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Hope you remember that I told you that the story of Barty and the Good Wolf was the kind of story which could go on and on, and that when it stopped it could begin again. It was like that when Tim's mother told it to Tim, and really that was what Tim liked best about it—that sudden way it had of beginning all over again with something new just when you felt quite mournful because you thought it had come to an end. There are very few stories like that,—very few indeed,—so you have to be thankful when you find one. This new part began with Barty finding an old book in the attic of his house. He liked the attic because you never knew what you might find there. Once he had even found an old sword which had belonged to his grandfather and which might have killed a man if his grandfather had worn it in war. One rainy day he found the book. It was a rather fat book, and it had been read so much that it was falling to pieces. On the first page there was a picture of a very queer looking man. He was dressed in clothes made of goat skin; he carried a gun on one shoulder and a parrot on the other, and his name was printed under the picture and it was—Robinson Crusoe.
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