"Yes, child! Why? What?" asked she, looking up uneasily.
Grace fixed her eyes on the ground. She could not look her mother in the face.
"Do you ever read the thirty-second Psalm, mother?"
"Which? Why not, child?"
"Let us read it together then, now."
And Grace, taking up her own Bible, sat quietly down and read, as none in that parish save she could read:
"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, and whose sin is covered.
"Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.
"When I kept silence, my bones waxed old, through my groaning all the day long.
"For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me; my moisture is turned to the drought of summer.