"Well, don't worry about that, Lisita. When we grow up, you will go with me
to my old home. Uncle Peter and the man that rented the farm from father,
promised me never to leave the place until I grew up and returned. So I
made them a solemn promise that I would come back and take over the farm
some day. Perhaps the cows and the goats and the rabbits will all be
different when I go back. If you only knew how I cried when I kissed them
all on coming away. They all know me so well. I wonder if they still
remember me."

With a sigh, Paula put her flowers back carefully in the handkerchief, and
then passed over the little black book to me. "This is my Bible," she said.
"It was my father's for years, and he gave it to me on the day he died.
See, he has written my name here on the first page."

I was hardly able to decipher the shaky signature of our Uncle John, but
finally made out the following,

"To
PAULA JAVANEL
A remembrance from her dying father."

It was an old book with many loosened leaves. On each page were many
underlined passages, some marked with pencil, others with ink, with small
neat comments in the margins.

"This is my most precious treasure," said Paula. "Father had it in his
hands as he breathed his last. I promised him to read from it every day of
my life, asking the Lord's help to understand what I read. Although Papa is
no longer here, still I obey him. I try to remember all that he told me. He