table and washed the few dishes; and when all
was straight again, took out a newspaper she had brought from home, and
she and the old lady settled themselves for an afternoon of enjoyment.
For it was that to both parties. At home Diana cared little about the
paper; here it was quite another thing. Mrs. Bartlett wanted to hear
all there was in it; public doings, foreign doings, city news, editor's
gossip; and even the advertisements came in for their share of
pleasure-giving. New inventions had an interest; tokens of the world's
movements, or the world's wants, in other notices, were found
suggestive of thought or provocative of wonder. Sitting with her feet
put towards the fire, her knitting in her hands, the quick grey eyes
studied Diana's face as she read, never needing to give their
supervision to the fingers; and the coarse blue yarn stocking, which
was doubtless destined for Joe, grew visibly in length while the eyes
and thoughts of the knitter were busy elsewhere. The newspaper filled
a good part of the afternoon; for the reading was often interrupted
for talk which grew out of it. When at last it was done, and Mrs.
Bartlett's eyes returned to the fire, there were a few minutes of
stillness; then she said gently,

"Now, our other reading, dear?"

"You like this the best, Mother Bartlett, don't you?" said Diana, as
she rose and brought from the inner room a large volume; _the_ Book, as
any one might know at a glance; carefully covered with a sewn cover of
coarse cloth. "Where shall I read now?"

The place indicated was the beginning of the Revelation, a favourite
book with the old lady. And as she listened, the knitting grew slower;
though, true to the instinctive habit of doing something, the fingers
never ceased absolutely their work. But they moved slowly; and the old
lady's eyes, no longer on the fire, went out of the open window, and
gazed with a far-away gaze that went surely beyond the visible heaven;
so wrapt and steady it was. Diana, sitting on a low seat at her feet,
glanced up sometimes; but seeing that gaze, looked down and went on
again with her reading and would not break the spell. At last, having
read several chapters without a word of interruption, she stopped. The
old lady's eyes came back to her knitting, which began to go a little
faster.

"Do you like all this so much?" Diana asked. "I know you do; but I
can't see why you do. You can't understand it."

"I guess I do," said the old lady.