"You certainly appear to be quite happy," said Paula, as we passed the
Breton's garden one evening where he was whistling merrily at his work.
"I certainly am that," said he, raising his head. "There's just one weight
on my heart yet, however."
"And what's that?" Paula's voice was sympathetic.
"It's that I cannot read."
"But I didn't think that that fact interested you very much."
"Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, but I didn't comprehend what I had lost, but
now I'd give my left hand if I could only read."
"Poor Breton," I said. It seemed to me we were a bit helpless before such a
problem.
"It isn't that I want to become a fine gentleman, and all that"; and the
Breton turned to address me also--"It's simply that I want to be able to
read the Great Book that tells about God and His Son Jesus Christ. Also I
would like to help my children that they might have a better chance than
hitherto I have given them. But there you are! I'm just a poor ignorant
man, and I suppose I always shall be."
"Well," said Paula, "why don't you attend the night school?"
"No, Mademoiselle," and the Breton shook his head; "that's all very well
for the young fellows who have learned a little something and wish to learn
a bit more.
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