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Children’s Little Story-book. 3
glanced furtively at their backs, whilst she was
dusting them.
“T hope she won’t forget to take me away too,”
said a little book, which had fallen down behind the
shelves, and in the mishap had had one of its covers
torn away.
“You had better remain where you are,” inter-
polated, with aristocratic condescension, an historical
novel, which was very proud of its pedigree, for it
was all about a king and queen, and consequently
had royal blood in its veins.
“°Tis only we celebrities that are to have our
names printed in gold by the bookbinder,” apos-
trophized a book of poetry, that considered itself the
greatest in the whole collection—though long ago
out of date. Many of its leaves were dog’s-eared,
but it now hoped they would become straightened.
“At least one ought to be of some use in this
world,” gurgled the cookery-book, and gave herself
an air of superiority at the mere thought of all the
delicious things she could offer to the world.
The children’s little story-book—for it was just
such a one that had dropped behind the shelf—had
not a word to say, for it was modest, and knew it
was best to hold its tongue in such distinguished
company. But it thought to itself, “It would be
dreadful, if I should not be allowed to accompany
the others, to get a new cover, if ever so plain.”
At that moment Kate returned, and brought the
porter with her, who carried a large basket. All
the books were put into it. The historical novel,
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