MY NIGHTINGALE. 17

with traces of tears on his face, which °
only vanished under his mother’s caresses.
“Canst thou not be one of them?”
asked his mother, for it grieved her to
think that her boy was differ ent from
other children.
“You see, mother,” he would say, “T-
can’t join in their games, and they don’t
like that, so they tease me. But it
doesn’t matter, for I shall soon know how
to read, and that is all I care for. Don’t
worry, mother dear.”

And a kiss on his mother’s thin cheek
would end the matter.

The teacher, as she watched Holger’s
earnest face, and marked how quickly
and eagerly he learned, thought to herself,
“He will be a great man some day.”

' At the end of the term Holger came
home radiant with pleasure, and throwing
himself into his mother’s arms, cried, half
laughing and half sobbing, “My best,
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