"Did you say you could not read, Margaret?" was my answer.
"Read"! no, missis, Guess readin' aint no good for servants.
Seems like Miss Daisy aint lookin' peart, this mornin'."
"Would you _like_ to read?"
"Reckon don't care about it, Miss Daisy. Where'd us get books,
most likely?"
I said I would get the books; but Margaret turned to the fire
and made me no answer. I heard her mutter some ejaculation.
"Because, Margaret, don't you know," I said, raising myself on
my elbow, "God would like to have you learn to read, so that
you might know the Bible and come to heaven."
"Reckon folks aint a heap better that knows the Bible," said
the girl. "Pears as if it don't make no difference. Aint
nobody good in _this_ place, 'cept uncle Darry."
In another minute I was out of bed and standing before the
fire, my hand on her shoulder. I told her I wanted _her_ to be
good too, and that Jesus would make her good, if she would let
Him. Margaret gave me a hasty look and then finished her fire
making; but to my great astonishment, a few minutes after, I
saw that the tears were running down the girl's face.
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