“I don’t know any fable,” he said, embarrassed; “and I don’t know French either.”
“I will help you,” cried Emma. “Le pere, du pere——”
“That’s no fable! Go ahead, Walter!”
For some of the party it was a joy that Walter knew no Fable and no French. If it were only known how often one can do a kindness by being stupid, perhaps many, out of love for humanity, would affect stupidity.
But Walter did not think of the pleasure of the others—which he could not have understood. He wept, and was angry at Master Pennewip, who had taught him no French and no fable.
“Forward, Walter, forward!” insisted the holder of the pawn.
“It needn’t be French. Just tell a fable.”
“But I don’t know what a fable is.”
“Oh, it’s a story with animals.”
“Yes, or with trees! Le chêne un jour dit au roseau—don’t you see, you can have one without animals.”