in them two beautiful books, with pages as pure
and white as the snow when it first falls.

Many months passed and the Fairy came again
to the boys. ``I have brought you each another
book?'' said she, ``and will take the first ones back
to Father Time who sent them to you.''

``May I not keep mine a little longer?'' asked
Philip. ``I have hardly thought about it lately.
I'd like to paint something on the last leaf that
lies open.''

``No,'' said the Fairy; ``I must take it just as it
is.''

``I wish that I could look through mine just
once,'' said Carl; ``I have only seen one page at a
time, for when the leaf turns over it sticks fast,
and I can never open the book at more than one
place each day.''

``You shall look at your book,'' said the Fairy,
``and Philip, at his.'' And she lit for them two
little silver lamps, by the light of which they saw
the pages as she turned them.

The boys looked in wonder. Could it be that
these were the same fair books she had given
them a year ago? Where were the clean, white