* * * * *
"Tell me, Paula," said my father one evening, "how is the new pupil coming on?"
"Which new pupil?" our cousin said as she came and stood by my father's chair, where he sat reading his paper.
"The Breton, of course. Surely you haven't more than one pupil?"
"For the present, no!" she answered, with a queer little smile on her quiet face.
"For the present, no." repeated my father; "and what may that mean?"
Paula rested her cheek against the top of my father's head.
"Dearest uncle," she said, "will you please grant me a great favor?"
"Now, what?" said my father—and the stern, serious face lighted up with a smile.
"You see, the Breton has almost learned to read, and it would be just splendid if some of his old comrades and his two sons could learn too."