Chapter 18 Part 1 Chapter 2 Libraries and Horses (1)

The library was small and shabby, but Francie thought it was beautiful.She feels about the library the same way she feels about the church.She pushed the door open and walked in.She liked the smell of old leather jackets, library paste, and fresh loan stamp ink, and thought it smelled better than the incense at High Mass. Francie felt that the library should contain books from all over the world.She plans to read all these books in the world.She reads one book a day in alphabetical order, even the dull ones.She remembers the first book she read was written by Abbott.She has been reading this book for a while, and now she has read B.So far, she's finished reading about bees, buffalos, Bermuda holidays and Byzantine architecture.She was reading eagerly, but she admitted that some of the B's were difficult to read.But Francie was a natural reader, and read whatever she could get her hands on: she read the rubbish, she read the classics, she read timetables and grocery store price lists.Some things are good reads, like Louisa Alcott's.She planned to go back and reread Alcott's book when she had finished reading the Z's too.

Saturday was a different day, and she rewarded herself by reading out of alphabetical order.On that day, she would ask the librarian to recommend a book for her to read. Once inside, Francie closed the door softly--library protocol--and took a quick look at the gold-brown clay pot at the end of the librarian's desk.You can tell the season by looking at the jar.In the fall, a few bouquets of southern snake vine will be placed in the pot; near Christmas, there will be holly.If there were pussy willows in it, she would know spring was near, even if there was still snow on the ground.It's a Saturday in 1912, the season is summer, what's in this jar?Her eyes moved slowly and saw thin green stems and small, round leaves, and then she saw... nasturtiums!Red, yellow, gold, ivory.This beautiful sight made her Yintang ache.She will never forget it in her life.

"When I'm older," she thought, "I'll buy a brown bowl. I'll fill it with nasturtiums in the heat of August." She put her hands on the smooth surface—she liked the smoothness of it.She looked at the neatly arranged sharpened pencils, the clean green notepads, the pot-bellied white jars of paste, the orderly piles of cards, the books waiting to be put back on the shelves.The magic pencil with the date stamp on the top of the nib is sitting alone next to the notepad. "Yes, when I grow up and have my own house, I don't want fancy chairs, lace curtains, or indoor gum trees. All I want is a desk like this, in the living room, and white walls. Every Saturday night A clean green notepad, a row of shiny yellow pencils, sharpened and ready to use, and a golden-brown bowl in which there is always a flower, or some leaf, or some berry, And books...books...books..."

She picks out her Sunday book, which must be written by a Brown.Francie guessed she'd been reading Brown's book for months.Watch Browning after watching Brown.She snorted uncomfortably, wishing she could see C sooner so she could read Marie Corelli's book.She had read this book before and liked it very much.Can she see this one?Maybe she should read two books a day, maybe... She stood at the desk for so long that the librarian was condescending to attend to her. "What do you want?" the lady asked angrily. "This book. I want this." Francie pushed the book forward.She opened the back cover of the book and took out the card from the small envelope inside.It was the librarian who trained the children to hand her books that way.In this way, she can save hundreds of books every day, and save the effort of drawing cards from the envelope of each book.