“Yes, ma’am,” he said; “I remember.”
“Well, bring me one dollar of it, and I will show you what I meant when I told you that.”
So the next day he placed the money in her hands, and a few days later she called him again.
“I have something for you,” she said, and picked up a package that was lying on her desk. “Unwrap it.”
He took off the paper with trembling fingers, and found there were four books within.
“They are yours,” she said. “They were bought with your money, and you are to read them this summer. This one is ‘Ivanhoe,’ and was written by a very famous man named Sir Walter Scott; this is ‘David Copperfield,’ and was written by Charles Dickens; this is ‘Henry Esmond,’ and was written by William Makepeace Thackeray; and this last one is ‘Lorna Doone,’ by Richard Doddridge Blackmore. They are among the greatest stories that have ever been written in the English language, and I want you to read them over and over. You may not understand quite all of them at first, but I think you will after a time. If there is anything you find you cannot understand, go to Mr. Bayliss at the church, and ask him about it. He has told me that he will be glad to help you.”
Tommy tied up his treasures again, too overcome by their munificence to speak, and when he started for home that noon, he was holding them close against his breast.
Miss Andrews looked after him as he went, and wondered, for the hundredth time, if the books she had given him had been the wisest selection. His first youth was past, she had reasoned, and he must make the most of what remained. So she had finally decided upon these four masterpieces. She sighed as she turned away from the door, perhaps with envy at thought of the rare delights which lay before him in the wonderful countries he was about to enter.
CHAPTER IV
TOMMY ROAMS IN AN ENCHANTED LAND
And what delights they were, when once he found time to taste of them! He was kept busy at his studies until school closed, as it did one Friday in early June, and that afternoon he said good-by to his teacher and saw her whisked away eastward to the home she loved. He went from the station to the mine with heavy heart, and labored there with his father until evening came. He did not open his books that night, for he was just beginning to realize all that his teacher had been to him and how he had come to rely upon her for encouragement and help. All day Saturday he worked in the mine with his father. But Sunday dawned clear and bright, and as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he climbed high up on the hillside to his favorite nook, with only “Lorna Doone” for company. There, in a grassy spot, he lay down and opened the book before him.