"Picked out the books—that child? Great heavens!"
"Well, he's read a good deal, Jimmy has," the assistant contended. "It's all he does. He can't play like the other children, he's so lame. He seems real old, anyhow. And he's always been here. He helps giving out the books, and helps the children pick out. He was very convenient when Mr. Littlejohn didn't like to be waked up."
"Great heavens!" the librarian cried again.
"I think you'll find he'll be missed, you being so new," the assistant persevered.
"I think I can manage to carry on the library, Miss Mather," replied her superior coldly, "without any assistance from the children of the town. Will you begin on that Fiction, please?"
She walked on again, but paused to put away the brown book, which lay where the intruder had left it, a mute witness to the untidiness of the laity. Opening it briskly, she glanced at the title:
The
AGE OF FABLE
or
Beauties of Mythology
by