“Marty, can't you and Edith repeat it for her?”
Marty was not sure she remembered it all, but Edith knew it, and the beautiful Psalm was reverently recited.
That evening as Mrs. Scott, wearied with the labors of the day, was seated in one of the stiff, hard chairs doing some mending by the uncertain light of a smoky lamp, Jennie told her all that had been said and done in the afternoon, and then asked,
“Mother, can't you find that about the shepherd in your purple Bible and read it over to me?”
“I'll try, but I'm a poor reader, Jennie, and anyways I don't know as I can find the place you want.”
She unlocked the trunk and bringing forth, wrapped in soft paper, an old-fashioned, small-print Bible that had once been handsome, but was now sadly tarnished, she screwed up the smoky lamp and began to turn the leaves.
“I don't know where the place is, child. I'm none so handy with books, and there's a great many different chapters here.”
“It was about green pastures and quiet waters. Miss Alice said a pasture is a field, and it minded me of that grassy field where Tim took me the summer before he died. You know there was a pond in it, and we paddled along the edge. It was the prettiest place I ever saw, and on awful hot days I wish I was there again. I think it must be just such a place the Bible shepherd takes his folks to.”
Mrs. Scott turned the leaves back and forth, anxious to please Jennie, but unable to find what she wished.
“Now I mind,” exclaimed Jennie presently: “Miss Alice didn't call the green pasture piece a chapter; she called it a Psalm.”