"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 that 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