"I do not know what you mean."
"I don't mean nothin'," said the woman impatiently. "There's my 'little blue John'—up on the mantel shelf; you can look at it if you want to."
Looking to the high shelf above the kitchen fireplace, Rotha saw a little book lying there. Taking it down, she was greatly astonished to find it a copy of the gospel of John, a little square copy, in limp covers, very much read. More surprised Rotha could hardly have been.
"Why, do you like this?" she involuntarily exclaimed.
"Sometimes I think I do,"—was Mrs. Purcell's ambiguous, or ironical, answer; as she carefully spread neat cloths over her pans of bread. Rotha wondered at the woman. She was handsome, she had a good figure and presence; but there was a curious mixture of defiance and recklessness in her expression and manner.
"I see you have read it a good deal."
"It's easy readin',"—was the short answer.
"Do you like the gospel of John so much better than all the rest of the
Bible?"
"I don' know. The rest has too many words I can't make out."
"Well, I am very fond of the gospel of John too," said Rotha. "I think everybody is,—that loves Christ."