n odd, serious look
on her face.

'And do you like your father's book, Barbara?' she asked presently.

'I think it's the most beautiful book in all the world,' answered Barbara,
without hesitation.

Miss Finlayson was a little startled, but she did not show it. 'Then I
wonder if you can explain it to me,' she went on; 'for, do you know, I
find some of it rather difficult to understand?'

Barbara threw back her head and laughed merrily. 'But I don't understand
_any_ of it,' she cried. 'You have to be grown up to understand it, father
says. And I'm not grown up yet, you see.'

'No,' agreed Miss Finlayson. She was looking distinctly relieved, and
the twinkle had come back again into the depths of her eyes. 'I shouldn't
worry about that, though, if I were you,' she continued, sitting down
and taking the child on her lap. 'Some day, when you are quite grown up,
you will be able to understand it; and then we can read it together and
help each other over the difficult parts. What do you say to that?'

'I think it will be beautiful; but it's a very long time to wait,' sighed
Barbara. 'When do you think I shall be quite grown up? Jill is grown up,
and she is eighteen. Shall I be grown up when I am eighteen?'

'We will wait and see,' said Miss Finlayson, but somehow her tone was
not encouraging. 'Meanwhile,' she went on, patting the hand that was
fearlessly lying in hers, 'supposing we make a bargain that neither of us
will read your father's book until we can read it together? You see,
if you were to go on reading it now, you might understand it in quite a
wrong way, and then you would never be able to help me over the difficult
parts.'

Barbara thought about it for a moment or two. 'But _you_ will have to do
without father's book all those years!' she exclaimed suddenly.

'I have read it once, you see,' said Miss Finlayson, gravely; 'I think I
can manage to wait, if you will wait too.'

Barbara still looked doubtful. 'Do you really think I shall be able to
help you over the difficult parts?' she asked.

Miss Finlayson smiled mysteriously. 'Perhaps,' she said. 'One never knows.'

'Then I'll wait till I'm grown up before I read it again,' decided
Barbara. 'It would certainly be a pity to spoil father's book by
understanding it all wrong.'

'Or by dropping it from the top of other people's ladders,' observed Miss
Finlayson. That was all the reproof she gave her; and then she turned
briskly to the writing-table. 'Isn