Read my Bible!
"Is that what makes you happy, Miss Catharine?" I asked.
"Well, I can't read much myself, I don't know the letters," says she; "but I've got the blessed promises in my heart."
"Do you want me to read to you?"
"No, not to-day. Next time you come, maybe."
So I sat awhile and listened to her little humming voice, and we fell to talking about mother's ailments, and she said how fine it would be, if we could only afford to take mother to Bethesda.
"There's no angel there now," said I.
"I know it, dear,—but then there might be, you know. At any rate, there's always the living waters running to make us whole: I often think of that."
"And what else do you think of, Miss Catharine?"
"Me?" said she. "Oh, I ha'n't got no husband nor no child to think about and hope for, and so I think of myself, and what I should like, honey. And sometimes I remember them varses,—here! you read 'em now,—Luke xiii. 11."