The room was filled from floor to ceiling with
books, and it was one of the crosses of Myrtella's life that behind
the visible rows of volumes, stood other rows, forming a sort of
submerged library beyond the reach of her cloth and duster.
In no room in the house did she feel her importance more fully than in
this inner shrine. She had calculated with mathematical precision the
exact position of each of the Doctor's desk utensils, she knew the
divinity that hedged about a manuscript, and the inviolable nature of
bookmarks.
When Bertie began fingering the inkstand, she pounced upon him.
"Don't you dare touch a thing, either one of you! When the Doctor told
me to take charge of his things, I took it. There ain't ever been a
word of complaint since I come here, and I ain't goin' to have one at
this here late date. There's the Doctor now comin' up the steps; I'll
finish up here later. Get away from there, Chick!"
But Chick had made a discovery. On the Doctor's desk, smiling out from
a porcelain frame, he had found his divinity! It was the beautiful
young lady who had once taken his part in a fight with Skeeter Sheeley
over a whip handle; it was the young lady who always smiled at him
when she rode by Billy-goat Hill; it was she who had changed his life
ambition from grand larceny to plumbing! Heedless of warning he
snatched at the picture, and as he did so it slipped from his fingers
and the frame shattered on the floor.
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