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Page 24 text:
“
Mary. Not until every picture had been examined and talked to did Billy turn hack to the front page and begin to read. For an hour he read in intense enjoyment: only when the grey dusk crept in at the dirty window did he slip the precious copy under the scanty covers of his bed. For the next few days after school, Billy went to the playground only for the story-telling hour. His taste for games had suddenly disappeared and as soon as Miss Mary rose to go, he hurried away to lie till dark, drinking in lovingly the jungle stories. The fourth day poor little Billy's eyes were opened. Miss Mary was talking to the playground teacher and Billy overheard. She was telling how, after finishing her story one aftemoon, she had left her valuable copy of The Jungle Book on the ground, and, as soon as she had missed it a half hour later, had immediately returned. lt was not where I left it, she concluded sorrowfully, and I ques- tioned all the children carefully just before the gong sounded to empty the grounds. Billy was frightened. In the joy of reading the stories it had never occurred to him that the book belonged to someone. He had only read on and on, fascinated with the animal adventures that he loved, and delighted that the story-telling hour could be so prolonged. The idea that the property was not his had no more presented itself than the fact that a stray kitten had come to him for love and protection. ln a daze he left the playground and climbed up to the dark room. Slowly he took the book from its hiding place and descended again to the street. Then for the first time he fully comprehended the mistake of his actions and broke into a frantic run. Suppose Miss Mary should be gone and he could not put the book safely in her hands? Suppose she should never come back and he could not End her? It seemed as if the playgrounds would never come in sight. At last, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed, he found Miss Mary just leaving the grounds at the other end. Miss Mary, he gasped breathlessly. As she turned, he thrust the book quickly into her hands. I didn't know it was your'n, he sobbed. I didn't know it was nobody's. I didn't know whose it was. I-I never thought. I just read the stories and loved 'em and talked to the people in the pictures, and dreamt about 'em at night. Oh, l'd gave it to yuh quick as anything if l'd jest knowed it was your'n! Miss Mary looked down gently into the pleading, expressive eyes, at the freckled face, and at the frayed trousers, and because she loved boys and animal stories she understood. Why, Billy, she said quickly, stroking back his tangled hair, isn't this fortunate? l've just been wondering where I could find a boy who loves books well enough to take care of some for me, and here you've shown me plain as day just where that boy is. Billy, you're just the one! The books have animal stories in them, and pictures, and I shouldn't wonder, she concluded cheerfully, if one of them is the Jungle Book. ANNETTE CLICK.
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Page 23 text:
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BILLY'S ROMANCE The sun shone down brightly on the big Los Angeles playground and on a circle of children in one corner, squatted contentedly on the warm ground. The story-telling hour was the happiest the children knew, and Miss Mary the most fascinating teller in the world. Little freckle-faced, ragged Billy squatted with the rest in wide-eyed, intense enjoyment, for Miss Mary, her cheeks glowing and her blue eyes shining, had begun the narration of The Jungle Book. Miss Mary loved animals and so did Billy. Miss Mary liked to tell stories and oh, no one knew how dearly Billy liked to listen to them. As the tale progressed, Billy clasped his little stubby fingers together and leaned forward with eagerness, his shining eyes fixed on Miss Mary's face. The girl was a charming story-teller. With her eyes and lips and hands she made the yellow sand piles, the wading-pool, the pavilions, the paraphernalia of the playground with its background of dingy tenements and smoking factories, fade easily into the luxuriance of the jungle. The dandy jungle, thought Billy, his breath coming fast with happiness as he looked up in imagination into the cool, soft green leaves of the trees with their sweet, brilliant fruits, then down at the wild undergrowth of the forest floor, and far away through the mass of tree-trunks and tangled vines and bushes into the depths of the forest where the jungle people walked and ran. One day when Miss Mary had slowly ended her tale and pre- pared to leave, Billy did not shout like the rest, Good bye, Miss Mary, and thank you for our story, but sat still, his hands clasped and his eyes dreaming. Not until the children had all raced away did the jungle fade back again into the smoking factories and grey buildings. l-le rose slowly to his feet and then stooped down again to pick up something from the ground. It was a book-a beautiful bcok, bound in leather and gilt edged, a magnificent copy of the children's favorite Kipling story. It had been given to Miss Mary at her graduation from the Normal School and was one of her most cherished possessions. But Billy knew nothing of this. He only knew that the name, The Jungle Book, was printed in gilt letters on the outside, and that on the inside were wonderful pictures and the beloved stories. He did not wait to say good bye to the play- ground teacher or for the dismissal gong to ring, but made his way swiftly out to the street and on to where the dirty tenements crowded each other, contesting for space. After toiling up four flights of black, dusty stairs, he entered a dingy room and, without a word to the rabble of children or to his mother over her wash tub, lay down on his stomach in the corner and with eager fingers, opened the covers of his new-found treasure. There were pictures, indeed, beautifully colored, with the tropical fruits and vines and animals all there, just as he had imagined. His eyes sparkling now as they had never sparkled before, he picked out excitedly his beloved friends, the rronkeys, the lions, and the birds, murmuring happily their names as he had learned them from Miss
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