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"Pulling my books about."

"Then put them all back on the shelf at once, dear."

"I was only wondering," said Christian. "There's more reading in the Arabian Nights, I think it will do. Do you mind my putting a little bit of blue ribbon in my copy of the Arabian Nights, Miss Thompson?"

"But why, dear—why?"

"I shall recognize it then at once. Now I suppose we have got to do horrid lessons."

"It's a very strange thing to me, Christian, that such an intelligent girl as you should dislike lessons. I should have imagined that you would love your history and your literature."

"I like Spanish history best," said Christian; "it is the most bloodthirsty."

"My dear, that is a horrid thing to say."

"Well, it's true," answered Christian. "It's much less dull than English history—English history, I mean, as it's written. I wish I could make stories out of it. Wouldn't you all gape and scream and jump about, and feel that you must fight like anything, if you listened to my stories? Think of 'John of Gaunt'; and think of the 'Black Prince'; and oh! think of 'Agincourt' and the 'Field of the Cloth of Gold.' Oh, dear! oh, dear! couldn't I make the whole thing shine? And wouldn't I just? But English history as it is written is very, very dull."