Матильда
The Reader of Books
IlikedTheSecretGardenbestofall. Itwasfullofmystery. Themysteryoftheroombehindthecloseddoorandthemysteryofthegardenbehindthebigwall."
Mrs.Phelpswasstunned. "Exactlyhowoldareyou,Matilda? "sheasked.
"Fouryearsandthreemonths,"Matildasaid.
Mrs.Phelpswasmorestunnedthanever,butshehadthesensenottoshowit. "Whatsortofabookwouldyouliketoreadnext? "sheasked.
Matildasaid,"Iwouldlikeareallygoodonethatgrown-upsread.Afamousone. Idon’tknowanynames."
Mrs.Phelpslookedalongtheshelves,takinghertime. Shedidn’tquiteknowwhattobringout. How,sheaskedherself,doesonechooseafamousgrown-upbookforafour-year-oldgirl? Herfirstthoughtwastopickayoungteenager’sromanceofthekindthatiswrittenforfifteen-year-oldschoolgirls,butforsomereasonshefoundherselfinstinc-tivelywalkingpastthatparticularshelf.
"Trythis,"shesaidatlast. "It’sveryfamousandverygood. Ifit’stoolongforyou,justletmeknowandI’llfindsomethingshorterandabiteasier."
"GreatExpectations,"Matildaread,"byCharlesDickens.
I’dlovetotryit."
Imustbemad,Mrs.Phelpstoldherself,buttoMatildashesaid,"Ofcourseyoumaytryit."
OverthenextfewafternoonsMrs.Phelpscouldhardlytakehereyesfromthesmallgirlsittingforhourafterhourinthebigarmchairatthefarendoftheroomwiththebookonherlap. Itwasnecessarytorestitonthelapbecauseitwastooheavyforhertoholdup,whichmeantshehadtositleaningforwardinordertoread.
