You know that moment when you decide to reread that book that you just told everyone to read, so you pull it off the shelf and randomly think to yourself, “I wonder how old this edition is?” see the date of publication is 1926, and think “Wow, this book is almost 100 years old,” then think, “Wait, when was this titled first released?” and then go to the Google machine, and learn that the copy you have been schlepping around for decades is a first edition? You know, that moment you remove the candy wrapper you used as a bookmark the last time you read the book, and think about how that $2 book you bought at a dirty used book store a long, long time ago was read at the beach, on the bus, during dinner, while soaking in the bathtub, and when feeding babies, even the baby that often urped up her dinner regularly. I had that moment tonight.

Anyways, this plain little book is worth so much more than I thought. But you know what? I’m going to read it tonight, and probably use a receipt or a random scrap of paper for a bookmark because I think L.M. Montgomery would love that 93 years later, someone had a much loved copy of her work in their hands. I probably won’t read it in the bath anymore though.