Then, with one look at her rose to see if there were any more buds on it, and a glance into the garden to see if grandfather was still there, she lay down in her little white bed, and with a kiss from granny and a last good-night she would be asleep almost before granny had reached the foot of the stairs.

Then when morning came Jessie was just as glad to open her eyes and spring out of bed as she had been to spring into it, for life was full of all sorts of delights, indeed she would have liked nothing better than for it to go on and on always in the same happy way.

With Mrs. Dawson, though, things were different. Granny began to grow very troubled about Jessie's education.

"It is time she was learning," she said anxiously, many a time.

"I know she ought to go to Sunday-school regularly, but I don't know how it is to be managed. She can't walk there and back three times a day, I am sure. If she walked there and back in the morning, and there and back in the afternoon, she wouldn't be fit to go with us in the evening too. She would be tired out. We couldn't go to church in the evening either, for one of us would have to stay with her."

Grandfather sat for a few moments meditating deeply over this problem, then, "_I_ can teach her myself for a bit on Sundays," he exclaimed triumphantly, his dear old face lighting up at the thought of it. "I know enough about the Bible and Prayer-book for that.

It would do me good too."

"But there's her other schooling. What can we do about that?"

"I s'pose she'll have to do as the other children do," said grandfather gravely, "and walk there and back twice every day.

Some of the bigger ones would let her walk with them, then she would be safe enough. We will begin our Sunday-school next Sunday"--his blue eyes lighting up with pleasure at the thought of it.

The day-school was quite a secondary matter to him, with the idea of that other filling his mind. "We can sit in the garden while the fine weather lasts. It would be lovely there, and good for the little maid too."

So, when Sunday came, grandfather's big chair and Jessie's little one were carried out into the garden, and placed side by side, near the porch, and a little table was carried out, too, for grandfather's Bible and Prayer and hymn-books, and then, looking very pleased but serious, the pair seated themselves. The dear old man was a little bit shy and embarra.s.sed, and very nervous when it actually came to the point, and for a moment he looked more like a new shy pupil than the teacher. Jessie was much the more composed of the two.

"When are you going to begin, granp?" she demanded anxiously.

"Now. I think we will begin with learning you the Lord's prayer," he said huskily, feeling that something was expected of him, and he must not fail. "Now, 'Our Father--'"

"I know that already," said Jessie reproachfully; "but why is it called the 'Lord's Prayer,' granp? Did the Lord have to say it when He was little?"

"No. He told it for all little children to say, all the world over, and big children too, and men and women."

Jessie looked awed and puzzled. "How did everybody all over the world know about it, granp? They couldn't all hear Him say it," she asked.

"No, and they don't all know it yet, though it's nearly one thousand nine hundred years ago since the Lord spoke it. But they will in time," said the old man softly, as though speaking to himself.

"He left word with His people that they were to teach each other, and they did. You see there wasn't such a great many heard Him, but those that did went about and taught others, and then those they taught taught others again, and--"

"And then some one taught you, and," her face growing suddenly bright, "I'll have to teach somebody. Who shall I teach, granp?

Granny knows it, doesn't she?"

Her grandfather smiled. "She knew it before she was your age, child," he said gently.

"Then I'll teach mother."

"Your mother knew it too before she was so old as you are."

"Did she?" said Jessie, surprised. "She never said anything to me about it, then."

"Well, hadn't we best be getting on with the lesson?" asked grandfather; "time is pa.s.sing, and we haven't hardly begun yet."

Jessie settled back in her chair, and leaning her head against her grandfather, listened quietly while the old man talked reverently to her of her Father in heaven.

"Is He mother's 'our Father,' too, granp?" she asked at last.

"Yes, child, mother's and father's."

"Then He'll take care of her, won't He, and see that she doesn't cry too much for me?"

"Yes. He soothes all the sorrows and wipes away all the tears of them that love and trust Him. Now shall we read a hymn?

I like the hymns dearly, don't you, little maid?"

