llow breathe. I've staid poked up here until
I'm ready to fly, and he's just as cute as he can be. Ring the bell,
Dora."

Dora obeyed, and in a very few minutes thereafter Tode was ushered into
the elegance of Mrs. Hastings' sitting-room.

"_You_ sick," he said, pausing in his work of gazing eagerly about him
to bestow a pitying glance on Pliny's pale face. "Jolly! that's awful
stupid work, ain't it? What's the matter?"

"I should think it was," Pliny answered, laughing a little though at
Tode's tone. "I've a confounded sick headache, that's what's the
matter."

"Pliny!" Mrs. Hastings said, rebukingly.

"Oh bother, mother! Excruciating headache then, if that suits you
better. Tode, have you seen Ben to-day?"

"Not a sign of him. Couldn't think what had become of you two. You're as
thick as hops, ain't you?"

Pliny glanced uneasily at his mother, but a summons to the parlor
relieved him, and the three were left alone. Dora returned to her
writing, and her small fingers glided swiftly over the page. Tode
watched her with wondering and admiring eyes.

"Be you writing?" he exclaimed at last.

"Why, yes," said Dora. "Don't you see I am?"

"How old be you?"

"I'm eleven years old. You never studied grammar, did you?"

"And you know how to write?"

"Why, yes," said Dora again, this time laughing merrily. "I've known how
more than a year."

Tode's answer was grave and thoughtful:

"I'm fifteen."

"Are you, though?" said Pliny. "That's just my age."

"And can't _you_ write?" questioned Dora.

"Me?" said Tode, growing gleeful over the thought. "I shouldn't think I
could."

"Aren't you ever going to learn?"

"Never thought of it. Is it fun? No, I don't suppose I'll ever learn.
Yes, I will, too. You learn me, will you?"

"How could I? Do you mean it? Do you truly want to learn? Dear me! I
never could teach you; mamma wouldn't allow it."

For an answer Tode stepped boldly forward, deterred by no feeling of
impropriety, and looked over the little lady's shoulder at the round
fair letters.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the first letter of a sentence.

"That is T; capital T. Why, that's the very first letter of your name."

"I don't see anything capital about it; it twists around like a snake.
What do you curl it all up like that for?"

"Why, that's the way to make it. Mamma says I make a very pretty letter
T, and it's a capital because--because--Oh, Pliny, why is it a capital?"

"Because it