for my dumb friends.  For they are my friends, each one of them,” he continued, as he looked fondly at the filled shelves.  “Yes, I know them all, and love each for its own sake.  Take this little volume,” and he picked up a little volume of Shakespeare.  “Why, we are the best of friends:  we have travelled miles together—­all over the world, as a matter of fact.  It knows me in all my moods, and responds to each, no matter how irritable I am.  Yes, it is pretty badly marked up now, for a fact, isn’t it?  Black; I never thought of that before that it doesn’t make a 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.