“Oh-h-h!” again exclaimed the boy, as he opened at a portrait of George Washington on one side, and the signing of the Declaration of Independence on the other.
He turned over page after page, finding fresh food for intellect and imagination in every one, while the little girl watched him with her blue eyes sparkling in sympathetic pleasure.
“Oh, how rich I shall feel, with these two books to read every night! I shall never go to bed at dusk when granny does because I am lonesome. I shall never be lonesome now,” he said.
“I am so glad, and so very much obliged to you for being so happy over them, David Lindsay,” she repeated, with more emphasis.
There is no knowing how long the two children might have lingered, sitting side by side on the old boat—he poring with rapture over the book, she watching his enjoyment with ecstasy; but the hour of noon came and passed, and the healthy young appetite of the boy would not allow him to “forget to eat.”
“Oh, how late it is!” he exclaimed, reluctantly closing the book just at the picture of General Washington receiving the sword of Lord Cornwallis after the battle of Yorktown. “Come, we had better go now.”
“Well, yes, I suppose we had. You can read the books every night, can’t you, David Lindsay?”
“Yes, indeed. And when you are up at the house enjoying yourself with all your friends, you may think of me reading your books.”
“Oh! they are your books, David Lindsay,” she hastened to exclaim.
“I daren’t take them from you only as a loan; but, oh! I can never thank you enough for that. Come carefully over all this rubbish. Let me take your hand. There, now, step into the boat and sit down while I untie her. Don’t be afraid. She will not turn over.”