“I doubt not she is very happy.”
“She seems to be; she is singing from morning till night.”
“I am so glad. I only saw Mr. Stanley at the time of the launching of the ship, you remember, but thought him worthy of any woman’s love. Do you still have delightful times at quiltings and huskings?”
“In the country, customs rarely change. The young ladies still have their quilting parties. Rachel will soon be getting her fixings, and we doubtless shall have jolly times.”
“I should like to be able to help her. With so many things to care for, I do not suppose she finds much time for reading?”
“Very little. Besides, we do not have many books to read. ‘The New Hampshire Gazette’ comes once a week, giving us a little glimpse of what is going on in the world.”
“I forgot you have no bookstore with all the new volumes printed in London,—history, travel, poetry, and novels, as we have here.”
She said that Mr. Knox, the bookseller, had been very kind to her, supplying her with the new books arriving from London, and had just handed her the poems of Oliver Goldsmith.
The afternoon waned.
“Shall we go up on the housetop and see the sun set?” Berinthia asked.