"You have just hit it;" and he smiled approvingly. "It is the forces inside. There is a curious factory inside of us that keeps working, day and night, that supplies the blood, the warmth, the strength, and is always pushing out; it even enlarges the bones until one is grown and finished, as one may say. And the food you eat, the air you breathe, are the supplies." "But you go on eating and breathing. Why don't you go on growing?" There was a curious little knot in her forehead where the lines crossed, and she raised her eyes questioningly to him. What wonderful eyes they were! "I suppose it is partly this: You employ your mind and your body and they need more nourishment. Then--well, I think it is the restraining law of nature, else we should all be giants. In very hot countries and very cold countries they do not grow so large." He could not go into the intricacies of physiology, as he did with some of the students. "You did not go to school?" "Oh, no!" She laughed softly. "The native schools were funny. They sat on mats and did not have any books, but repeated after the teacher. And, sometimes, he beat them dreadfully. There were some English people had a school, but it was to teach the language to the natives. And then Mr. Cathcart came to stay with father. He had been the chaplain somewhere and wasn't well, so they gave him a--a----" "Furlough?" suggested Chilian. "Yes; father sent him out in one of the boats. He began to teach me some things. I could read, you know. And I could talk Hindostani some--with the children. Then I learned to spell and pronounce the words better. He had a few books of verses that were beautiful. I learned some of them by heart. And Latin." "Latin!" in surprise. "He had some books and a Testament. It was grand in the sound, and I liked it. There were many things, cases and such, that I couldn't get quite straight, but after a little I could read, and then make it over into English." When he was eight he was reading Latin and beginning French. Some of the Boston women he knew were very good French scholars, though education was not looked upon as a necessity for women. It seemed odd to him--this little girl in Calcutta learning Latin. "Let us see how far you have gone." Teaching never irked him when he once set about it. He hunted up a simple Latin primer. "Come around this side;" and he drew her nearer to him. There had been no little girls to train and teach, and for a moment he felt embarrassed. But she took it as a matter of course, and he could see she was all interest. It had been, as he supposed, rather desultory teaching. But she took the corrections and explanations with a sweetness that was quite enchanting. And she could translate quite well, in an idiomatic fashion. Really, with the right kind of training she would make a good scholar.