"How do you know?" says she. "You haven't tried the others."

"I know it, for all that. I _feel_ it. Get knowledge--such knowledge
as the short span of life allotted to us will allow you to get. I
can lend you some books, easy ones at first, and----"

"I couldn't read _your_ books," says she; "and--you haven't any
novels, I suppose?"

"No," says he. "But----"

"I don't care for any books but novels," says she, sighing. "Have
you read 'Alas?' I never have anything to read here, because Aunt
Jane says novels are of the devil, and that if I read them I shall
go to hell."

"Nonsense!" says the professor gruffly.

"You mustn't think I'm afraid about _that,"_ says Perpetua demurely;
"I'm not. I know the same place could never contain Aunt Jane and me
for long, so _I'm_ all right."

The professor struggles with himself for a moment and then gives way
to mirth.

"Ah! _now_ you are on my side," cries his ward exultantly. She tucks
her arm into his. "And as for all that talk about 'knowledge'--don't
bother me about that any more. It's a little rude of you, do you
know? One would think I was a dunce--that I knew nothing--whereas, I