a tone suggesting contempt for his own position rather than respect for
that of Johan's father. "But Keith has his toys, and that ought to be
enough for him."

"It _is_ rather lonely for him," the mother rejoined, "and he should get
out a little, I suppose, but I hate to have him playing about the
streets, and I fear Johan's manners are not very good."

"The best thing is to send him to school," said the father.

"What are you talking of, Carl," the mother cried. "The idea--when he is
barely five!"

"He knows more about the letters than I did when I began school at
seven," the father came back unperturbed.

"I don't think it would be very bad for him to play a little with Johan
now and then," said the mother evasively, bending down to kiss Keith,
who had snuggled up to her during the preceding talk. Then she put her
hand through his waves of almost flaxen hair, bent his head slightly
backward, looked straight into his eyes, and asked:

"You don't want to leave me, do you?"

"No," said Keith, hugging her passionately, "but I think I should like
to go to school."

The idea carried no distinct image to his mind, and he felt a little
timid toward all those unknown possibilities implied by the word school,
but this slight feeling of hesitation was swamped by a longing so