As Pandemonium
"Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet,"
so the little boat grew to the sound of Annie's voice uttering not
Runic Rhymes, but old Scotch ballads, or such few sweet English poems,
of the new revelation, as floated across her way, and folded their
butterfly wings in her memory.
I have already said that reading became a great delight to her. Mr
Cowie threw his library, with very little restriction, open to her; and
books old and new were all new to her. She carried every fresh one home
with a sense of riches and a feeling of _upliftedness_ which I can ill
describe. She gloated over the thought of it, as she held it tight in
her hand, with feelings resembling, and yet how unlike, those of Johnny
Bruce when he crept into his rabbits' barrel to devour the pennyworth
of _plunky_ (a preparation of treacle and flour) which his brother
would else have compelled him to share. Now that the days were longer,
she had plenty of time to read; for although her so-called guardians
made cutting remarks upon her idleness, they had not yet compelled her
to nursing or needlework. If she had shown the least inclination to
either, her liberty would have been gone from that moment; but, with
the fear of James Dow before their eyes, they let her alone.
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