"Oh, Mrs. Wyllys; I told her some time ago that she was very welcome to any of our books."
"It isn't one of your books; it's mine; I bought it."
"It wasn't worth while to buy it, Jem," said his brother; "I dare say Emmeline has got it in the house. If Mrs. Wyllys asked to borrow it, you ought to have taken Emmeline's, though she isn't at home; she just keeps her books to show off on the centre-table, you know. Our neighbour, Mrs. Wyllys, seems quite a reader."
"She doesn't want this to read herself," observed Uncle Dozie.
"No?—What does she want it for?"
"She wants me to read it aloud."
Uncle Josie opened his eyes in mute astonishment. Uncle Dozie continued, as if to excuse himself for this unusual offence: "She asked for a favourite volume of mine; but I hadn't any favourite; so I bought this. It looks pretty, and the bookseller said it was called a good article."
"Why, Jem, are you crazy, man!—YOU going to read poetry aloud!"
"Why not?" said Uncle Dozie, growing bolder as the conversation continued, and he finished arranging his basket.
"I believe you are out of your head, Jem; I don't understand you this morning. What is the meaning of this?—what are you about?"