“The librarian,” answered Margaret, with a smile, “seems to be at liberty to use her own discretion in the matter of lending. No one has authority to look over her accounts, or to censure her if she lends recklessly. So, if you wish to borrow books, all you have to do is to ask for them.”
“You may be sure I shall avail myself of the permission. But my conscience will be easier if I am allowed to carry them in.”
“You will be permitted to help. I like carrying them. There is no more delicious armful than books.”
As Renmark looked at the lovely girl, her face radiant with enthusiasm, the disconcerting thought came suddenly that perhaps her statement might not be accurate. No such thought had ever suggested itself to him before, and it now filled him with guilty confusion. He met the clear, honest gaze of her eyes for a moment, then he stammered lamely:
“I—I too am very fond of books.”
Together they carried in the several hundred volumes, and then began to arrange them.
“Have you no catalogue?” he asked.
“No. We never seem to need one. People come and look over the library, and take out whatever book they fancy.”
“Yes, but still every library ought to be catalogued. Cataloguing is an art in itself. I have paid a good deal of attention to it, and will show you how it is done, if you care to know.”
“Oh, I wish you would.”