So Mrs. Goodriche went to her room, and when she came back with two large bags and several books, there was no Miss Bessy to be found.
She, however, was, for an old person, very active, with all her senses about her, and off she trotted after her niece, finding her, after some trouble, chattering to Mag, who was hung in a cage before the kitchen window. She brought her into the parlour, saying:
"Come, niece, let us follow a good example, and make the best use of these quiet morning hours."
Bessy muttered something which Mrs. Goodriche did not choose to hear, but when she got into the parlour, she threw herself back on the sofa as if she were dying of fatigue.
Mrs. Goodriche handed a Bible to her, saying:
"We will begin the morning with our best book: you shall read a chapter whilst I go on with my work; come, find your place—where did we leave off?"
Bessy opened the Bible, fetching at the same time a deep sigh, and, after some minutes, began to read.
Mrs. Goodriche could have sighed too, but she did not.
Bessy was a most careless reader; she hated all books; indeed, her aunt thought that, from never having been exercised in anything but learning columns of spelling, she had hardly the power of putting any sense, in her own mind, to the simplest story-book which could be put into her hands.
It was heavy work to sit and hear her blunder through a chapter; but, when that was finished, the kind aunt tried at some little explanation; after which she set her to write in a copy-book. Mrs. Goodriche dictated what she was to write: it was generally something of what she had herself