“Well, I ain't much on readin'—OUT LOUD,” she faltered, growing suddenly conscious of her deficiencies. “Read it for me, will you?”
“Certainly,” and he drew his chair nearer to the bed. One strong hand supported the other half of the Bible, and his head was very near to hers as his deep, full voice pronounced the solemn words in which Ruth pleaded so many years before.
“'Entreat me not to leave thee,'” he read, “'or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'”
He stopped to ponder over the poetry of the lines.
“Kind o' pretty, ain't it?” Polly said softly. She felt awkward and constrained and a little overawed.
“There are far more beautiful things than that,” Douglas assured her enthusiastically, as the echo of many such rang in his ears.
“There are?” And her eyes opened wide with wonder.
“Yes, indeed,” he replied, pitying more and more the starvation of mind and longing to bring to it floods of light and enrichment.
“I guess I'd LIKE to hear YOU spiel,” and she fell to studying him solemnly.
“You would?” he asked eagerly.