'Those are such grown-up books,' she said to Mysie, who came to assist
her choice, and pointed to the upper shelves.
'Oh, but grown-up books are nicest!' returned Mysie; 'at least, when
they don't begin being stupid and marrying too soon. They must do it
at last to get out of the story, and it's nicer than dying, but they
can have lots of nice adventures first. But here are the 'Feats on the
Fiords' and the 'Crofton Boys' and 'Water Babies,' and all the volumes
of 'Aunt Judy,' if you like the younger sort. Or the dear, dear 'Thorn
Fortress;' that's good for young and old.'
'Haven't you any books of your own?'
'Oh yes; this 'Thorn Fortress' is Val's, and 'A York and a Lancaster
Rose' is mine, but whenever any one gives us a book, if it is not a
weeny little gem like Gill's 'Christian Year,' or my 'Little Pillow,'
or Val's 'Children in the Wood,' we bring it to mother, and if it is
nice, we keep it here, for every one to read. If it is just rather
silly, and stupid, we may read it once, and then she keeps it; and if
it is very silly indeed, she puts it out of the way.'
Mysie said it as if it had been killing an animal.
'Have you got many books?'
'Yes; but I don't mean to have them knocked about by all the boys, nor
put out of the way neither.'
'Mamma said we were to be all like sisters,' said Mysie, with rather a
craving for the new books; but Dolores tossed up her head and said--
'We can't be. It's nonsense to say so.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54