The way they managed was this:  they took verse by verse—­Rosamund read her little portion, and Margaret repeated hers in turn, from memory—­for Margaret could say all the Psalter by heart, and a good part of the Bible besides.  She would not unfrequently put the girl right when she stumbled or skipped.  This Margaret imputed to giddiness—­a quality which Rosamund was by no means remarkable for—­but old ladies, like Margaret, are not in all instances alike discriminative.

They had been employed in this manner just before Miss Clare arrived at the cottage.  The psalm they had been reading was the hundred and fourth—­Margaret was naturally led by it into a discussion of the works of creation.

There had been thunder in the course of the day—­an occasion of instruction which the old lady never let pass—­she began—­

“Thunder has a very awful sound—­some say God Almighty is angry whenever it thunders—­that it is the voice of God speaking to us; for my part, I am not afraid of it”——­

And in this manner the old lady was going on to particularize, as usual, its beneficial effects, in clearing the air, destroying of vermin, &c., when the entrance of Miss Clare put an end to her discourse.

Rosamund received her with respectful tenderness—­and, taking her grandmother by the hand, said, with great sweetness,—­“Miss Clare is come to see you, grandmother.”

“I beg pardon, lady—­I cannot see you—­but you are heartily welcome.  Is your brother with you, Miss Clare?—­I don’t hear him.”

“He could not come, madam, but he sends his love by me.”

“You have an excellent brother, Miss Clare—­but pray do us the honor to take some refreshment—­Rosamund”——­

And the old lady was going to give directions for a bottle of her currant wine—­when Elinor, smiling, said “she was come to take a cup of tea with her, and expected to find no ceremony.”

“After tea, I promise myself a walk with you, Rosamund, if your grandmother can spare you.”  Rosamund looked at her grandmother.

“Oh, for that matter, I should be sorry to debar the girl from any pleasure—­I am sure it’s lonesome enough for her to be with me always—­and if Miss Clare will take you out, child, I shall do very well by myself till you return—­it will not be the first time, you know, that I have been left here alone—­some of the neighbors will be dropping in bye and bye—­or, if not, I shall take no harm.”

Rosamund had all the simple manners of a child; she kissed her grandmother, and looked happy.

All tea-time the old lady’s discourse was little more than a panegyric on young Clare’s good qualities.  Elinor looked at her young friend, and smiled.  Rosamund was beginning to look grave—­but there was a cordial sunshine in the face of Elinor, before which any clouds of reserve that had been gathering on Rosamund’s soon brake away.