“I think that book Lois is canvassing for is just lovely,” she added artfully, as she helped herself to cake. “I’m awful anxious to own one; just think, I’d never even heard of Snipeley Samuel Bangs—” Lois Daggett crowed with laughter. “Fer pity sake, Abby! don’t you know no better than that? It’s Samuel Bangs Snipeley; he was County Judge, the author of ‘Platform Pearls,’ and was returned to legislature four times by his constituents, besides being—” “Could you spare me five copies of the book, Miss Daggett?” inquired Lydia, handing her the sponge cake. “Five copies!” Miss Daggett swiftly controlled her agitation. “I haven’t told you the price, yet. You’d want one of them leather-bound, wouldn’t you? They come high, but they wear real well, and I will say there’s nothing handsomer for a parlor table.” “I want them all leather-bound,” said Lydia, smiling. “I want one for myself, one for a library and the other three—” “There’s nothing neater for a Christmas or birthday present!” shrilled Lois Daggett joyously. “And so informing.” She swallowed her tea in short, swift gulps; her faded eyes shone. Inwardly she was striving to compute the agent’s profit on five leather-bound copies of Famous People. She almost said aloud “I can have a new dress!” “We’ve been thinking,” Lydia Orr said composedly, “that it might be pleasant to open a library and reading room in the village. What do you think of the idea, Miss Daggett? You seem interested in books, and I thought possibly you might like to take charge of the work.” “Who, me?— Take charge of a library?” Lois Daggett’s eyes became on the instant watchful and suspicious. Lydia Orr had encountered that look before, on the faces of men and even of boys. Everybody was afraid of being cheated, she thought. Was this just in Brookville, and because of the misdeeds of one man, so long ago? “Of course we shall have to talk it over some other day, when we have more time,” she said gently. “Wouldn’t that be nice!” said Mrs. Daggett. “I was in a library once, over to Grenoble. Even school children were coming in constant to get books. But I never thought we could have one in Brookville. Where could we have it, my dear?” “Yes; that’s the trouble,” chimed in Lois. “There isn’t any place fit for anything like that in our town.” Lydia glanced appealingly from one to the other of the two faces. One might have thought her irresolute—or even afraid of their verdict. “I had thought,” she said slowly, “of buying the old Bolton bank building. It has not been used for anything, Judge Fulsom says, since—” “No; it ain’t,” acquiesced Mrs. Daggett soberly, “not since—” She fell silent, thinking of the dreadful winter after the bank failure, when scarlet fever raged among the impoverished homes. “There’s been some talk, off and on, of opening a store there,” chimed in Lois Daggett, setting down her cup with a clash; “but I guess nobody’d patronize it. Folks don’t forget so easy.”