My Master. A

“ Ah, no wonder, no wonder. And of the lessons
that she taught him?”

“Ves, sir.”

“Good, good ; so she says. He has brought his
book? Good again. Will he sit at the table, and
let me hear him read ?”

His tone was so gentle, that, in spite of his odd
way of addressing me, I felt encouraged by it. I
did not read well, however ; my breath failed me,
and the words would not come clear before my
eyes. Mr. Hurst took no notice of my stumbling,
but as we went on he made a few remarks, so
much to the point that I felt that I understood
what I was reading better than I had ever done
before. He did not keep me long that night, but
bade me come the next, and, indeed, every evening
that I could, adding, “ He will do, he will do; we
shall get on, I doubt not.”

He even, after again consulting the thermometer,
put on his hat and coat, and accompanied me to the
head of the stairs. This I found to be his regular
practice whenever he left his sitting-room, which he
kept as nearly as possible to the same degree of
heat, summer and winter. I have sometimes seen
him take up his walking-stick as well, when going
across the passage to his bedroom in search of
a book; but after a few paces he would softly