“What is it?” she asked; and her sister placed it in her hand.
It was a Bible, a very beautiful one, bound in purple morocco, with clasps and gilt edges. It was small, but not too small even for Christie’s eyes.
“Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Christie, forgetting everything in her delight. “It is the very thing I have been wishing for!”
Effie said nothing, but watched her, well pleased.
“But, Effie,” said Christie, suddenly, “this must have been very dear. A plainer one would have done just as well. Did it cost much?”
“Not very much,” said Effie, sitting down beside her again. “A Bible is for one’s whole lifetime, and so I got a good one, and a pretty one, too; you are so fond of pretty things. If I had known that the book-man was coming here I might have waited and let you choose it for yourself. We might have changed it now, but see, I have written your name in it.”
She turned to the fly-leaf, and read “Christina Redfern,” with the date, in Effie’s pretty handwriting. She gave a sigh of pleasure as she turned it over.
“No, I don’t believe there is a nicer one there. It’s far prettier than yours, Effie. Wouldna you have liked it? Your old one would have done for me.”
“Oh, no, indeed! I would far rather have my own old Bible than the prettiest new one,” said Effie, hastily.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Christie. “Mother gave it to you.”