I cannot delay to tell of each day's reading; but before they reached the end of St. Matthew's Gospel, Elise Egerton had begun to find rest for her poor wounded heart and troubled mind in Him whose "name is Jesus, because He saves His people from their sins."
The picture Bible was too large and too heavy for Clarice to hold, which was a great grief to her, because she had no other books, and, besides, if she could have been the reader, her mother could have listened and gone on with her mending at the same time. One day, when her father paid her one of his rare visits, the child gathered courage to ask him a question.
"Papa, are Bibles ever made into small books?"
"Yes, certainly," he answered, absently.
"And yet all the Bible is in the book?" she asked again. "They don't leave out bits, do they?"
"No. The print is small, you know, so that it requires less space."
"I do wish I had a little Bible," she half whispered.
"What do you want with a Bible, child?"
"To read; mother reads to me when she has time, but if I could read, she might work and listen. But I can't hold the big Bible, you see."
"Why do you want to read it?" Mr. Egerton asked, with a smile upon his lips.