A Book for Jerry by Maud Van Buren — Read

_Sarah Addington_

It seemed to Jerry that he would really die if he didn't get a book that Christmas. Here he was, eight years old, learning to read, liking to read better than almost anything else in the world, and he had no book to read from. He read at school in books furnished by somebody or other, Jerry didn't know who, but that wasn't enough. Jerry wanted a book for his very own. He wanted it big enough to carry under his arm, and small enough to put under his pillow at night. He wanted it to have stories in it about bears and St. Bernards and dragons and boys -- no girls; stories, too, about snakes and explorers and boats and soldiers. He wanted the book to have red and yellow and green pictures of airplanes and lions and pirates, one picture on every page.[17]