There was evidently some great matter of business on the young
man's mind, for he scarcely ate his breakfast, and left the table
soon, eagerly cramming the remainder of his meal in his pockets.

"Ma foi, but what now?" mused his mother, as she watched his
little form sturdily trudging the track in the face of the wind;
his head, with the rimless cap thrust close on the shock of black
hair, bent low; his hands thrust deep in the bulging pockets.

"A new live play-toy h'it may be," ventured the father; "he is
one funny chil."

The next day Titee was late for school. It was something
unusual, for he was always the first on hand to fix some plan of
mechanism to make the teacher miserable. She looked reprovingly
at him this morning, when he came in during arithmetic class, his
hair all wind-blown, his cheeks rosy from a hard fight with the
sharp blasts. But he made up for his tardiness by his extreme
goodness all day; just think, Titee did not even eat once before
noon, a something unparalleled in the entire previous history of
his school life.

When the lunch-hour came, and all the yard was a scene of feast
and fun, one of the boys found him standing by a post,
disconsolately watching a ham sandwich as it rapidly disappeared
down the throat of a sturdy, square-headed little fellow.

"Hello, Edgar," he said, "what you got fer lunch?"

"Nothin'," was the mournful reply.