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           "Iwantyourbooks—Iwantthem!"Andhereyesgrewbig,andherchestheaved.

           "Takethem,then,"saidErmengarde."IwishIwantedthem—butIdon’t.I’mnotclever,andmyfatheris,andhethinksIoughttobe."

           Sarawasopeningonebookaftertheother."Whatareyougoingtotellyourfather?"sheasked,aslightdoubtdawninginhermind.

           "Oh,heneedn’tknow,"answeredErmengarde."He’llthinkI’vereadthem."

           Saraputdownherbookandshookherheadslowly."That’salmostliketellinglies,"shesaid."Andlies—well,yousee,theyarenotonlywicked—they’reVULGAR.Sometimes"—reflectively—"I’vethoughtperhapsImightdosomethingwicked—ImightsuddenlyflyintoarageandkillMissMinchin,youknow,whenshewasill-treatingme—butICOULDN’Tbevulgar.Whycan’tyoutellyourfather_I_readthem?"

           "Hewantsmetoreadthem,"saidErmengarde,alittlediscouragedbythisunexpectedturnofaffairs.

           "Hewantsyoutoknowwhatisinthem,"saidSara."AndifIcantellittoyouinaneasywayandmakeyourememberit,Ishouldthinkhewouldlikethat."

           "He’lllikeitifIlearnanythinginANYway,"saidruefulErmengarde."Youwouldifyouweremyfather."

           "It’snotyourfaultthat—"beganSara.Shepulledherselfupandstoppedrathersuddenly.Shehadbeengoingtosay,"It’snotyourfaultthatyouarestupid."

           "Thatwhat?"Ermengardeasked.

           "Thatyoucan’tlearnthingsquickly,"amendedSara."Ifyoucan’t,youcan’t.IfIcan—why,Ican;that’sall."