s knife and, after having
smoothed the wood on both sides, began to cut tiny pieces, twelve all of
equal size.

"I am going to carve a letter out of each piece of wood," he said,
looking up at me. I had not taken my eyes off of him. "You will learn
these letters from their shapes, and when you are able to tell me what
they are, at first sight, I'll form them into words. When you can read
the words, then you shall learn from a book."

I soon had my pockets full of little bits of wood, and was not long in
learning the letters of the alphabet, but to know how to read was quite
another thing. I could not get along very fast, and often I regretted
having expressed a wish to learn. I must say, however, it was not
because I was lazy, it was pride.

While teaching me my letters Vitalis thought that he would teach Capi
at the same time. If a dog could learn to tell the hour from a watch,
why could he not learn the letters? The pieces of wood were all spread
out on the grass, and he was taught that with his paw he must draw out
the letter for which he was asked.

At first I made more progress than he, but if I had quicker
intelligence, he had better memory. Once he learnt a thing he knew it
always. He did not forget. When I made a mistake Vitalis would say:

"Capi will learn to read before you, Remi."

And Capi, evidently understanding, proudly shook his tail.

I was so hurt that I applied myself to the task with all my heart, and
while the poor dog could get no farther than pulling out the four
letters which spelled his name, I finally learned to read from a book.

"Now that you know how to read words, how would you like to read music?"
asked Vitalis.

"If I knew how to read music could I sing like you?" I asked.

"Ah, so you would like to sing like me," he answered.

"I know that would be impossible, but I'd like to sing a little."

"Do you like to hear me sing, then?"

"I like it more than anything. It is better than the nightingales, but
it's not like their song at all. When you sing, sometimes I want to
cry, and sometimes I want to laugh. Don't think me silly, master, but
when you sing those songs, I think that I am back with dear Mother
Barberin. If I shut my eyes I can see her again in our little house, and
yet I don't know the words you sing, because they are Italian."

I looked up at him and saw the tears standing in his eyes; then I
stopped and asked him if what I had said hurt him.

"No, my child," he