"Come now, my dear," she said, "take my advice and don't do any such thing. London isn't the place for such as you. I'll speak to the mistress about you if you like and see if she can't do ought to help you."
Meg sprang up from her seat, snatching up Jem's hat which had fallen on the floor by her side.
"You'll do no such thing," she said quickly, "if you do I guess I'll have to leave you without payin' you for my food, though it would go against me after your kindness. But I won't have the help of anybody. I ain't bound to a single soul."
Mrs. Brown, taken aback by the excitability of her guest, tried to soothe her, promising to do nothing without her leave, and at last on the entrance of the other servants, who had been told by Dent that if they wanted to have a treat he advised them to go without fail to the kitchen, she sat down again and looked with interest at those who were to form her audience.
Dent, who took the credit to himself of giving his fellow servants this treat, placed chairs in a row, and acted as Master of the Ceremonies.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, looking from the row of maids to the young footman who stood by the door, "we are now about to listen to the finest voice that I've heard for a long time; and as I reckon myself to be a good judge of music and to know a fine voice when I hear it, having for years sung in the cathedral choir at Chichester, I can guarantee that a treat lies before you. This young lady will now be good enough to perform."
Meg rose, a smile lighting up her face as she looked around on her audience. She did not know what shyness was, and was so used to having her voice praised that she was not afraid of her hearers being disappointed.
"I'll sing fine," she said, "and will do what I can to pay for my good food; and I'm mighty thankful to Mr. Dent and Mrs. Brown for their kindness to me. I'll begin I think with a comic song to make you laugh." And in a moment the girl had sprung up on to the chair behind her and with a great deal of action sang through several songs, eliciting shouts of laughter from her audience.
Dent alone was disappointed. He was listening impatiently for the wonderful music that he had heard in her voice as she had sung in the dark of the garden. But he had not to wait long; the laughter had scarcely died away before the girl's whole expression of face changed, as she broke into the plaintive air of "Auld Robin Gray."
The pathos in the voice enchained the audience. They sat listening with rapt attention, and when the last verse was arrived at Mrs. Brown could bear it no longer but boldly took out her handkerchief and wiped her tears away.