Her face had flushed rosy with pleasure, and grew rosier and brighter still as she took the rich morocco-bound thing from Godfrey's hand into her own.

Daintily she peeped within the boards, and the gilding of the leaves responded in light to her smile.
"Poetry!" she cried, in a tone of delight.

"Is it really for me, Cousin Godfrey?
Do you think I shall be able to understand it ?" "You can soon settle that question for yourself," answered Godfrey, with a pleased smile--for he augured well from this reception of his gift--and turned to leave the dairy.
"But, Cousin Godfrey--please!" she called after him, "you don't give me time to thank you." "That will do when you are certain you care for it," he returned.
"I care for it very _much_!" she replied.
"How can you say that, when you don't know yet whether you will understand it or not ?" he rejoined, and closed the door.
Letty stood motionless, the book in her hand illuminating the dusk with gold, and warming its coolness with its crimson boards and silken linings.

One poem after another she read, nor knew how the time passed, until the voice of her aunt in her ears warned her to finish her skimming, and carry the jug to the pantry.

But already Letty had taken a little cream off the book also, and already, between the time she entered and the time she left the dairy, had taken besides a fresh start in spiritual growth.
The next day Godfrey took an opportunity of asking her whether she had found in the book anything she liked.