A ghost of a little smile warms her sad lips as she says this, and lights up her shining eyes like a ray of sunlight. Then it fades, and she grows sorrowful again.
"Why not?" demands the professor quickly. Here he is on his own ground; and here he has a pupil to his hand--a strange, an enigmatical, but a lovely one. "Believe me knowledge is the one good thing that life contains worth having. Pleasures, riches, rank, _all_ sink to insignificance beside it."
"How do you know?" says she. "You haven't tried the others."
"I know it, for all that. I _feel_ it. Get knowledge--such knowledge as the short span of life allotted to us will allow you to get. I can lend you some books, easy ones at first, and----"
"I couldn't read _your_ books," says she; "and--you haven't any novels, I suppose?"
"I don't care for any books but novels," says she, sighing. "Have you read 'Alas?' I never have anything to read here, because Aunt Jane says novels are of the devil, and that if I read them I shall go to hell."
"You mustn't think I'm afraid about _that,"_ says Perpetua demurely; "I'm not. I know the same place could never contain Aunt Jane and me for long, so _I'm_ all right."
The professor struggles with himself for a moment and then gives way to mirth.
"Ah! _now_ you are on my side," cries his ward exultantly. She tucks her arm into his. "And as for all that talk about 'knowledge'--don't bother me about that any more. It's a little rude of you, do you know? One would think I was a dunce--that I knew nothing--whereas, I assure you," throwing out her other hand, "I know _quite_ as much as most girls, and a great deal more than many. I daresay," putting her head to one side, and examining him thoughtfully, "I know more than you do, if it comes to that. I don't believe you know this moment who wrote 'The Master of Ballantrae.' Come now, who was it?"
She leans back from him, gazing at him mischievously, as if anticipating his defeat. As for the professor, he grows red--he draws his brows together. Truly this is a most impertinent pupil! 'The Master of Ballantrae.' It _sounds_ like Sir Walter, and yet--The professor hesitates and is lost.
"Scott," says he, with as good an air as he can command.
"Wrong," cries she, clapping her hands softly, noiselessly. "Oh! you _ignorant _man! Go buy that book at once. It will do you more good and teach you a great deal more than any of your musty tomes."