With a sigh, Paula put her flowers back carefully in the handkerchief, and
then passed over the little black book to me. "This is my Bible," she said.
"It was my father's for years, and he gave it to me on the day he died.
See, he has written my name here on the first page."
I was hardly able to decipher the shaky signature of our Uncle John, but finally made out the following,
"To
PAULA JAVANEL
A remembrance from her dying father."
It was an old book with many loosened leaves. On each page were many underlined passages, some marked with pencil, others with ink, with small neat comments in the margins.
"This is my most precious treasure," said Paula. "Father had it in his hands as he breathed his last. I promised him to read from it every day of my life, asking the Lord's help to understand what I read. Although Papa is no longer here, still I obey him. I try to remember all that he told me. He was a wonderful man, this dear father of mine, and how he did love the Lord! My one desire is to be like him."
"Yes, but you are only a girl yet," I said to her.
"That's true, Lisita, naturally I know that, but father used to say to me, 'You're not too small to serve the Lord, Paula!' I read the Bible with him many times, and when we didn't have time to read it in the house, we took it to the fields with us and read it as we rested. Then as I watched the cows and sheep, I read the Book alone. And now you and I can read it together; can we not, Lisita? And I know the Lord will help us to make everybody else happy around us. I've never had a sister, and now that you say you wish to be my sister, my prayers are answered!"
Then after a pause, she said, "Why don't you answer me, Lisita?" And she laid her head on my shoulder and fixed her great eyes upon me. How could I answer her! I had a great desire to tell her of the true situation. We all of us wished to be as good as possible, if that should please her, but we would never be permitted to read the Bible. I knew father would never consent to that. Yet how could I tell her that things in our house were not as they were in hers—in that God was never mentioned! Then I remembered a long discussion our old servant had had that very morning with my sisters on this subject, and Teresa had ended the matter by saying, "She's only a little girl, anyway, and she'll soon become accustomed to do as we do. Besides your father will remember how she has been brought up, and he has too good a heart to make the poor child unhappy. Of course in the end the thing will finally adjust itself. Poor little thing! How she would suffer if we should bluntly tell her the truth that we live here in this house like a bunch of savages."
As I searched my poor brain for a reply, Teresa without knowing it, came to my help by calling me into the kitchen. Upon any other occasion, I would have simply answered, without moving, "What do you want?" But now I was only too glad to obey her immediately and so put an end to a difficult situation. "I'm going to town," she said, as she put on a clean apron. "Perhaps you and Paula would like to come along." "What a lark!" I cried, as I ran out to tell the glad news to Paula, and two minutes later we were ready.
Teresa looked us over from head to foot, reminding us that the strings of our shoes hadn't even been tied, that our faces and hands showed signs of an all-too-hasty toilet, to say nothing of a lack of a comb in our hair. Finally, however, we were on the road to town, happy to find ourselves in the cool shade of the long avenue of linden trees that stretched away in the distance. What a joy it was to have at my side this new, wonderful companion to whom I would be able to open the mysteries of the great shops and public buildings—marvelous things which this simple country girl had never seen before in all her life. What could be greater happiness for any girl of my age!