I walked into the room and recognized the old book, which had no words on its cloth cover, before I even set my things down. "That looks like Girl of the Limberlost!" I said.
My sister nodded. "It is. I thought you would take good care of it."
Let me explain how sweet this was. The 1909 edition had been given to our mother when she was a teenager; it was inscribed to her in 1944. She had read it and, many years later, my sister had read it. My mom was not a bibliophile like us (Daddy was); she just didn't read novels. The headboard of Mom's bed had a built-in bookshelf, and this was one of the few books, along with the family Bible, that lived there forever. And since it was always there, I came along (a few years later) and read it, too.
Oh, the book is nice - both old and sentimental. But my sister is the treasure.