He is a little bit of a fellow. He can't read any more than a mouse can; but he is very fond of standing in this way, beside his mother, while she points to the words and pronounces them; then it is easy to read them.

Last Tuesday morning he was reading this verse: "A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." There were two listeners to this lesson. Warren's father in the study was having a great hunt after some papers, but in his haste he couldn't help stopping to listen to the sweet little voice repeating the long words.

"Mamma," he called at last, "seems to me that is a long verse, and one almost beyond the little man's understanding isn't it?"

Mamma laughed. "I think so," she said. "But the trouble is Warren doesn't; his sister Laura has been learning this verse, and he wants to."

In the little reading-room opening from the study, Uncle Warren, a gay young chap who was boarding at his sister's, listened and laughed over the words that sounded so queerly, coming from the baby lips. Over and over they were repeated: "A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." As he listened Uncle Warren's handsome face grew sober, he was writing letters, and many papers were strewn before him. He took up one of them and read it over:

"Dear old fellow:—You have buried yourself in your sister's arms long enough. Don't be tied to her apron-string; come down to-night, we are going to have a real jolly time in Joe's room. Mum is the word."

Uncle Warren laid it down again and took up another. It read:

"Don't allow yourself to be caught in places where everything is to be kept secret. When boys begin to keep their pleasures from their best friends, it generally shows there is something wrong. I've been a little worried about your evenings. I hope you will be prudent as to how you spend them. Remember you are your father's only son."

Over the first reading of this letter, Warren had said, "Poh! Fiddlesticks! He thinks I am a baby," and laying it down had begun a reply to the other, that read thus: "Dear Dick:—I'll be on hand, though I don't suppose our governors would like it much."

Little Warren, in the other room, went on struggling with the long words, "A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." How exactly to the point it was, even about the prudent part. It startled him a little. He tore Dick's letter into little bits, while he listened and thought. Then he took up his father's letter once more and read it over slowly; then with a sudden decided movement, he tore the letter he was writing into halves, and put it into the waste basket, and rapidly wrote this in it's place: "Dick:—I can't come. My father wouldn't approve; neither will yours. In haste, Warren."

Then he went out and kissed little Warren on his nose, on his eyes, on his chin, three times for each; and that was all that either the little boy or his mother knew about the work that had been done in the library.