"Plutarch."
"'Plutarch's Lives'?" said Mrs. Eberstein, while her husband again laughed out aloud. "Hush, Edward. Is it 'Plutarch's Lives,' my dear, that you mean? Caesar, and Alexander, and Pompey?"
Dolly nodded. "And all the rest of them. I like them very much."
"But what is your favourite book?"
"That!" said Dolly.
"I have got a whole little bookcase upstairs full of the books I used to read when I was a little girl. We will look into it to-morrow, and see what we can find. 'Plutarch's Lives' is not there."
"Oh, I do not want that," said Dolly, her eyes brightening. "I have read it so much, I know it all."
"Come here," said Mr. Eberstein; "your aunt has had you long enough; come here, Dolly, and talk to me. Tell me which of those old fellows you think was the best fellow?"
"Of 'Plutarch's Lives'?" said Dolly, accepting a position upon Mr. Eberstein's knee now.
"Yes; the men that 'Plutarch's Lives' tell about. Whom do you like best?"