He had often wondered what was up there;
he liked to know what was in all locked-up places and out-of-the-way
corners, but he was afraid to climb the ladder. So Bonaparte looked up,
and in the name of all that was tantalizing, questioned what the boy did up
there. The loft was used only as a lumber-room. What could the fellow
find up there to keep him so long?
Could the Boer-woman have beheld Waldo at that instant, any lingering doubt
which might have remained in her mind as to the boy's insanity would
instantly have vanished. For, having filled the salt-pot, he proceeded to
look for the box of books among the rubbish that filled the loft. Under a
pile of sacks he found it--a rough packing-case, nailed up, but with one
loose plank. He lifted that, and saw the even backs of a row of books. He
knelt down before the box, and ran his hand along its rough edges, as if to
assure himself of its existence. He stuck his hand in among the books, and
pulled out two. He felt them, thrust his fingers in among the leaves, and
crumpled them a little, as a lover feels the hair of his mistress. The
fellow gloated over his treasure. He had had a dozen books in the course
of his life; now here was a mine of them opened at his feet. After a while
he began to read the titles, and now and again opened a book and read a
sentence; but he was too excited to catch the meanings distinctly.
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