"Nearly six years ago now. I was living with an aunt. She went and died when I was nine, and Grampa sent for me here. It was me that learned him all his new stuff--science, and machinery, and aeroplanes, and things like that. He didn't know nothink but Latin and Greek and history and things up till then. Here's the Cyclopædia coming out now. He never used it till I come. He never even knew it was four volumes short until I told him.... This next lot is mostly little books he picked up cheap at second-hand places--mouldy little things, most of 'em. Some of them were useful, though. Here's one--'The Amateur Architect.' It's queer how fussy people can be about house-planning, and ventilation, and drainage, and things like that, especially when they know they've got to live all their lives in a house where they have no more say in the ventilation and drainage than my aunt's cat! Grampa had to learn nearly the whole of this book, they wanted so many different bits of it. Well, I think we have fuel enough now for a start." We staggered into the garden, with arms full, to where McAndrew's bonfire was burning fiercely. McAndrew himself, having regard to his chronic interest in other people's business, I had despatched upon an errand. Soon the Encyclopædia and the theological works were engulfed in flame. Some odd volumes followed. I cremated my old friend Robert Southey with my own hands. This done, we returned to the packing-case and delved again. "Did Mr. Baxter wish everything to be burned?" I asked. "What about the presentation volumes--the Shakespeare, for instance?" "They was _all_ to be burned," announced Ada doggedly, lowering her head into the case and avoiding my glance. "Very well," I said. Suddenly Ada looked up again, fiercely. "Cross your heart and wish you may die if you look inside one of them!" she commanded. I meekly took the grisly oath. But chance was too strong for us. Ada, eager to keep me entirely aloof from the mystery, attempted to lift four large volumes out of the case at once. The top volume--the Presentation Shakespeare itself--slipped off the others, fell upon the floor, and lay upon its back wide open. I could not help observing that it was a London Telephone Directory. For a moment Ada and I regarded one another steadily. She did not wink an eyelash. Indeed, it was I who felt guilty. "I may as well see them all now," I said. "Please yourself," said Ada coldly.