the treasured books sheâd gotten for Christmas and her birthdays: Hawthorneâs A Wonder Book; The Little Lame Prince by Dinah Craik Mulock; Anna Sewellâs Black Beauty , so sad Laurie had only read it once; and Robert Louis Stevensonâs A Childâs Garden of Verses , which was a mighty disappointment to Laurie. Why, when she only got a book or two a year and wanted so many, didnât her parents ask which one she wanted? When it came to poetry, she much preferred Alfred Noyes, Rudyard Kipling, Vachel Lindsay, and some of Longfellow, like âThe Skeleton in Armor,â which sheâd learned by heart from library books while she was doing the ironing or the dishes. She had enough poems in her head to recite for hours. That was almost as good as having the books. She loved the gallant colonelâs son in âThe Ballad of East and Westâ and thrilled as she declaimed haughtily:
âLightly then answered the Colonelâs son: âDo good to bird and beast,
But count who comes for the broken bones before thou makest a feast.â¦ââ
And while reciting âThe Highwayman,â her heart swelled with pity for the landlordâs red-lipped daughter who âwatched for her love in the moonlight and died in the darkness there,â and for the bold outlaw.
The last of the books, which she placed standing up in the box so she could get to them without messing up her clothes, was Helenâs Babies . Mr. John Habberton had written it in 1876 and the title went on and on: Some Account of Their Ways, Innocent, Crafty, Angelic, Impish, Witching and Repulsive. Also a Partial Record of Their Actions During Ten Days of Their Existence, by Their Latest Victim . The bachelor uncleâs verdict on his small nephewsââBorn to be hung, both of them!ââalways sent Buddy into laughing fits. Maybe Belle and the other children would enjoy it.
Touching the beloved books, all of them written in by Mama, even the little Faultless Starch booklets, made Laurie feel a little better. Rosalie was nice and would certainly be glad of her help. There wasnât any question of being more than able to earn her and Buddyâs keep. They wouldnât be taking charity. So far, Grandpa hadnât said a word to either of them. That suited Laurie fine.
At least it seemed likely that Rosalie wouldnât make her wear long stockings and suspenders, especially since sheâd gotten rid of her old ones. The clean dress was wrinkled. Laurie shook it out as best she could and placed it on top of the muslin underskirts, bloomers, and nightgowns Mama had sewn for her, two of each besides the underwear she had on.
That was all, except for her comb and toothbrush.⦠No, there was still the best thing of all except for Mamaâs lavaliere and the books! Morriganâs harmonica. She tucked it into a nightgown, just in case one of her âcousinsâ snooped.
Buddy had more keepsakes than she did: a rattlesnakeâs whispery transparent shed skin, the coyoteâs skull and coarse pelt, a bag of flints and arrowheads picked up around Point of Rocks. There was his trove of Big Little Books and a tobacco pouch of small treasures like his G-Man ring secret decoder and two boxes of .22 shorts. Buddy, so protective of his tiny lair, was going to miss it, but maybe heâd have enough fun with the boys to partly make up for the loss of his private kingdom.
Laurie didnât know what to do with the snakeskin but she stacked the thick, chunky little books from bottom to top on one side of the box and then put her brotherâs keepsakes on the other, placing on top his socks, underwear, other pair of overalls, and two shirts. She folded the bird quilt neatly and put it at the bottom of the bed. Rosalie had taken charge of their other bedding except for the pillow and sheet Laurie would use that night. Sleeping with Belle wouldnât be so awful if Laurie could roll up in
Kent Flannery, Joyce Marcus