first, and there was Mr. P. reading away with his big spectacles on, and some dreadfully wise old book held close to his nose. As he did not look up, Bertie tapped softly, but Mr. P. did not hear. Then this resolute young person pushed up the window, walked coolly in, and stood close to the student's side. But Mr. P. did not see him till the remarkable appearance of a small blue mitten right in the middle of Plato's Republic, caused the Professor to start and stare at it with such a funny expression of bewilderment that Bertie could not help laughing.
The blithe sound seemed to wake the man out of a dream, for, falling back in his chair, he sat blinking at the child like a surprised owl.
"Please, sir, I knocked, but you didn't hear, so I came in," said Bertie, with an engaging smile, as he respectfully pulled off his cap and looked up at the big spectacles with bright, confiding eyes.
"What did you wish, boy?" asked the Professor, in a solemn, yet not ungentle, tone.
"I wanted to know if you would tell me how I could learn bird-talk."
"What?" and the man stared at the child harder than ever.
"Perhaps I'd better sit down and 'splain all about
