But that was not their errand to-day.

A little red bookcase inside the church was the attraction.

Betty had only lately discovered it, although it had stood for years on a back bench in a cobwebby corner.
It held all that was left of a scattered Sunday-school library, that had been in use two generations before.

Queer little books they were, time-yellowed and musty smelling, but to story-loving little Betty, hungry for something new, they seemed a veritable gold-mine.

She had found that no key barred her way into this little red treasure-house of a bookcase, and a board propped against the wall under the window outside gave her an easy entrance into the church.