"He eyed the Bible dubiously. 'It's pretty small print,' he added. 'I suppose it's all good, now?'
"'If you mean that you're going to open the book and read away from the first full-stop you happen to light on—'
"'That's what I'd planned. You don't suppose, do you, I've had time since Tuesday to read all this through and skim off the cream?'
"'Then you'd better let me pick out a chapter for you.'
"As I took the Bible something fluttered from it to the ground. Captain Bill stooped and picked it up.
"'That's pretty, too,' he said, handing it to me.
"It was a little bookmarker, worked in silk, with one pink rose, the initials M. P. (for Mercy Penno, no doubt), and under these the favourite lines that small West-country children in England embroider on their samplers:"
'Rose leaves smell
When roses thrive:
Here's my work
When I'm alive.
Rose leaves smell
When shrunk and shred:
Here's my work
When I'm dead.'
'Rose leaves smell
When roses thrive:
Here's my work
When I'm alive.
Rose leaves smell
When shrunk and shred:
Here's my work
When I'm dead.'
I turned to the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians: showed the captain where to begin; and laid the bookmarker opposite the place.