Maybe too much.
Maybe some of it was escaping to the more fascinating worlds of Jo March or Anne or the Little Colonel.
Unfortunately, this love of the other worlds to which books are an entryway never so infected Youngest Daughter.
We would be reading along in the intriguing mystery of Sarah Witcher, and I'd ask her about where Sarah might be, and she would respond, "Oh, are they looking for her??" ::sigh:: Yes, dear. The whole point of the book.
Or we'd finish reading aloud the heartbreaking section where Charlotte dies, to the great anguish of Wilbur, and she'd say, "Is Charlotte the lamb?" What??
Books just weren't drawing her in. They were a mild, annoying buzzing in the already intriguing world of her own thoughts.
Today, ah today! The wonderful, splendid, shining day when at last a book drew my child in.
She was dutifully reading along about a young boy's dog, when (without the boy's knowledge), the dog slipped out of the parked car's rolled-down window and ran away.
What??? The dog was lost?
The chapter ended.
And they (oh joy of joys), I heard the words, "We can't stop here!! I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS!!"
Really?? Really?? The book held your attention? You want to read more?
Yes, really!! She really did.
She read and then . . . flipped . . . another . . . page!!
And read . . . and flipped another page.
Where was the dog?? What would happen??
At last the dog showed up . . .
. . . albeit in the bed of the wrong truck.
But what's to worry about? He had showed up again on the pages of the book, making it very possible that by the end he would wend his way back to his proper owner.
Will he??? Aaaah, you can never tell.
(Please, oh please, may there be another cliffhanger tomorrow!!)