But he says I must not
read one without asking him."
"I don't see what you want to read them for," said the old lady sharply.
"Can't your mother find enough for you to do. In my day--"
"But your day was a long time ago," interrupted her daughter-in-law.
"Yes, yes, most a hundred, and girls want everything they can get now.
Perhaps the master hears your lessons to pay his board."
"Perhaps," assented Marjorie.
"They say bees pay their board and work for you beside," said Mrs. Rheid.
"I guess he's like a bee. I expect the Widow Devoe can't help wishing he
had stayed to her house."
"He proposed to come himself," said Marjorie, with a proud flash of her
eyes, "and he proposed to teach me himself."
"Oh, yes, to be sure, but she and the cat will miss him all the same."
"It's all sudden."
"[missing text] happen sudden, nowadays. I keep my eyes shut and things
keep whirling around."
Grandmother was seated in an armchair with her feet resting on a
home-made foot stool, clad in a dark calico, with a little piece of gray
shawl pinned closely around her neck, every lock of hair was concealed
beneath a black, borderless silk cap, with narrow black silk strings tied
under her trembling chin, her lips were sunken and seamed, her eyelids
partly dropped over her sightless eyes, her withered, bony fingers were
laboriously pushing the needles in and out through a soft gray wool sock,
every few moments Marjorie took the work from her to pick up a dropped
stitch or two and to knit once around.
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