But when I heard the music and recognized that there were four voices concerned in it I realized that the concert had merely been changed in point of time and place and that we were now listening to it, and that it was one of Minerva’s sudden inspirations. She had come to Mrs. Hartlett’s with no gift and the generous-hearted girl had proposed that she and James and the others give the only thing in their power to give. The effect was strangely beautiful. The voices were softened just a little; they were in perfect accord and the four sang with the sincerity of feeling that negroes always throw into their songs, whether grave or gay. “It’s Minerva’s present to you, dear,” said Cherry, leaning over and patting Mrs. Hartlett’s hand. “Niggers can _sing_, annyway,” was Pat’s Irish comment. I think everyone present felt that he or she had some part in the concert. It was what they all would have done if they had been able, and as we listened to song after song, some “spirituals,” some full of laughter, and saw the rapt expression on the face of Mrs. Hartlett, we felt that the “century” was being crowned felicitously through the happy idea of an ignorant girl, whose heart was in the right place. The thing that made Minerva a joy forever was that her heart _was_ in the right place. Perhaps that is why James had found it so easily. * * * * * When we went home at sunset from the old lady’s house Cherry walked by her old-time playmate, Billy, and it struck me that he might be thinking of becoming a rival to Sibthorp and Hepburn. “It’s cruel in Cherry to let that young man walk with her,” said I to Ethel. “Oh, I don’t believe that he has ever thought of Cherry except as an old friend,” said she. “Well, if Cherry lets him walk with her much he will begin to think Cherry is catching.” “But she’s already caught,” said Ethel. And we could hear Hepburn at that very moment singing a little thing that Cherry was very fond of playing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXII WE GO TO THE FAIR. “HOW are we going over to the fair at Oakham?” asked Cherry, the evening before that event. “I’ve provided for it,” said I. “Not th’ ould scut?” said Ethel. “Hardly. Let’s see, there are ten of us.” “Twelve,” said Ethel, “or thirteen.” “No, ten.” “Twelve. Minerva and James are going and we’re to have lunch over there.” “Five buggies, two in each,” said Sibthorp as unconsciously as he could.