She was grateful to be alone in the room. There was no one there to make fun of her efforts, or even to try to help. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want to share this reading with anyone. She was determined to learn the book so well that she would be able to read it aloud to Charlie someday. And wouldn’t he be surprised? His Lyddie a real scholar? He’d be monstrous proud.

During the day at the looms, she went over in her head the bits of the story that she had puzzled out the night before. Then it occurred to her that she could copy out pages and paste them up and practice reading them whenever she had a pause. There were not a lot of pauses when she had three machines to tend, so she pasted the copied page on the frame of one of the looms where she could snatch a glance at it as she worked.

July was halfway gone when she made her momentous decision. One fair evening as soon as supper was done, she dressed in her calico, which was nicer than her light summer cotton, put on her bonnet and good boots, and went out on the street. She was trembling when she got to the door of the shop, but she pushed it open. A little bell rang as she did so, and a gentleman who was seated on a high stool behind a slanting desktop looked up at her over his spectacles. “How may I help you, miss?” he asked politely.

She tried to control the shaking in her voice, but in the end was unable to. “I—I come to purchase the book,” she said.

The gentleman slid off his stool and waited for her to continue. But Lyddie had already made her rehearsed speech. She didn’t have any more words prepared. Finally, he leaned toward her and said in the kindliest sort of voice, “What book did you have in mind, my dear?”

How stupid she must seem to him! The shop was nothing but shelves and shelves of books, hundreds, perhaps thousands of books. “Uh-uh Oliver Twist, if you please, sir,” she managed to stammer out.

“Ah,” he said. “Mr. Dickens. An admirable choice.”

He showed her several editions, some rudely printed on cheap paper with only paper backing, but there was only one she wanted. It was beautifully bound in leather with gold letters stamped on its spine. It would take all her money, she knew. Maybe it would be more than she had. She looked fearfully at the kind clerk.

“That will be two dollars,” he said. “Shall I wrap it for you?”