"Oh, yes indeed, madame. My father could read, and we have his great Bible. Dibby tells me what she hears parson read in church sometimes, and I often wish I could make it out for myself."
We sat a little while longer and then took our leave, promising to come again. When we were outside the door, my mother remarked:
"Well, Vevette, here is work come to your hand, and of the sort you like. Why should you not teach poor Lois to read?"
"I was going to ask you if I might," said I. "And then, perhaps, I might have some of the others. Really and truly, maman, the walk is very hard and long for the little ones, especially in bad weather."
"Well, well, we will see. Begin with poor Lois, at all events."
So I did, the very next day. My proposal to teach her was received with rapture by both mother and daughter. I had always a knack of teaching, and I soon had Lois prosperously started upon a pair of hose, and able, with some help, to make out a chapter in the Testament. Besides, I read to her every day as a reward, and I shall never forget her delight over the stories in the Gospels. But a good many things happened in the meantime.
Rosamond came down next day with her Italian book, and we had a lesson in that and in music from my mother.
The next day she came again, this time with Meg, who in rather a shamefaced way asked me whether I was not coming to the school any more.
"That depends," said I. "I thought you were not going to allow me."
Then, as Meg colored, I felt sorry for her confusion, and said, "I suppose you want help about the knitting."