"I have so many friends now," she wrote, "and last Christmas I had so few. When we meet I shall have such a lot to tell you, dear mother. I can't write everything. I believe Aunt Lizzie has written and told you that I am to sing at a concert on New Year's Eve; I am to sing your favourite psalm. Mr. Moseley says my voice is a great gift. He is a very nice man, and has been very kind to me—I think there are a great many kind people in the world."
Mavis had never so much as hinted to her mother that she was not on such cordial terms with her aunt as with her other relations, for she could not explain why that was the case, and, lately, she had got on with her rather better. Mrs. John had been obliged to admit to herself that Mavis was not selfish, that she did not try to put herself before her cousins in any way, and that she was quick to show gratitude for a kindness, and to respond to affection. But what she did not understand in the child, was her capability of laying aside trouble.
"She has just the nature of a song-bird," she would think, when Mavis' voice, lilting some simple ditty, would fall upon her ears. "She's such a light-hearted little thing."
The concert, which was held in the village schoolroom on New Year's Eve, proved a very great success. The performers were all well-known inhabitants of the parish, in whom the audience—composed mostly of the labouring classes—took great interest.
Mavis' part of the programme did not come till nearly the conclusion of the concert, and when the Vicar took her by the hand and led her on the platform, she felt it would be quite impossible for her to keep her promise, and she was inclined to run away and hide. But, a moment later, she had overcome the impulse which had prompted her to go from her word, and looking above the many faces which were smiling up at her encouragingly, she summoned up her courage and commenced to sing. Her voice was rather tremulous at first, but it gained strength as it proceeded. She forgot the people watching her, forgot her fear of breaking down, and thought only of what she was singing, of "pastures green" and the Good Shepherd leading His flock by streams "which run most pleasantly." As her sweet, clear voice ceased, there was a murmur of gratification from the audience, which swelled into rounds of applause.
"Sing us something else, do, missie!" she heard some one shout from the back of the schoolroom, and, looking in the direction from whence the voice came, she recognized Richard Butt.
The rest took up the cry, and from all sides came the demand, "Sing us something else!"
"What else do you know, Mavis?" the Vicar hastened to inquire, when he saw she was willing to comply with the general request.
"I know some carols," she replied. "Shall I sing one of those?"
"Yes, do," he said, as he moved away.