books, Mr. Tulliver?"

Maggie looked hurt and discouraged, while her father said,--

"Why, it's one o' the books I bought at Partridge's sale. They was all
bound alike,--it's a good binding, you see,--and I thought they'd be
all good books. There's Jeremy Taylor's 'Holy Living and Dying' among
'em. I read in it often of a Sunday" (Mr. Tulliver felt somehow a
familiarity with that great writer, because his name was Jeremy); "and
there's a lot more of 'em,--sermons mostly, I think,--but they've all
got the same covers, and I thought they were all o' one sample, as you
may say. But it seems one mustn't judge by th' outside. This is a
puzzlin' world."

"Well," said Mr. Riley, in an admonitory, patronizing tone as he
patted Maggie on the head, "I advise you to put by the 'History of the
Devil,' and read some prettier book. Have you no prettier books?"

"Oh, yes," said Maggie, reviving a little in the desire to vindicate
the variety of her reading. "I know the reading in this book isn't
pretty; but I like the pictures, and I make stories to the pictures
out of my own head, you know. But I've got 'AEsop's Fables,' and a book
about Kangaroos and things, and the 'Pilgrim's Progress.'"

"Ah, a beautiful book," said Mr. Riley; "you can't read a better."

"Well, but there's a great deal about the Devil in that," said Maggie,
triumphantly, "and I'll show you the picture of him in his true shape,
as he fought with Christian."