She ascended the broad steps of the majestic building with quick,springing strength.She loved this glorious library, with its lofty, arched ceilings.The sense of eternity that brooded over it and filled the stately rooms rested and inspired her.

Besides, she forgot her poverty in this temple of all time.Within its walls she belonged to the great aristocracy of brains and culture of which this palace was the supreme expression.And it was hers.Andrew Carnegie had given the millions to build it and the city of New York granted the site on land that was worth many millions more.But it was all built for her convenience, her comfort and inspiration.Every volume of its vast and priceless collection was hers--hers to hold in her hands, read and ponder and enjoy.Every officer and manager in its inclosure was her servant--to come at her beck and call and do her bidding.The little room on Twenty-third Street was the symbol of the future.This magnificent building was the realization of the present.

She smiled pleasantly to the polite assistant who received her order slip, and took her seat on the waiting line until her books were delivered.

This magnificent room with its lofty ceilings of golden panels and drifting clouds had always brought to her a peculiar sense of restful power.The consciousness of its ownership had from the first been most intimate.No man can own what he cannot appreciate.He may possess it by legal documents, but he cannot own it unless he has eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart to feel its charm.This appreciation Mary Adams possessed by inheritance from her student father who devoured books with an insatiate hunger.Nowhere in all New York's labyrinth did she feel as perfectly at home as in this reading-room.The quiet which reigned without apparent sign or warning seemed to belong to the atmosphere of the place.It was unthinkable that any man or woman should be rude or thoughtless enough to break it by a loud word.

This room was hers day or night, winter or summer, always heated and lighted, and a hundred swift, silent servants at hand to do her bidding.Around the room on serried shelves, dressed in leather aprons, stood twenty-five thousand more servants of the centuries of the past ready to answer any question her heart or brain might ask of the world's life sincethe dawn of Time.

In the stack-room below, on sixty-three miles of shelves, stood a million others ready to come at her slightest nod.She loved to dream here of the future, in the moments she must wait for these messengers she had summoned.In this magic room the past ceased to be.These myriads of volumes made the past a myth.It was all the living, throbbing present--with only the golden future to be explored.

Her number flashed in red letters on the electric blackboard.

She rose and carried her books to the seat number assigned her near the center of the southern division of the room on the extreme left beside the bookcases containing the dictionaries of all languages.

Her seat was on the aisle which skirted the shelves.She found the full description of the flower in which she was interested, made her notes and closed the volume with a lazy movement of her slender, graceful hand.

She lifted her eyes and they rested on a remarkable-looking young man about her own age who stood gazing in an embarrassed, helpless sort of way at the row of ponderous volumes marked "The Century Dictionary."He was evidently a newcomer.By his embarrassment she could easily tell that it was the first time he had ever ventured into this room.

He looked at the books, apparently puzzled by their number.He raised his hand and ran his fingers nervously through the short, thick, red hair which covered his well-shaped head.

The girl's attention was first fixed by the strange contrast between his massive jaw and short neck which spoke the physical strength of an ox, and the slender gracefully tapering fingers of his small hand.The wrist was small, the fingers almost feminine in their lines.

He caught her look of curious interest and to her horror, smiled and walked straight to her seat.

There was no mistaking his determination to speak.It was useless to drop her eyes or turn aside.He would certainly follow.

She blushed and gazed at him in a timid, helpless fashion while hebent over her seat and whispered awkwardly:

"You look kind and obliging, miss--could you help me a little?"His tone was so genuine in its appeal, so distressed and hesitating, it was impossible to resent his question.

"If I can--yes," was the prompt answer.

"You won't mind?" he asked, fumbling his hat."No--what is it?"Mary had recovered her composure as his distress had increased and looked steadily into his steel blue eyes inquiringly.

"You see," he went on, in low hurried tones, "I'm all worked up about the mountains of North Carolina-- thinkin' o' goin' down there to Asheville in a car, an' I want to look the bloomin' place up and kind o' get my bearin's before I start.A lawyer friend o' mine told me to come here and I'd find all the maps in the Century Dictionary.The man at the desk out there told me to come in this room and look in the shelves on the left and take it right out.Gee, the place is so big, I get all rattled.I found the Century Dictionary on that shelf----"He paused and smiled helplessly.

"I thought a dictionary was one book--there's a dozen of 'em marked alike.I'm afraid to pull 'em all down an' I don't know where to begin-- COULD you help me--please?""Certainly, with pleasure," she answered, quickly rising and leading the way back to the shelf at which he had been gazing.

"You want the atlas volume," she explained, drawing the book from the shelf and returning to the seat.

He followed promptly and bent over her shoulder while she pointed out the map of North Carolina, the position of Asheville and the probable route he must follow to get there.

"Thanks!" he exclaimed gratefully.