“There are so many things to say good-bye to,” Hazel said to Granny one night.
As for Granny, she was openly heart-broken. “You’s been the light of this house,” she said, “and the sun done drop out of my sky when you leave me. But I don’t blame your mother for calling you, not one speck.”
The first of May, Hazel began to pack her trunk. But there were certain possessions that went in and out with her changing mood. What books should she leave for Scip?
Scip had nothing to read. That she knew, and meant to leave him some of her little library, but how much?
She had six books which she kept on a shelf in her room. The first was a New Testament given her by her father. Of that there was no question; it was hers for ever and ever. The second was a simple reader that she fortunately had brought and had used in her lessons. Of course, that would go to Scip. The third was the dictionary. Scip should have that, for Mother would be glad to give it to him. The fourth was “What Katy did,” a girl’s book, that she knew Scip wouldn’t care for; it could go in the trunk. The fifth and sixth were the Jungle Book, and Child Life, the Christmas gift of her minister.
When the first week of May came to an end, it seemed probable that the Jungle Book would remain on the shelf. Scipio did not fully appreciate it—it was evident he thought some of the conversation silly—but he liked the pictures, especially the one of the tiger. Hazel adored the Jungle Book, but, though she knew she should not count on this, she guessed shrewdly that when Mr. Perkins learned of her generosity he would give her another copy. But Child Life was different. And for many days it seemed that Child Life would remain in the trunk.
Hazel was an only child, and she had had few serious calls upon her generosity. Pretty things had been given her, and she had been genuinely grateful, but she had come imperceptibly to regard them as her right. Never in her life had she given away anything for which she deeply cared. And she cared deeply for this book of poems. But Scip cared for them, too, and knew some of them almost by heart. Such a book would help him in his reading very much.
She had told Granny about the Boston library, where you could get any book in the world. Of course, it would have Child Life. But it was one thing to get a book for two weeks from a library, and another to have it on your book shelf every month of the year for your very own. And then, this book had her name in it, written by her minister. She hugged it close. It would not be right to give away the minister’s present. And feeling a little like a hypocrite she put it back in the trunk.
That afternoon she impressed upon Scipio that he must write to her. She had spoken of it before, but he had said nothing. “You really must write, Scip. You can print now quite nicely, you know. It will be good practice for you, and I shall want to hear. You will, won’t you?”
Scipio shook his head.