"Ah!" thought Mr. Fuller, "I've got something here worth looking into." What he said was, "You dear child!"
"You don't know me yet," returned Mattie. "I'm not dear at all. I'm cross and ill-natured. And I won't be petted."
"You like the birds, though, don't you?" said Mr. Fuller.
"Well, yes. Mr. Kitely likes them, and I always like what he likes. But they are not quite comfortable, you know. They won't last forever, you know. One of them is dead since I was taken ill. And father meant it for Miss Burton."
"Do you like Miss Burton, then?"
"Yes, I do. But she'll live forever, you know. I'll tell you something else I like."
"What is that, my child?"
"Oh, I'm no such a child! But I'll tell you what I like. There."
And she held out the aged little volume, open at the hymn about blind Bartimeus.
"Will this live forever, then?" he asked, turning the volume over in his hand, so that its withered condition suggested itself at once to Mattie.