e I have
mentioned in the last chapter, Ben had narrated to him the conduct of my
mother; and a day or two afterwards, when the frost had broken up, and
they were both sitting down, basking in the sun, which was shining
bright, I went up to them.

"Well, Jack," said old Ben, "are you ready for another trip down the
river?"

"I hope I shall earn my sixpence at an easier rate, if I do go," replied
I.

"It was wonderful that you were saved, boy," said Peter Anderson, "and
you ought to be very thankful to the Omniscient."

I stared; for I had never heard that term applied to the Deity. "You
mean God, don't you?" said I, at last; for I thought he couldn't mean
any other.

"Yes boy; has not your mother taught you that name?"

"She never would teach me anything. All the prayers I know I have
stolen from my sister."

"And what do you know, Jack?"

"I know `Our Father,' and `Now I lay down to sleep,' and I believe that
is all."

"How old are you now, Jack?"

"I am three years older than Virginia; she, I heard my mother say, was
six the other day,--then I suppose I'm nine."

"Do you know your letters?"

"Yes, some of them; I learnt them on the boats."

"But you cannot read?"

"No, not a word."

"Has your mother ever told you of the Bible?"

"Not me; but I've heard her tell Virginia about it."

"Don't you ever go to church?"

"No, never. Mother takes little Virginia; but she says I'm too ragged
and ungenteel."

"Why does your mother neglect you? I suppose you are a bad boy?"

"That he's not," interrupted Ben; "that's not the reason. But we must
not talk about that now; only I must take Jack's part. Go on, Peter."

"Would you like to learn to read, Jack?" said Anderson; "and would you
like to hear me read the Bible to you, until you can read it yourself?"

"Indeed I would," replied I. "There's many of the boys on the beach,
smaller than me, who can both read and write."

Peter Anderson then told me that he would teach me, provided I behaved
myself well. He desired I would come to his cabin every afternoon at
six o'clock, a time which interfered little with my avocation of "Poor
Jack," and that he would give me a lesson. Before he had finished
talking, one of the lieutenants of the hospital sent for him; and Ben
remained behind, to point out to me how valuable my knowing how to read
and write might one day prove to me.

"I've no larning myself Jack," said he; "and I know the loss of it. Had