“Look among my books. See if there is any one you would like to read.”
Robert had already cast wistful glances at the rows of books in the handsome bookcase.
He had never before seen so many books together, for Cook’s Harbor was not noted for its literary men and book lovers. He gladly accepted the hermit’s invitation.
His attention was quickly drawn to a set of the Waverley novels. He had often heard of them, and an extract which he had seen in his school reader from “Rob Roy” had given him a strong desire to read the story from which it was taken.
“I should like to borrow ‘Rob Roy,’” he said.
“You may take it. When you have read it, you may, upon returning it, have another.”
“Then I may call to see you, sir?”
“I shall be glad to have you do so. It is an invitation I never expected to give, but you have interested me, and I may be able to serve you at some time.”
“Thank you, sir. If you should ever want any one to run errands for you, I hope you will call upon me. I should like to make some return for your great kindness.”
“That is well thought of. You may come to me every Tuesday and Friday mornings, at nine o’clock, and carry my orders to the village. I do not care to go there, but have had no messenger I could trust. For this service I will pay you two dollars a week.”