"I suppose you mean Apollyon?"
"Yes, that's his name, I'd forgotten it. And there's a picture of a hideous giant called Giant Despair who lives in a castle called Doubting Castle. Roger says 'The Pilgrim's Progress' is all about wonderful adventures, and I like stories of that sort best of all. Oh, mother, I do wish you'd get me a copy of the book with pictures and read it to me on Sunday afternoons!"
"Certainly, you shall have the book if you wish it, dearie."
"And you'll read it to me, mother?" he coaxed.
"You lazy boy!" she admonished, with her indulgent smile. "Why cannot you read it yourself?"
"It would be so much nicer if you read it to me," he declared earnestly, "then we could talk about it afterwards like Uncle Martin does with Polly and Roger. Do promise, mother."
So she promised, and Edgar looked jubilant. For the first time it struck Mrs. Marsh that her little son lacked congenial society in his own home. She had always indulged him and given him everything for which he had expressed a desire, but she had never made a companion of him; for, as a rich man's wife, she took a foremost place in the town and her life was given up to social claims. She determined now, however, that for the future she would, at any rate, devote her Sunday afternoons to her boy as her brother devoted his to his children.
"I'll order the book to-morrow," she said, "a well-illustrated copy which I hope will come up to your expectations, Edgar."
At that moment the door opened to admit the master of the house, who entered the room with a frown on his brow which denoted displeasure.
"Edgar, did you meddle with anything in my study yesterday?" he interrogated, fixing a searching glance on his son.