A LITTLE BROTHER
out any assistance from, the children of the town. Will you begin on that Fiction, please?"
She walked on again, but paused to put away the brown book, which lay where the intruder had left it, a mute witness to the untidiness of the laity. Opening it briskly, she glanced at the title:
The
AGE OF FABLE
or
Beauties op Mythology
by
Thomas Bulfinch
Below was a verse of poetry in very fine print; she read it mechanically.
O, ye delicious fables! where the wave
And woods were peopled, and the air, with things
So lovely! why, ah ! why has science grave
Scattered afar your sweet imaginings?
Barry Cornwall.
It flashed into her mind that an absolutely shameless subscriber had retained Miss Proctor's collected poems for three weeks now, and she made a hasty note of the fact on a small pad that hung from her belt. Then she set the Age of Fable
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