Mary and Anna were troubled with no fears on the subject, for they were accustomed to receive their father’s friends, and had never been conscious of any awkwardness in doing so. If they had now any doubts, it was about the pleasure they might have in Miss Fletcher’s society; for they had never had any companions of their own age, or any playmates except the farmers children.
When their father called them into his study to repeat the lessons which had been omitted in the morning, Anna stretched herself and yawned, preparatory to collecting her books and exercises.
“What, Anna! yawning at the very idea of being employed! Better wait till you are tired, surely.”
“I can stretch again then, papa. I wonder whether you ever do. I never saw you; but I suppose you are tired sometimes, like other people.”
“Very tired, my dear; and never more so than when you are rattling nonsense, instead of opening your books. There is a time for all things.”
It was now Anna’s time for looking grave; and she read her page of Virgil as steadily as if she had been ten years older. Nothing was heard in the study for the next two hours, but the single voice of the reader, and the scratching pen of the writer. When the last school-book was closed, the girls looked at their father. He pointed to the book-case, where the large Bible was placed; and while Mary took it down, Anna drew a seat to each side of her father’s large study-chair. They read and talked, and read again, till the servant came to say that tea had been ready some time. Anna forgot her intention of yawning again. They never remembered having been weary of reading the Bible with their father; for he made them understand it clearly, as far as they went: he talked and encouraged them to talk freely on the thousand subjects which made religion interesting; and his voice was never so soft, or his manner so tender, as at those times.
After tea, Mary, who saw that her father was troubled with headache, as was often the case, pointed to the field, where the evening shadows were lengthening in the golden light of the setting sun, and asked him if a walk would not do him good. He was too tired to go out, he said; but he should like some music, which generally refreshed him more than any thing. So he established himself on the sofa; and Mary, who played very well, opened her piano, and amused him till it was quite dark. Before he dismissed his children for the night, he called Anna to sit on the low stool beside him.
“Our days fly away fast, Anna; do not they?”
“Yes, papa; but not so fast as I should like. I want to be older, that I may have more of my own way.”
“You unreasonable child! People tell me I let you run wild already. What more do you want?”