"I'm going to her, though I hardly know how," replied the lad, moving toward the spot where the abstracted child sat deeply musing.
"Miriam! Is that your name," he asked, by way of opening the conversation.
"Yes," replied the child, very softly and shyly.
"It's a very heathenish—oh, Lord!—I mean it's a very pretty name is Miriam, it's a Bible name, too. I don't know but what it's a saint's name also."
The little girl made no reply, and the boy felt at a loss what to say next. After fidgeting from one foot to the other he began again.
"Miriam, shall I show you my books—Scott's poems, and the Waverley novels, and Milton's Paradise, and—"
"No, I thank you," interrupted the girl, uneasily.
"Well, would you like to see my pictures—two volumes of engravings, and a portfolio full of sketches?"
"No, thank you."
"Shall I bring you my drawer full of minerals? I have got—"