Mavis smiled. She thought she would like to tell him how much she had enjoyed his sermon last night. And, after a brief hesitation, she did so. He appeared greatly pleased. "It was just as though you knew how lonely I was feeling," she said eagerly, "just as though you were preaching to me. I shall remember all you said—always, I hope. I'm not going to let my heart be troubled—not more than I can help. And I'm going to try not to be afraid, though there are so many things which might happen to mother!" "There are many things which might happen to all of us. But we must trust ourselves and those we love to our Father in Heaven." Mr. Moseley paused for a minute, then proceeded, "I did not know my sermon last night was appropriate to any one in particular, but God knew, we may be sure of that." "Did He tell you what to say?" Mavis inquired. "Oh," she cried, as her companion assented, "I was certain He did." Mavis lingered a short while longer in conversation with her new acquaintance. Then she remembered that her aunt might be wondering where she was, and, having said good-bye to Mr. Moseley and bestowed a farewell pat on Max, she retraced her footsteps the way she had come. Her drooping spirits were reviving, for her talk with the Vicar had done her good. She looked up into the clear, blue sky overhead, and a glow of happiness crept into her heart. Then she glanced across the sweep of meadow-lands, and began to sing in a soft undertone— "The Lord is only my support, and He that doth me feed; How can I then lack anything whereof I stand in need? In pastures green He feedeth me, where I do safely lie; And after leads me to the streams which run most pleasantly." Meanwhile, Mr. Grey had returned from Oxford, and was in the kitchen-garden talking to his wife, who had brought out another basket of clothes. He was telling her, that he had seen his sister-in-law off from the railway-station, and was inquiring what had become of Mavis, when the little girl appeared at the garden gate. "Why, she's singing!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "I don't understand her," his wife replied, looking puzzled. "She seemed very cut up after her mother had gone, and wept most bitterly, but I think her feelings must be all on the surface—they can't go very deep." At that moment Mavis caught sight of them. Her voice suddenly ceased, and she ran up to her uncle, to learn that her mother had really gone. "What was that you were singing, Mavis?" he inquired, curiously. "The twenty-third psalm, Uncle John," she answered; "seeing the green meadows put me in mind of it." Then, observing he looked bewildered, she continued eagerly, "Don't you understand? 'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.'" "Oh, now I follow your train of thought," he replied, with a smile, glancing at his wife. "Fancy a child like you thinking of that!" CHAPTER V PETTY JEALOUSY