Carroll and Brooks readers - a reader for the fifth grade . entand vellum, and this was done mainly by the monks intheir quiet monasteries. It followed that these writ-ten books were very rare and expensive. They werenot to be found in the homes of the people. Even agreat and rich lord could only afford to have a veryfew of them. They were as much of a luxury ina rich household as a picture by a famous artist isnow. Of course, as books were so scarce and expensive,very few of the common people ever learned how toread. But Laurence Coster was an exception to thisrule. He had always been a great
Carroll and Brooks readers - a reader for the fifth grade . entand vellum, and this was done mainly by the monks intheir quiet monasteries. It followed that these writ-ten books were very rare and expensive. They werenot to be found in the homes of the people. Even agreat and rich lord could only afford to have a veryfew of them. They were as much of a luxury ina rich household as a picture by a famous artist isnow. Of course, as books were so scarce and expensive,very few of the common people ever learned how toread. But Laurence Coster was an exception to thisrule. He had always been a great student, fond oflearning, and preferring solitude to the society of thosearound him. In the little church of which he waswarden there were a few of the monks manuscriptvolumes; and these, we may well believe, Coster hadread over and over until he must have well-nigh knownthem by heart. Thus Coster lived on to middle age, and then toold age, in a quiet, humdrum, studious existence. Henow foundhis little home peopled with quite a family. LAURENCE COSTER 87. His son had married, and lived with him in the oldhouse, and three or four rosy grandchildren delightedCosters declining years. To give pleasure to thesegrandchildren and to teach them what he knew, be-came the joy of his old age. Old Coster was very fond of strolling by himselfin the outskirts of the quiet town. Sometimes, attiredin his short shabby cloak, he would stroll along thebanks of the slow little river Spaaren, which woundbeyond the town. But his favorite haunt was a densegrove which stood a mile or two beyond the limits ofHaarlem, and which was little visited by any one excepthimself. This grove had for many a year been a placewhich Coster had loved to visit. When he had beena young man, full of sentiment, and romantic notions, 88 A READER FOR THE FIFTH GRADE he had gone out to it to dream of the fair maid whomhe loved. Even now, in old age, he could find on one ofthe trees the letters which formed the initials of
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