Apparently his words proved true, and Mrs. Lavers found no one willing to give a larger price for the professor's books, for three days later she sent him an intimation that she was willing to part with them for the sum he had named. She requested that he would remove them as quickly as possible, as she was about to quit the house.
Michael Betts lost no time in sealing the bargain, from which he knew he should reap good profit. He promptly waited on Mrs. Lavers and handed her the sum he had agreed to give, and on the following evening he began to remove the books, engaging for this purpose the help of a man with a small hand-cart.
He did not see Mrs. Lavers ere he set about his task of dismantling the bookshelves. Doubtless she felt it a cruel necessity which forced her to dispose of her husband's books. It was little wonder if she shrank from the pain of seeing them carried out of the house, and therefore kept out of the way.
Michael had removed the books from several shelves, when he found lying on the top of a row of books, as if thrust there by chance, the copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress" which little Margery had purchased of him with such pleasure. He took it up and looked at it in surprise. He could not be mistaken in the book. He knew it by various tokens. Moreover, a glance at the fly-leaf showed him that Margery had written on it her own and her brother's name in a large, round, childish hand.
"Margery and Noel Lavers—the book of them both," she had written, that there might be no doubt as to the ownership of the volume.
Surely it was by accident that the book lay there! It could not be intended that he should carry it away with the others. The children could hardly have tired so soon of the book they had longed to possess. Persuaded that it was a mistake, Michael laid the book carefully aside in a safe place ere he went on with his task.
Presently he became aware of the sound of eager voices and noisy little feet on the stairs, then suddenly the door of the room in which he was working was flung back with a jerk, and little Margery ran in, followed by a little boy with dark, curly hair and dark eyes, who, however, started back on seeing a stranger, and sped away as quickly as he had come.
Margery looked astonished at finding the room occupied and books lying about in piles on the floor. She stood still for some moments, too surprised to utter a word. She wore a black frock, and black shoes and stockings covered her dainty feet and ankles; but a large white pinafore hid most of the frock, and over it her golden curls fell in rich profusion.
"Why, you're Mr. Betts, in whose shop I bought our 'Pilgrim's Progress,' she said at last. What are you doing here in my father's library?"
"I'm looking over the books, my dear," replied Michael; after a moment's hesitation. "Was that your little brother I saw just now?"