At half-past three, when, at a nod from Miss Margaret the little
girl left her desk to go home, a wonderful thing happened--Miss
Margaret gave her a story-book.

"You are so fond of reading, Tillie, I brought you this. You may
take it home, and when you have read it, bring it back to me, and
I'll give you something else to read."

Delighted as Tillie was to have the book for its own sake, it was
yet greater happiness to handle something belonging to Miss
Margaret and to realize that Miss Margaret had thought so much
about her as to bring it to her.

"It's a novel, Tillie. Have you ever read a novel?"

"No'm. Only li-bries."

"What?"

"Sunday-school li-bries. Us we're Evangelicals, and us children we
go to the Sunday-school, and I still bring home li-bry books. Pop
he don't uphold to novel-readin'. I have never saw a novel yet."

"Well, this book won't injure you, Tillie. You must tell me all
about it when you have read it. You will find it so interesting,
I'm afraid you won't be able to study your lessons while you are
reading it."

Outside the school-room, Tillie looked at the title,--Ivanhoe,"--
and turned over the pages in an ecstasy of anticipation.