But no such thoughts troubled the aged disciple beside her—the good old man, whose white locks swept the large-lettered book over which his wrinkled face was bent, as he joined in the responses, or said the prayers whose words had so soothing an influence upon him, carrying his thoughts upward to the house not made with hands, which he felt assured would one day be his. Once or twice, it is true, the possibility of losing the dear old red cottage flitted across his mind with a keen, sudden pang, but he put it quickly aside, remembering at the same instant how the Father he loved doeth all things well to such as are his children. Grandpa Markham was old in the Christian course, while Maddy could hardly be said to have commenced it as yet, and so to her that April Sunday was long and wearisome. How she did wish she might just look over the geography, by way of refreshing her memory, and see exactly how the rule for extracting the cubic root did read, but Maddy forbore, and read only the Pilgrim’s Progress, the Bible, and the book brought from the Sunday-school, vainly imagining that by so doing she was earning the good she so much desired. With the earliest dawn of day she was up, and her grandmother heard her repeating to herself much of what she fancied Dr. Holbrook might question her upon. Even when bending over the wash-tub, for there were no servants at the red cottage, a book was arranged before her so that she could study with her eyes, while her fat hands and dimpled arms were busy in the suds. Before ten o’clock everything was done, the clothes, white as snow-drops in the garden beds, were swinging upon the line, the kitchen floor was scrubbed, the windows washed, the best room swept, the vegetables cleaned for dinner, and then Maddy’s work was finished. Grandma could do all the rest, and Madeline was free to pore over her books until called to dinner; she could not eat so great was her excitement. Swiftly the hours flew until it was time to be getting ready, when again the short hair was deplored, as before her looking-glass Madeline brushed and arranged her shining, beautiful locks. Would Dr. Holbrook think of her age? Suppose he should ask it. But no, he wouldn’t. Only census-takers did that. If Mr. Green thought her old enough, surely it was not a matter with which the doctor need trouble himself; and, somewhat at ease on that point, Madeline donned her longest frock, and, standing on a chair, tried to discover how much of her pantalet was visible.