The Librarian (Book One: Little Boy Lost) Read Online Free PDF Page A

a sudden burst of energy, the old man whipped around and asked:
       “So? Who believes in magic?”
       There was no response. Was that a real question? Wesley wondered to himself.
       “No one?” he continued in a raspy voice. “What about time travel? Surely someone in this room believes we can travel through time!”
       “This dude’s nuts!” Randy joked before Ms. Easton silenced him with a stern look.
       The old man raised an eyebrow. “Magic, time travel, mental telepathy, eternal life... I can tell you they are all possible, and the books in this library are the proof.”
       Hope returned, handing the librarian the large book she’d been holding. “How many of you know The Wizard of Oz ?” he asked, holding the giant tome into the air. Ms. Easton grinned, happy to see so many hands in the air. “Almost all of you.” He gestured to a young girl in the front row. “You must be very old. When were you born?”
       The girl smiled sheepishly. “I’m twelve.”
       The librarian stumbled back, acting as if the girl had revealed something so improbable it couldn’t be believed. “Twelve?! Bah! That can’t be. How can you know The Wizard of Oz ? These stories are more than a hundred years old!”
       A few smiles began to appear in the sea of confused faces like stars in the dark.
       “I read it!” the girl shouted, laughing now.
       “Read it?”
       “Yeah! In a book?!” She fell perfectly into her part, looking at the old man like he’d recently escaped from a mental institution.
       “So you haven’t met L. Frank Baum?”
       “No!” This time some of the girl’s classmates chimed in to echo her answer.
       “Hmmm.” The librarian began to pace, moving back and forth across the stage, fingers stroking the full length of his beard. “So a man died nearly a century before you were born, and yet he was able to fill your mind with ideas and images, take you on adventures. Interesting.”
       He focused his attention back on the room. “A famous author once told me that writing is magic that hides in plain sight, right under our nose, there for anyone to see.” He raised the heavy book above his head once more. “A hundred years ago, this book helped children take a journey into a land they’d never experienced before. It’s done the same for you. A hundred years from now – a thousand years from now – it will do the same for a million more. Every book in this building has the power to do that. Isn’t that a type of magic?”
       Ms. Easton looked around. Every one of her students was in the palm of his hand. But while his classmates were enjoying the speech, the librarian’s words had swallowed Wesley whole. He listened as a devout follower might absorb a powerful sermon. For years he’d used the reading and writing of stories as an escape from his real-world problems, but he’d never looked at his love for the written word quite like this. He’d always felt like his love of story was something he needed to hide, like a genetic defect the others would spot and mercilessly ridicule. But now, hearing someone speak like this, Wesley was feeling a little more confident. Maybe he didn’t need to hide who he was at all.
       Hope handed the librarian one of the essays. Kids in the front row tried to get a better look at the winning entry, but it looked like all the rest from where they were sitting.
       The librarian adjusted his spectacles. “I’ve just finished your essays, and they were exquisite. Each and every one of them. Thanks so much for letting us read them. You did a superb job. Later today Hope will be binding your essays together into a hardcover edition that people can check out right here in our library. You’ll all be published authors by the end of the night.” The announcement earned excited murmurs throughout the auditorium. “It was hard to pick a winner, but there was one essay in particular that stood out from the rest