"There's a big print Bible or somethin' stuck up over old Mrs. Seymour's ironing-board. What should ye think that might be for, now?"
"I don't know, I'm sure; you'd a deal better ask her if y'er so curious."
Mrs. Blunt was busy on her own thoughts, and pursued, without noticing her husband's implied rebuke—
"'Cause if that's what makes 'em different, I'd like to be different too."
"Bide as ye are. Don't you be taking up fine notions. Ye've enough to do to mind us all, without doin' as other folks does."
"I wonder where our Bible's been put to," his wife went on, without regarding him.
Her husband did not answer. He was half inclined to be vexed at his wife's persistency, but he remembered the brightened room this evening, the absence of scolding, and the nicely-cooked fish, so he took refuge in silence.
Mrs. Blunt got up, put away her work, and began searching on the top shelf of a cupboard which filled one corner.
At last she got down from the chair on which she had been standing, and Kittie could hear her blowing the dust from something.
"Here 'tis," she said, in a satisfied tone. "I knew as 'twas somewheres. Supposin' you and me was to read a bit every night?"