‘What is that in your lap?’
‘Just my apron.’
‘Is that a book beneath the apron?’
‘It might be a book.’
‘Let me see.’
‘Go away with you to your work.’
But I lifted the apron. ‘Why, it’s “The Master of Ballantrae!”’ I exclaimed, shocked.
‘So it is!’ said my mother, equally surprised. But I looked sternly at her, and perhaps she blushed.
‘Well what do you think: not nearly equal to mine?’ said I with humour.
‘Nothing like them,’ she said determinedly.