w her.

It was a small room under the staircase. Within were two beds, placed
face to face; on one I recognized my own pillows which I had brought
with me, so that must be my sleeping place. Beside the window was a
writing-table on which was burning a single candle, its wick so badly
trimmed as to prove that he who should have trimmed it had been so
deeply engaged in work that he had not remarked whether darkness or
light surrounded him.

Weeping, his head buried in his hands, my friend Henrik was sitting at
that table; as the door opened he raised his head from the book over
which he was poring. He greatly resembled his mother and grandmother:
he had just such a pronounced nose; but he had bristly hair, like his
father, only black and not so closely cropped. He, too, had the family
wart, actually in the middle of his nose.

As he looked up from his book, in a moment his countenance changed
rapidly from fear to delight, from delight to suspicion. The poor boy
thought he had gained a respite, and that the messenger had come with
the white serviette to invite him to supper: he smiled at Fanny
entreating compassion, and then, when he saw me, became embarrassed.

Fanny approached him with an enquiring air, placed one hand on his
thigh, with the other pointed to the open book, probably intending to
ask him whether he knew his lessons.

The great lanky boy rose obediently before his little confessor, who
scarce reached to his shoulder, and proceeded to put himself to rights.
He handed the book to Fanny, casting a farewell glance at the
disgusting, insufferable words; and with a great gulp by which he hoped
to remove all obstacles from the way of the lines he had to utter,
cleared his throat and began:--

"His abacem, phylacem ..."

Fanny shook her head. It was not good.

Henrik was frightened. He began again:

"His abacem, coracem...."

Again it was wrong. The poor boy began over five or six times, but could
not place those pagan words in the correct order, and as the mischievous
girl shook her head each time he made a mistake, he finally became so
confused that he could not even begin; then he reddened with anger, and,
gnashing his teeth, tore the graceless book out of Fanny's hand, threw
it down upon the table and commenced an assault upon the heathen words,
and with glaring eyes read the million-times repeated incantation: "His
abacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem facemque," striking the back of his
head with cl