"I can't say, I am sure, my dear," said Betts, looking very puzzled. "Do you wish me to see if I have a 'Pilgrim's Progress'?"
"Yes, please," said the child eagerly, with brightening face. "Father said he'd no doubt you would have one you could let us have for a shilling. He said he would see about it, but he generally forgets when he says that, so I thought I had better come myself. I have the shilling here," she added, fumbling in her glove. "It's in two sixpences: one sixpence is mine, and the other is Noel's."
"And who is your father, little missy?" asked Michael.
"Why, father is father, of course," said the wee girl, as if she considered the question rather unnecessary; adding, however, after a moment's reflection, "but perhaps you would call him Professor Lavers."
"Ah, to be sure," said Michael, nodding his head. He knew Professor Lavers well. He was one of his best customers. But it was difficult to think of the elderly, worn-looking professor as the father of this sweet little maiden.
"Father is a very learned man," said the child, nodding her head sagaciously; "mother says so. That's why they call him Professor. My name is Margery, you know, and Noel's is Noel. Noel means Christmas in French, and mother called him that because he was born on Christmas Day."
"Is Noel older than you?" asked Michael, who was beginning to feel interested in the child's frank confidences.
"Oh no. He is a year younger; but he's nearly as big as I am. That's because he is a boy. Mother says boys ought to be big. What lots and lots of books you have, Mr. Betts! My father has a great many books; but not nearly so many as you have."
"No. I've got another room full of them upstairs, little missy."
"Have you?" said Margery, in an awestruck voice. "And have you read them every one, Mr. Betts?"