38 COUSIN PHILLIS.
round, and, as if continuing her thought as she spoke, she sighed out, —
"Oh! it is so difficult! Can you help me?" putting her finger below a line.
"Me! I! Not I! I don't even know what language it is in!"
"Don't you see it is Dante?" she replied, almost petulantly; she did so want help.
"Italian, then?" said I, dubiously; for I was not quite sure.
"Yes. And I do so want to make it out. Father can help me a little, for he knows Latin; but then he has so little time."
"You have not much, I should think, if you have often to try and do two things at once, as you are doing now."
"Oh! that's nothing! Father bought a heap of old books cheap. And I knew something about Dante before; and I have always liked Virgil so much. Paring apples is nothing, if I could only make out this old Italian. I wish you knew it."
"I wish I did," said I, moved by her impetuosity of tone. "If, now, only Mr. Holdsworth were here; he can speak Italian like anything, I believe."
"Who is Mr. Holdsworth?" said Phillis, looking up.
"Oh, he's our head engineer. He's a regular first- rate fellow! He can do anything;" my hero-worship and my pride in my chief all coming into play. Besides, if I was not clever and book-learned myself, it was something to belong to some one who was.
"How is it that he speaks Italian?" asked Phillis.
"He had to make a railway through Piedmont, which
