Not the daily papers--they were far too much for her; but the
weekly paper from her own town, which lasted her till a new one came,
as she spelled it through, and communicated the facts and facetiae as
she thought them suited to our capacity. She was a better walker
than I, and would seldom come out in the carriage, for she always
caught cold when she did so. A long nap after dinner ended in her
resuming her knitting quite contentedly in silence. She wanted no
more, though she was pleased if any one said a few kindly words to
her. Nothing could be more inoffensive, and she gave us a centre and
something needing consideration. I feared Dora might be saucy to
her, but perhaps motherliness was what the wild child needed, for she
drew towards her, and was softened, and even submitted to learn to
knit, for the sake of the mighty labour of making a pair of socks for
Harold.
The respectability her presence gave in our pew, and by our hearth,
was a great comfort to our friends of all degrees. She was a very
pretty old lady, with dark eyes, cheeks still rosy, lovely loose
waves of short snowy curls, and a neat, active little figure, which
looked well in the good black silks in which I contrived to invest
her.
Good old woman, she thought us all shockingly full of worldliness,
little guessing how much gaiety was due to her meek presence among
us.
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