door,
and walking into the library instead of into the school-room, he at
last found himself at the table where his writing-desk stood, without
any further excuse, but there he stood for a minute or two reading,
and then, still continuing, felt for his key, and slipped it along the
front of his desk for some time in the most absent and fruitless manner.
Being obliged, at length, to lay aside the book, he unlocked the desk,
and opening it, laid the dear volume thereon, and read while he carried
his desk to another table. Then a few books were fetched in the same
dawdling way, Louis all the while persuading himself--foolish boy--that
he was merely occupying the time of walking across the room in reading.
A few minutes more, and a chair was dragged along, and Louis seated.
Then he reluctantly laid his book down open beside him and commenced.
It would be tiresome to say how often when the dictionary or something
else had to be referred to, a half page or more of the story was read,
and to remark how equally Louis enjoyed his amusement and profited by
his study. He was finally overwhelmed with confusion when his father,
entering the room, came and looked over his shoulder, making some remark
on the economy of time exhibited in thus ingeniously blending together
his work and play without profiting by either.

"But indeed, papa, I don't know how it is; I made up my mind to be
very industrious, and I was very steady yesterday."

"You put me in mind of a story of a man who made a vow to abstain from
frequenting beer-shops, and who, on the first day of his resolution,
passed several successively, until he came to the last that lay on his
way home, when he stopped and exclaimed, 'Well done, Resolution! I'll
treat you for this,' and walked in."

"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Louis, laughing.

"Don't you think this looks very much like treating resolution?"
said his father, taking up the open book.

"I can't tell how it is, papa," said Louis, looking ashamed. "I assure
you I did not mean to waste time; I cannot help being interested in
stories, and unless I leave off reading them altogether, I don't know
what to do."

"As reading stories is not a duty," said his father, "I would certainly
advise your leaving off reading them if they interfere with what is so
clearly one; but do you not think there is any way of arranging your
affairs so as to prevent a harmless recreation from doing this?"

"I can't depend upon myself, papa. If it