round the little gray bonnet, past a brown braid
and a fresh cheek, the young man's eye fell upon
the words the girl was reading, and forgot to look
away again. Books were the desire of his life;
but an honorable purpose and an indomitable will
kept him steady at his ledgers till he could feel
that he had earned the right to read. Like wine to
many another was an open page to his; he read a
line, and, longing for more, took a hasty sip from
his neighbor's cup, forgetting that it was a
stranger's also.

Down the page went the two pairs of eyes,
and the merriment from Debby's seemed to light
up the sombre ones behind her with a sudden shine
that softened the whole face and made it very
winning. No wonder they twinkled, for Elijah
Pogram spoke, and "Mrs. Hominy, the mother
of the modern Gracchi, in the classical blue cap
and the red cotton pocket-handkerchief, came
down the room in a procession of one." A low
laugh startled Debby, though it was smothered
like the babes in the Tower; and, turning, she
beheld the trespasser scarlet with confusion, and
sobered with a tardy sense of his transgression.
Debby was not a starched young lady of the
"prune and prism" school, but a frank, free-
hearted little body, quick to read the sincerity of
others, and to take looks and words at their real
value. Dickens was her idol; and for his sake she