‘I think it’s the most beautiful book in all the world,’ answered Barbara, without hesitation.
Miss Finlayson was a little startled, but she did not show it. ‘Then I wonder if you can explain it to me,’ she went on; ‘for, do you know, I find some of it rather difficult to understand?’
Barbara threw back her head and laughed merrily. ‘But I don’t understand any of it,’ she cried. ‘You have to be grown up to understand it, father says. And I’m not grown up yet, you see.’
‘No,’ agreed Miss Finlayson. She was looking distinctly relieved, and the twinkle had come back again into the depths of her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t worry about that, though, if I were you,’ she continued, sitting down and taking the child on her lap. ‘Some day, when you are quite grown up, you will be able to understand it; and then we can read it together and help each other over the difficult parts. What do you say to that?’
‘I think it will be beautiful; but it’s a very long time to wait,’ sighed Barbara. ‘When do you think I shall be quite grown up? Jill is grown up, and she is eighteen. Shall I be grown up when I am eighteen?’
‘We will wait and see,’ said Miss Finlayson, but somehow her tone was not encouraging. ‘Meanwhile,’ she went on, patting the hand that was fearlessly lying in hers, ‘supposing we make a bargain that neither of us will read your father’s book until we can read it together? You see, if you were to go on reading it now, you might understand it in quite a wrong way, and then you would never be able to help me over the difficult parts.’
Barbara thought about it for a moment or two. ‘But you will have to do without father’s book all those years!’ she exclaimed suddenly.
‘I have read it once, you see,’ said Miss Finlayson, gravely; ‘I think I can manage to wait, if you will wait too.’
Barbara still looked doubtful. ‘Do you really think I shall be able to help you over the difficult parts?’ she asked.
Miss Finlayson smiled mysteriously. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘One never knows.’