"And what's that?" Paula's voice was sympathetic.
"It's that I cannot read."
"But I didn't think that that fact interested you very much."
"Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, but I didn't comprehend what I had lost, but now I'd give my left hand if I could only read."
"Poor Breton," I said. It seemed to me we were a bit helpless before such a problem.
"It isn't that I want to become a fine gentleman, and all that"; and the Breton turned to address me also—"It's simply that I want to be able to read the Great Book that tells about God and His Son Jesus Christ. Also I would like to help my children that they might have a better chance than hitherto I have given them. But there you are! I'm just a poor ignorant man, and I suppose I always shall be."
"Well," said Paula, "why don't you attend the night school?"
"No, Mademoiselle," and the Breton shook his head; "that's all very well for the young fellows who have learned a little something and wish to learn a bit more. But me!—at my age!—and I don't even know the letter A from B, and I have such a dull head that I would soon tire out the best of teachers."
"Well, supposing I tried teaching you?" said Paula timidly.
"You, Mademoiselle!" cried the Breton stupefied, "you to try such a thing as to teach me!"