"Take them, then," said Ermengarde; "I wish I wanted them, but I am not
clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be."

Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at
the door, she stopped and turned around.

"What are you going to tell your father?" she asked.

"Oh," said Ermengarde, "he needn't know; he'll think I've read them."

Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast.

"I won't do it," she said rather slowly, "if you are going to tell him
lies about it--I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them and
then told you about them?"

"But he wants me to read them," said Ermengarde.

"He wants you to know what is in them," said Sara; "and if I can tell
it to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would
like that."

"He would like it better if I read them myself," replied Ermengarde.

"He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way," said
Sara. "I should, if I were your father."

And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde
was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument,