because he was such a sober, conscientious little fellow.
"Yes; Demi likes quiet chaps, and I guess he and you will get on if you care about reading as he does."
Poor Nat's flush of pleasure deepened to a painful scarlet at those last words, and he stammered out—
"I can't read very well; I never had any time; I was always fiddling round, you know."
"I don't love it myself, but I can do it well enough when I want to," said Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words, "A boy twelve years old and can't read!"
"I can read music, anyway," added Nat, rather ruffled at having to confess his ignorance.
"I can't;" and Tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which emboldened Nat to say firmly—
"I mean to study real hard and learn every thing I can, for I never had a chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer give hard lessons?"
"No; he isn't a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost over the hard places. Some folks don't; my other master didn't. If we missed a word, didn't we get raps on the head!" and Tommy rubbed his own pate as if it tingled yet with the liberal supply of raps, the memory of which was the only thing he brought away after a year with his "other master."
"I think I could read this," said Nat, who had been examining the books.
"Read a bit, then; I'll help you," resumed Tommy, with a patronizing air.
So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may friendly "boosts" from Tommy, who told
