It was called _Greatheart_; or, _Samuel's Sentimental Side_; and I
think you will agree that it was a lot of title for twopence. Day
after day, as I fumbled among the old books in the Twopenny Bin of the
little secondhand bookseller's shop, that volume would wriggle itself
forward and worm its way into my hands; and I would clench my teeth
and thrust it to the remotest depths of the box.
Then it haunted me. All day in my room I could hear _Greatheart_; or,
_Samuel's Sentimental Side_ calling out to me, "How would you like to
be in the Twopenny Bin?"
I began to grow sentimental myself, and to handle those unconsidered
trifles with tenderness. For you never know; I might be in the
Twopenny Bin myself someday; might be picked up, just glanced at and
shifted back into the corner out of sight.
Yesterday _Greatheart_ again found himself in my hands, and I looked
to see the date of his entry upon the world. I reflected on his sixty
years of life, on the many happy fireside hours that had been spent in
his company, on the gentle solace he had furnished to lesser hearts.
I had decided what to do. There were few people about; the bookseller
was not looking, and, if offence it was, well, I could fall back on
the mercy of those who would judge.