is," answered Pliny, promptly.

"Oh yes," said Tode, quickly. "Course that's the reason. Queer we
didn't think of it." Then to Dora. "Let's see you snarl that thing
around."

Dora quickly and skillfully obeyed.

"Do it again, and don't go so like lightning. How can a fellow tell what
you're about?"

So more slowly, and again and again was the feat repeated until at last
Tode seized hold of the pen as he said:

"Let me have a dab at the fellow; see if I can draw him."

"Why, you do it real well. Really and truly he does, Pliny," said the
delighted Dora.

"But do you know there are two t's?" she added, turning again to her
pupil. "One has a cross to it, just so. You make a straight mark with a
little crook to it; then you cross it, _so_."

Pliny from his sofa chuckled and exclaimed over this explanation: "A
straight mark with a little crook to it. Oh, ho!" But the others were
absorbed, and bent eagerly over their paper, and thus the horrified Mrs.
Hastings found them on her return from the parlor, the offshoot from a
cellar rum hole bending his curly head close beside _her daughter's_!

She exclaimed in indignant astonishment:

"Dora Hastings!"

And eager, innocent Dora hastened to make answer:

"Mamma, he can make the two t's; the capital and the other, you know;
and he has them both on this piece of paper. Just see, mamma."

"Say, now," interrupted Tode, "I've decided to do them all. You learn
me, will you? I'm to come up here every night after this with the seven
o'clock mail. Just you make a letter on a paper for me, the big fellow,
and the little one, you know, and I'll work at it off and on the next
day, and have it ready for you at night. Will you do it? Come now."

Pliny raised himself on one elbow, his face full of interest:

"Take a figure, Tode, with your letters; figures are a great deal
sharper than letters. I'll make one a night for you."

"All right," said Tode. "I don't mind working in a figure now and then.
A fellow might need to use 'em."

"Mamma," said Dora, "may I? I should so love to; it would be real
teaching, you know. He is fifteen years old, and he don't know how to
write, and it won't take one little minute of my time. Oh please yes,
mamma."

What _could_ the elegant Mrs. Hastings say? What was there to say to so
simple, original, yet so absurd a request? Still she was annoyed, and
looked it, but she did not speak it, and Tode was not sensitive to
looks, or words either, f