“What a useless, stupid girl you would soon become,” observed Lady Harriet. “Do you think, Laura, that lessons were invented for no other purpose but to torment little children?”

“No, grandmama; not exactly! They are of use also to keep us quiet.”

“Come here, little madam, and listen to me. I shall soon be very old, Laura, and not able to read my Bible, even with spectacles; for, as the Scriptures told us, in that affecting description of old age, which I read to you yesterday, ‘the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened:’ what then do you think I can do, because the Bible now is my best comfort, which I shall need more and more every day, to tell me all about the eternal world where I am going, and to shew me the way.”

“Grandmama! you promised long ago to let me attend on you when you grow old and blind! I shall be very careful, [75] ]and very—very—very kind. I almost wish you were old and blind now, to let you feel how much I love you, and how anxious I am to be as good to you as you have always been to me. We shall read the Bible together every morning, and as often afterwards as you please.”

“Thank you, my dear child! but you must take the trouble of learning to read well, or we shall be sadly puzzled with the difficult words. A friend of mine once had nobody that could read to her when she was ill, but the maid, who bargained that she might leave out every word above one syllable long, because they were too hard for her; and you could hardly help laughing at the nonsense it sometimes made; but I hope you will manage better.”

“O certainly, grandmama! I can spell chrononhotonthologos, and all the other five-cornered words in my ‘Reading Made Easy,’ already.”

“Besides that, my dear Laura! unless you learn to look over my bills, I may be sadly cheated by servants and shop-keepers. You must positively study to find out how many cherries make five.”

“Ah! grandmama! nobody knows better than I do, that two and two make four. I shall soon be quite able to keep your accounts.”

“Very well! but you have not yet heard half the trouble I mean to give you. I am remarkably fond of music, and shall probably at last be obliged to hire every old fiddler as he passes in the street, by giving him sixpence in order to enjoy some of my favourite tunes.”

“No, grandmama! you shall hear them all from me. I can play Malbrook, and Auld Robin Grey, already; and Frank says if I practise two hours every day for ten years, I shall become a very tolerable player, fit for you and uncle David to hear, without being disagreeable.”