Morning, noon
she is up-stairs , at her books , as usual . She does so love them books , Brother Cross , I 'm afraid it 'll do harm to her health . She cares for nothing half so well . Morning , noon , and night , all the same , you find her poring over them ; and even when she goes out to ramble , she must have a book , and she wants no other company . For my part I ca n't see what she finds in them to love so ; for except to put a body to sleep I never could see the use they were to any person yet . '' `` Books are of two kinds , '' said Brother Cross gravely . `` They are useful or hurtful .