"Did you feel very lonely after she died?" Mousey asked gently.
"I dare say I did," he responded; "but she died so long ago that I really forget."
The little girl looked at him curiously, wondering if she lived to be an old woman whether she would forget her anguish of grief at her mother's death. She could not think it possible; but the bare thought hurt her, and she sighed unconsciously.
"Well, child, what now?" Mr. Harding asked. "I should have thought you would have felt as blithe as a bird on a lovely morning like this."
Mousey smiled, but made no answer. She walked sedately and silently by his side, deep in thought.
"By the way," said Mr. Harding presently, "how did John Monday become possessed of your Bible, eh?"
"I lent it to him," she replied in some surprise; "but how did you know he had it, Cousin Robert?"
"I caught him reading it yesterday, but could get no explanation from him. So you lent it to him, eh?"
"Yes. He has no Bible of his own, and I have mother's, so I let him have mine. I couldn't give it to him, because, you see, mother gave it to me."
"But how did he come to borrow it? The idea of John Monday wanting to read the Bible!"