“I am afraid the baby has been fretful,” she said, kindly, as she took the child in her arms. “You look tired, Christie.”
“No; I’m not very tired.” But she moved about the room, putting aside little frocks and shoes, keeping her face all the time from the light. She was very much afraid that if Mrs Lee were to speak so gently again her tears must flow; and this must not be if she could possibly help it. In the meantime, Mrs Lee had taken up a book, which lay on a table beside her. It was Christie’s Bible; and when she had finished putting away the children’s clothes worn through the day, and seated herself at a little distance, Mrs Lee said:
“You are fond of reading, Christie?”
Christie had many times asked permission to take a book into the nursery, when the children were asleep, and she answered:
“Yes, ma’am; I like to read, very much.”
“And do you like to read the Bible? Some people seem to take great pleasure in it.”
“Yes; I read it every day. I promised Effie I would.”
Mrs Lee continued to turn over the leaves.
“Whose marks are these on the margin?” she asked.
“I suppose they are Effie’s. John Nesbitt marked one or two for me, when I was staying at his mother’s last summer. The rest are Effie’s.”