e youth, upon returning to his
home, had sent out to her a great box full of modern fiction, an article
which he had deeply and vainly desired while under her roof. Miss
Ainsworth had never been given to the reading of novels. Her life had
been quite too busy for such frivolities, and now her eyes were making
it impossible for her to read without using glasses, which, as a
confession of frailty, she despised. So the books stood, new and
unopened, in a fascinating row upon the "secretary" shelf. No one so far
had ventured to ask for them. It had been reserved for these young
adventurers to demand them in the name of public spirit.

"We will have your name put inside them, Miss Ainsworth, on a neat
little card,--'Gift of Miss Anna Ainsworth,' you know. Just as they do
in large libraries," Catherine explained persuasively, when Algernon had
stated the object of their call, and Miss Ainsworth was regarding them
in a silence which they took to be ominous.

"And your name will go down in the records with Dr. Smith's as one of
the first contributors to the library. We intend to keep very full
records and have them buried under the corner stone of the new building
when we get it. We hope to get a Carnegie building, you know," Algernon
went on calmly while Catherine caught her breath. "He always insists
that the townspeople do their share."

"The young people will use the library if we have good novels,"
Catherine put in helpfully, when Algernon's imagination showed signs of
exhaustion. "And then we can get them to reading more serious books by
and by."

Then Catherine too, subsided, and the clock behind its painted glass
door ticked obtrusively. Presently Miss Ainsworth opened her thin lips.

"I'm perfectly willin' 't you should have the books," she said grimly.
"They ain't no manner o' use to me, and never was. I don't care to have
my name wrote inside 'em, though. And I ain't perticular about havin' it
buried under any corner stones. But I'll be much obliged if you'll take
'em away soon, for I've just subscribed to a set of me-mores of
missionaries an agent was sellin' yesterday, and I'd like that top shelf
to put 'em on."

The enthusiasts, feeling a trifle quenched, but yet pleased at having
accomplished their purpose, rose and withdrew with what grace they could
summon, mingling thanks with promises to remove the undesired literature
as soon as possible.

"Now for Judge Arthur and the building," sighed Catherine, as