The elder Ribsam took several puffs from his pipe, his eyes fixed
dreamily on the fire, as though in deep meditation. His wife sat in her
chair on the other side, and was busy with her knitting, while perhaps
her thoughts were wandering away to that loved Fatherland which she had
left so many years before, never to see again. Nellie had grown sleepy
and gone to bed.

Mr. Ribsam turned his head and looked at Nick. The boy was seated close
to the lamp on the table, and the scratching of his pencil on his slate
and his glances at the slip of paper lying on the stand, with the
problems written upon it, told plainly enough what occupied his
thoughts.

"Nicholas," said the father.

"Just one minute, please," replied the lad, glancing hastily up: "I am
on the last of the problems that Mr. Layton gave us for this week, and
I have it almost finished."

The protest of the boy was so respectful that the father resumed his
smoking and waited until Nick laid his slate on the table and wheeled
his chair around.

"There, father, I am through."

"Read owed loud dot sum von you shoost don't do."

"Mr. Layton gave a dozen original problems as he called them, to our
class to-day, and we have a week in which to solve them. I like that
kind of work, and so I kept at it this evening until I finished them