“I would give a good deal for a book,” he said. “It would keep me quiet.” He began to look round; there were a few volumes at one end of the shovel-board. “Fifth volume of Matthew Henry’s Commentary,” said he, reading their titles aloud. “Housewife’s complete Manual; Berridge on Prayer; L’Inferno—Dante!” in great surprise. “Why, who reads this?” “I told you Phillis read it. Don’t you remember? She knows Latin and Greek, too.” “To be sure! I remember! But somehow I never put two and two together. That quiet girl, full of household work, is the wonderful scholar, then, that put you to rout with her questions when you first began to come here. To be sure, ‘Cousin Phillis!’ What’s here: a paper with the hard, obsolete words written out. I wonder what sort of a dictionary she has got. Baretti won’t tell her all these words. Stay! I have got a pencil here. I’ll write down the most accepted meanings, and save her a little trouble.” So he took her book and the paper back to the little round table, and employed himself in writing explanations and definitions of the words which had troubled her. I was not sure if he was not taking a liberty: it did not quite please me, and yet I did not know why. He had only just done, and replaced the paper in the book, and put the latter back in its place, when I heard the sound of wheels stopping in the lane, and looking out, I saw cousin Holman getting out of a neighbour’s gig, making her little curtsey of acknowledgment, and then coming towards the house. I went to meet her. “Oh, Paul!” said she, “I am so sorry I was kept; and then Thomas Dobson said if I would wait a quarter of an hour he would—But where’s your friend Mr Holdsworth? I hope he is come?” Just then he came out, and with his pleasant cordial manner took her hand, and thanked her for asking him to come out here to get strong.