 to shy at. I'n seen chaps as
'ud stand starin' at a bough till their eyes shot out, afore they'd see as a
bird's tail warn't a leaf. It's poor work goin' wi' such raff - but you war
allays a rare un at shying, Mr. Tom, an' I could trusten to you for droppin'
down wi' your stick in the nick o' time at a runnin' rat, or a stoat, or that,
when I war a-beatin' the bushes.«
    Bob had drawn out a dirty canvass bag, and would perhaps not have paused
just then if Maggie had not entered the room and darted a look of surprise and
curiosity at him, whereupon he pulled his red locks again with due respect. But
the next moment the sense of the altered room came upon Maggie with a force that
overpowered the thought of Bob's presence. Her eyes had immediately glanced from
him to the place where the bookcase had hung; there was nothing now but the
oblong unfaded space on the wall, and below it the small table with the Bible
and the few other books.
    »O Tom,« she burst out, clasping her hands, »where are the books? I thought
my uncle Glegg said he would buy them - didn't he? - are those all they've left
us?«
    »I suppose so,« said Tom, with a sort of desperate indifference. »Why should
they buy many books when they bought so little furniture?«
    »O but, Tom,« said Maggie, her eyes filling with tears, as she rushed up to
the table to see what books had been rescued. »Our dear old Pilgrim's Progress
that you coloured with your little paints; and that picture of Pilgrim with a
mantle on, looking just like a turtle - O dear!« Maggie went on, half sobbing as
she turned over the few books. »I thought we should never part with that while
we lived - everything is going away from us - the end of our lives will have
nothing in it like the beginning!«
    Maggie turned away from the table and threw herself into a chair, with the
big tears ready to roll down her cheeks - quite blinded to the presence of Bob,
who was looking at her with the pursuant gaze of an intelligent dumb animal,
with perceptions more perfect than his comprehension.
    »Well, Bob,« said Tom, feeling that the subject of the books was
unseasonable, »I suppose you just
