book look any better to the eye. But it means more to me because
of all that pencilling.

"Now, some folks dislike my use of my books in this way. They love their
books so much that they think it nothing short of sacrilege to mark up a
book. But to me that's like having a child so prettily dressed that you
can't romp and play with it. What is the good of a book, I say, if it is
too pretty for use? I like to have my books speak to me, and then I like
to talk back to them.

"Take my Bible, here," he continued, as he took up an old and much-worn
copy of the book. "I have a number of copies of the Great Book: one copy
I preach from; another I minister from; but this is my own personal
copy, and into it I talk and talk. See how I talk," and he opened the
Book and showed interleaved pages full of comments in his handwriting.
"There's where St. Paul and I had an argument one day. Yes, it was a
long argument, and I don't know now who won," he added smilingly. "But
then, no one ever wins in an argument, anyway; do you think so?

"You see," went on the preacher, "I put into these books what other men
put into articles and essays for magazines and papers. I never write for
publications. I always think of my church when something comes to me to
say. There is always danger of a man spreading himself out thin if he
attempts too much, you know."

Doctor Brooks must have caught the boy's eye, which, as he said this,
naturally surveyed his great frame, for he regarded him in an amused
way, and putting his hands on his girth, he said laughingly: "You are
thinking I would have to do a great deal to spread myself out thin,
aren't you?"

The boy confessed he was, and the preacher laughed one of those deep
laughs of his that were so infectious.

"But here I am talking about myself. Tell me something about yourself?"

And when the boy told his object in coming to Boston, the rector of
Trinity Church was immensely amused.

"Just to see us fellows! Well, and how do you like us so far?"

And in the most comfortable way this true gentleman went on until the
boy mentioned that he must be keeping him from his work.

"Not at all; not at all," was the quick and hearty response. "Not a
thing to do. I cleaned up all my mail before I had my breakfast this
morning.

"These letters, you mean?" he said, as the boy pointed to some letters
on his desk unopened. "Oh, yes! Well, they must have come in a later
mail. Well, if it will make you feel