"I know. Thought I might as well look into that one, too, while I'm at it. Just give your globe and chimney a minute to cool." "Oh, of course!--certainly." "Don't s'pose you want to stand a new mantel for the lamp?" "I'm enough of a sport, but I fear there's not a new one in the house." "Hold it for me, please," said the boy. A pinpoint of light had appeared in the blackness; it moved toward Charles's hand. He received the little searchlight, let it go out, hastily found and pushed the button again. And then Miss Angela's brother began to take his lamp all apart, cleaning it, blowing through it at unexpected places, and wiping the parts with a dark oily rag, which, luckily enough, he seemed to have in his coat-pocket. The lad's single-mindedness, his un-selfconscious matter-of-factness had attracted Charles at sight. He recalled what Mary Wing had told him of Wallie Flower's struggles to get an education. Thus, as the light-repairing proceeded in the almost total darkness, a conversation grew up, at first largely question and answer. And the upshot of it was that Charles, as a tutor, offered to instruct Wallie Flower, free gratis, in German and English, the two college entrance subjects in which he was still somewhat deficient. This odd development came at the end of the talk, when the illuminating power of both Charles's and the Judge's lights had been notably improved. When the brother understood that further education was being offered him for nothing, a gleam came suddenly into his oddly mature gaze. He almost exclaimed: "Do you know German?" "You might say I wrote it." He pondered. "That means you do know it?" "Like a member of the family." "Do you teach nights?" "I'm going to teach you nights." And it was so arranged, the lessons to begin directly after Christmas. The boy became briefly embarrassed, boggling over his thanks. But Charles cut him short. "I'm doing it because I want to. That's the only reason I ever do anything." Relieved, Miss Angela's brother turned to the door, for all the world like one who had come to mend the lamps, and nothing else. "By the way," said Charles, casually. "Thank your sister for her note, and say that I'll send an answer by mail." He was left pleased with the interview, and with himself. In the generous gift of three hours a week to Angela's brother, he perceived something fitting and compensatory. If obligation existed--and it did, in a way--did not this discharge it, subtly and modernly? Kiss the sister on the sofa, tutor the brother in the Studio--what more fair or honorable than that?