“Suppose you leave some of the books—those two large ones, for instance?” suggested one of my sisters, called upon to aid me in the dilemma.
“Oh no, indeed! I could not think of taking fewer books. Those two volumes of Waldie in particular must go, for Caroline was so anxious to read ‘Modern Societies’ and ‘Home.’ ”
“But the others?”
I picked them up one at a time. There were “The Cricket on the Hearth, &c.;” “Sketches of Married Life;” Mrs. Stowe’s “May Flower,” Willis and Longfellow, and three of the Abbott series, for Sunday reading. Each pleaded so eloquently to be taken, that I thought that to leave either would be an insult to the author, and so, after a little hesitation, I felt that all of them must go.
“Couldn’t you do without the portfolio and magazines?” was then asked.
“That would be impossible!” I exclaimed.
“Then you must take that small portmantua, too.”
“But I hate to take so much baggage with me,” I said.
“Then I can’t think of any other mode of freeing you from the difficulty.”
In the midst of this dilemma Fanny Day was announced.