The old clock in the kitchen had scarcely finished striking nine when cousin Sarah rose, and taking from a shelf a large old-fashioned Bible and book of family prayers, placed them on the table before Edward Armstrong.
"Do you not read yourself, father?" he asked.
"No, my son, I have not been able to do so for some years; John always supplies my place; but now you are here you must officiate."
To Mary all this was new. Except at church she had never seen her father with a Bible in his hand, and she wondered whether he had been accustomed to this in his childhood.
Edward Armstrong possessed one accomplishment which is not always sufficiently appreciated, he read well; and the beautiful chapter which his father requested him to read sounded to Mary as something she had never before heard—the 15th chapter of St. Luke, and the story of the prodigal son.
The prayer also which followed was new to her. It seemed so suited to the time and place and persons assembled, that she could follow every petition as if it came from her own heart. No wonder Mary Armstrong after this could sleep peacefully.
The sunbeams of an April morning aroused her at an early hour next morning. She sprung out of bed and drew back the window-curtains. What a charming prospect met her view! Close beneath her lay stretched a large and well-kept garden, old-fashioned paths bordered with box, and flower-beds of various geometrical shapes, in which crocus and snowdrop, wallflower, and polyanthus spread themselves in picturesque confusion.
Nearer the house the lilac buds were just bursting into flower, and around her windows the monthly roses mingled their delicate pink leaves with the dark green ivy that covered the wall.
Beyond stretched field and meadow in early spring verdure. In the furrows of an adjacent field men were already busily employed in sowing seeds, and from a distance could be heard the lowing of cattle, the clucking of hens as they led their chirping broods, the quacking of ducks and geese, the peculiar note of the guinea-fowl, and above them all Chanticleer's shrill but familiar crow. Mary turned from the window with a hasty determination to obtain a closer inspection of these pleasant rural sights and sounds. Dressing herself quickly she descended the stairs, and found every one in the house up and busy except her father and grandfather, although it was not yet half-past six o'clock.
Mrs. John Armstrong came forward with surprise to greet the London lady, who could leave her room at such an early hour.