ere, four of them, each prettier than the other.

"But what shall I do with them?" said Peggy, with a comical glance
around the room. "There's no sign of a sofa. Never mind! they are
perfect beauties. Oh, and what can this be? Oh, Bertha, see, it is a
bookcase!"

The six pieces of polished wood were quickly fitted together, and there
was indeed a bookcase, not very large, but still ample to contain all
the books Peggy would be likely to need.

"Where are your books?" asked Bertha, innocently; and Peggy hung her
head.

"My Bible is in my drawer," she said. "I--I didn't bring any other
books. I'm a dreadful dunce," she added, timidly. "I might as well tell
you now, for you'd find it out anyhow, the very first time you talked
about books. I don't--care--about them, much."

"Oh!" and Bertha looked a little blank, being a bookworm herself. "But
there must be some books you are fond of, Peggy?"

Peggy shook her head despondently. "I don't believe there are," she
said. "Oh, of course I like 'Treasure Island,' and 'Robin Hood,' and
that kind of thing. But history, and the Waverley Novels--why, Margaret
would like to read the Waverley Novels all day; and they put me to sleep
in five minutes."

She looked anxiously at her new friend, to see the effect of this
dreadful confession; but Bertha only laughed. "Well, I love the
Waverleys very much myself," she said; "but I know everybody doesn't
care for them. But when you want to read, Peggy, what do you do?"

"But I don't want to read," said Peggy, humbly. "It--it seems such a
waste of time; except Coues, of course, and he wouldn't go in my trunk,
and Pa is going to send him by express."

"What do you mean?" asked Bertha, puzzled in her turn. "Cows!"

"Yes, the book, you know! Oh, I couldn't live without that."

"Do you mean a herd-book? Of course, you said you lived on a farm. You
mean that you study pedigrees and that kind of thing?"

Now it was Peggy's turn to laugh, as she explained that she meant Prof.
J. Elliott Coues's admirable book on birds.

"Pa has Samuels," she added, "but I couldn't bring that, because it is
out of print, and too valuable. Besides, he isn't so thorough as Coues,
don't you know, especially in anatomy and that part. Is there a good
class in anatomy here? Of course I shall want to join that."

"Oh, dear!" cried Bertha, in comical dismay, "I don't know! Peggy
Montfort, you are not a dunce at all; you are just shamming. The idea of
any one _w