“I see; well, maybe such folk find company in reading,” said the shopkeeper. “Here is a book may please her,” and she took up a thin volume and opened it. “’Tis a book of verse, but ’tis well thought of. I see but little sense in verse myself; but, for verse, this reads well:
“‘Great conquerors greater glory gain
By foes in triumph led than slain,’”
she read, and went on to a second couplet:
“‘Ay me! What perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron.’
“And I declare here is what I’ve always said of poetry. ’Tis as true as I make good dolls:
“‘Those that write in rhyme still make
The one verse for the other’s sake.’”
“I think Aunt Anne Rose would like ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’” Anne ventured, a little timidly, to suggest.
“Maybe. I have a fine copy. Not too large, and easy to read. ’Twill cost five shillings,” and Mistress Mason put back the book of verse and took from the shelf a small square book that she handed to Rose.
The girls looked it over carefully. “But it is not like Aunt Martha’s book,” said Anne; “’tis not so large, nor has it such fine pictures. These pictures are little and black.”