In the multitude of their enjoyments of out-door things, the girls took very naturally to the unwonted ways and usages of the country household.  The farm living and the farm hours seemed to have no disgust for them.  In the hot weather the doors often all stood open; and they sat in the keeping-room, and in the kitchen, and in their own room, and seemed to find all pleasant.

So one night Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm were alone in the kitchen.  It was a cool evening, though in midsummer, and they had gathered round the kitchen fire as being the most agreeable place.  The children were long gone to bed; the rest of the family had at length followed them; Elizabeth and Mrs. Landholm alone kept their place.  The one was darning some desperate-looking socks; the other, as usual, deep in a book.  They had been very still and busy for a long time; and then as Elizabeth looked up for a moment and glanced at the stocking-covered hand of her neighbour, Mrs. Landholm looked up; their eyes met.  Mrs. Landholm smiled.

“Do you like anything so well as reading, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Nothing in the world!  What are you doing, Mrs. Landholm?”

“Mending —­ some of the boys’ socks,” she said cheerfully; “farmers are hard upon their feet.”

“Mending —­ that?” said Elizabeth.  “What an endless work!”

“No, not endless,” said the mother quietly.  “Thick shoes and a great deal of stepping about, make pretty hard work with stockings.”

“But, Mrs. Landholm! —­ it would be better to buy new ones, than to try to mend such holes.”

Mrs. Landholm smiled again —­ a smile of grave and sweet life-wisdom.

“Did it ever happen to you to want anything you could not have, Miss Elizabeth?”

“No —­ never,” said Elizabeth slowly.

“You have a lesson to learn yet.”

“I hope I sha’n’t learn it,” said Elizabeth.

“It must be learned,” said Mrs. Landholm gently.  “Life would not be life without it.  It is not a bad lesson either.”

“It isn’t a very pleasant one, Mrs. Landholm,” said Elizabeth.  And she went back to her reading.

“You don’t read my book, Miss Elizabeth,” the other remarked presently.

“What is that?”

Mrs. Landholm looked up again, and the look caught Elizabeth’s eye, as she answered,

“The Bible.”

“The Bible! —­ no, I don’t read it much,” said Elizabeth.  “Why, Mrs. Landholm?”

“Why, my dear? —­ I hope you will know some day why,” she answered, her voice a little changed.

“But that is not exactly an answer, Mrs. Landholm,” said Elizabeth with some curiosity.

Mrs. Landholm dropped her hands and her stocking into her lap, and looked at the face opposite her.  It was an honest and intelligent face, very innocent in its ignorance of life and life-work.

“What should we do without the Bible?” she asked.