It is not necessary to repeat it; but Felix saw a different expression on his father's face when, neatly dressed, he came down the steps and followed the master home.
He was fearfully hungry, and yet almost ashamed to take the good broth and bread which were set before him in the master's quaint and quiet little parlor; they somehow choked him; and as he looked about at the book-covered shelves and old engravings, the detestable caricature he had drawn in the morning danced before his eyes.
At last he could stand it no longer. The teacher seemed to have disappeared, and only this kind, genial host sat opposite him, heaping up his plate and bowl.
"Herr Professor," he stammered, "I beg your pardon—indeed I do."
"I am very glad to hear that, my boy; but don't think any more about it just now," was the response, and filling his pipe, wreaths of smoke began to play about the old man's head.
"It is a great pity that a lad of your talent should waste any time, Felix, and if you are willing, I think your father will let me give you drawing lessons."
Felix could hardly believe his ears.
"To be sure, you will have to apply yourself more diligently, be prompt and industrious, or all the lessons in the world won't make a man of you."
"I'll try," said Felix, though a mist was in his eyes.
"That's right," said the Professor, and then he opened some great volumes full of pictures, and the boy gazed in delighted wonder at a world more beautiful than his dreams. Not an allusion did the Professor make again to anything that had happened during the day.