me. Then it's nothing very bad if one is superficial, Mr. Moseley?"
"No," he answered, with an involuntary smile; "and it's nothing for you to trouble about. But I agree with your uncle. I think, perhaps, your aunt is mistaken; she probably does not understand you, and you evidently do not understand her. No doubt you will get to know each other better by-and-by. I am coming to see your aunt about you one day soon."
"About me?" Mavis exclaimed, questioningly.
"Yes. I am going to get up a concert—not just yet, during Christmas week—and invite all the villagers to attend. It will be held in the schoolroom, and I think you can help me, if your aunt will permit it."
"I!" cried the little girl in amazement. "What can I do?"
"You can sing. I have heard you on several occasions when you have been with your cousins in the woods, though you have not known I have been listening. Once I heard you sing a most beautiful version of the twenty-third psalm, and that is what I should like you to sing at my concert."
"Oh, Mr. Moseley, I don't think I could—before a lot of strange people!"
"Not if it gave them pleasure?" he inquired, with a smile.
"I should be so nervous," faltered the little girl.