Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1909-11-06
SwHo GIvETH HImsELF.-
A Heart-Rending Sacrifice for the
Book-Lovfnx Woman.

A Heart-RendinR Sacrifice for the
Book-Lovtnx Woman.
Celia Framley had dropped in to
have q chat--a next to the last
word" she always called it-with her
friend, Marcia Leslie. At last, having
talked with all her usual eager viyaci-
ty, she sat leisurely back, stirring her
cup Of tea.
"I'll have another lump, Marcia
she said, with mock reproach. You're
always forgetting that / haven't just
one sweet tooth, but whole set Of
them. Now tell me, what have you
been doing?"
"A very useful thing, my DEAR" an
swered her friend, slowly. I've been
interesting myself in Myrtles read
Ing"
amusement. What, The Duchess
and Laura Jean Libbey?' oh, what
falling off is therel'" she quoted.
with genial sarcasm, for Immediately
her mind made vivid picture of Myr-
tie. half-pretty, wholly pathetic little
figure, who plodded patiently through
her cleaning cares. apparently untitled
for any others.
But Marcia had already broken out
in ardent defense of her protege.
mo, not trash at all. and you'll new
err believe me, but it's poetry" she
said II threw away an old Brown
| ing text Bob had in college, and Myr-
tie found it and asked me if she might
have 1t. l gave 1t to her-and l
laughed; and l hate myself whenever
think of 1t. Do you know, she's read
1t all, with such intelligent apprecia,
| toni
why, the other night she looked at
the west, and said, Miss Marcia, l
suppose that's what Browning means
when he says, Where the quiet col
ored end of evening smiles."' And
for her birthday, last week, l gave her
Palgrave's Golden Treasury - before
this I've always given her silly bows
and collars-and she's read it all aloud
to her mother and they loved It, Poor
little thing She has so few booksl"
All through Marcia's speech Celia
had put In little fiuttering "Ahsl" and
"Ohsl" of excitement and interest, and
when her friend stopped speaking, she
was sitting quite on the edge of her
chair
I'm a beast, and a stupid one, too,
to misjudge Myrtle sol" she declared,
warmly, for she loved and admired
with eager intelligence all good litera-
ture. "And as a penance I'm going to
give her some of my treasures"
But in the common light of the next
day her generous impulse was harder
to carry out. She stood before her
bookcase, lingering the volumes, and
wondering how she could ever bear
parting with them. A country doctors
daughter, books were her luxury. The
Thackeray she had earned by endless
copying of manuscripts for her father;
the beautiful edition of Tennyson
meant that she had worn shabby
gloves for winter; the set of Jane
Austen a willingly renowned party
frock.
Her beloved booksl Now, half-heart-
eddy, she built her sacrifcial pile.
Then a sudden thought made her
throat tighten and ache little. Books
had always seemed very real to her,
their authors living friends. Would
her idols feel that she loved them less
well. cherished them less tenderly, II
she gave them away? She picked up
her copy OF Lowell, and 1t fell open
easily to 1.-THE Vision of Sir Launfal, u
almost her dearest poem. And out OF
the whole page these two lines seemed
! to spring:
who giveth himself with his aims
feeds three,
Himself his hungering neighbor, and
Mel"
I THAT settles it," she said, aloud
r Celia. you're selfish pigi The best
. way to love the masters is to share
e their glory with some one else" She
caught up a generous armful and ran
hatless. impetuous, to Marcia's door,
"Give these books to Myrtle-and
!, want her to keep them - with my
lovel" she painted, and she thrust out
I the pile. Then she turned and walked
' quickly away. She had given herself
r with her alms.-Youths Companion.
+