"Oh yes, I love them," said Jessie, sitting up and clasping her hands eagerly. "Let's sing it, granp, shall we?"

"Go on, then. You take the lead."

"What's the lead, granp?" she asked anxiously.

"You start the tune. You begin and I'll join in."

But Jessie grew suddenly shy. "No, I--I can't," she said nervously, sliding her soft little hand into her grandfather's rough one as it lay on his knee. "You begin, granp, please--no, let's begin together, and we'll sing 'Safe in the arms of Jesus,' shall we?

I know all of that."

So together rose the old voice and the young one, the first quavering and thin, the other tremulous and childlike, and floated out on the still warm summer air. Mrs. Dawson, reluctant to disturb them, waited in the kitchen with the tea-tray until they had ended, and the tears stood in her eyes as she listened.

"Bless them!" she murmured tenderly, "bless them both."

When the last notes had died away, and grandfather had closed the books and laid them one on top of the other, and their first Sunday-school might fairly be said to be closed, Jessie, looking up, saw her grandmother standing in the doorway, holding a snowy tablecloth in her hand.

"Tea-time!" cried Jessie delightedly, springing to her feet.

"I'll carry away the books, granp, and help granny to bring out the tea-things. Now don't you move, you sit there and rest, we will do it all by ourselves."

So the old man, well pleased, sat on and watched his little granddaughter. There was nothing she loved better than to be busy, helping some one.

Such a tea it was, too, that she helped to bring out. First came granny with the tray, with the old-fashioned blue and white tea-set, Jessie's mug and a jug of milk, then followed Jessie with a plate of bread and b.u.t.ter. When all this was arranged, back they went again, soon to reappear, Mrs. Dawson with a delicious-looking apple-pie and a bowl of sugar, while to Jessie was entrusted, what she considered the most precious burthen of all--a dish of cream. And there, amidst the scents of the mignonette and stocks, the roses and jessamine, the Sunday twitter of the birds and hum of the bees, they sat and slowly enjoyed their Sunday meal, lingering over it in the full enjoyment of the peace and calm of the hour and the scene. And oh, how good the tea tasted, and the apple-pie and cream, and the bread and b.u.t.ter, all with the open-air flavour about them, which is better than any other.

Then, having eaten and drunk all they wanted, they sat back in their chairs and talked and listened to the birds and the bees, and gazed about them at the flowers close by and the hills in the distance, looking so far away and still and mysterious in the fading afternoon light. And as they sat there, little dreaming of what was about to happen, a graceful woman's figure came slowly along the sunny road to their gate and there paused.

"Why, it's Miss Grace Barley, I do declare!" cried Mrs. Dawson, rising hurriedly to her feet. "Go and open the gate for her, father, do. Why, whatever is she doing here, at this time of day? Sunday, too, and all. It is very kind of her, I am sure."

Patience began hurriedly gathering together the tea-things and carrying them into the house, Jessie helping her.

"Wouldn't Miss--the lady like some tart, granny?" she asked, as she saw her grandmother beginning to pick it up. To her it seemed that every one must hunger for anything so delicious. Somehow, too, it did not seem very kind to carry it all away from under their visitor's very eyes.

"Well, now, I declare, I never thought of that," said granny pausing and replacing the pie on the table, "at any rate, I can but ask her.

I'll put the kettle on, in case she hasn't had any tea."

Meanwhile Thomas had let their visitor in and welcomed her warmly, and they came slowly up the path together, looking at the flowers as they pa.s.sed. Jessie stood by her little chair, watching the lady.

She knew she was the Miss Grace Barley who lived in one of the pretty houses by the green, and she thought she looked as pretty as the house and just right to live in it.

When they came close Miss Grace smiled at her, then stooped and kissed her. "You are Jessie, I know," she said kindly. "I have seen you in church with your granny and grandfather."

"Yes, miss," said Jessie shyly, not quite knowing what to say, but feeling that something was expected of her, "and I have seen you there."

Mrs. Dawson came out of the house, and Miss Grace shook hands with her. "You must wonder to see me here at this time of day, Mrs.