"I don't love it myself, but I can do it well enough when I want to,"
said Tommy, after a surprised look, which said as plainly as words,
"A boy twelve years old and can't read!"

"I can read music, anyway," added Nat, rather ruffled at having to
confess his ignorance.

"I can't;" and Tommy spoke in a respectful tone, which
emboldened Nat to say firmly,

"I mean to study real hard and learn every thing I can, for I never
had a chance before. Does Mr. Bhaer give hard lessons?"

"No; he isn't a bit cross; he sort of explains and gives you a boost
over the hard places. Some folks don't; my other master didn't. If
we missed a word, didn't we get raps on the head!" and Tommy
rubbed his own pate as if it tingled yet with the liberal supply of
raps, the memory of which was the only thing he brought away
after a year with his "other master."

"I think I could read this," said Nat, who had been examining the
books.

"Read a bit, then; I'll help you," resumed Tommy, with a
patronizing air.

So Nat did his best, and floundered through a page with may
friendly "boosts" from Tommy, who told him he would soon "go
it" as well as anybody. Then they sat and talked boy-fashion about