Miss Spring, meanwhile, had risen; going to the table, she put on her glasses and bent over Maso's book. "History?" "Yes, 'm. I haven't got very far yet," Maso answered. "Reader. Copy-book. Geography. Spelling-book. Arithmetic," said Miss Spring, turning the books over one by one. "The Arithmetic appears to be the cleanest." "Disuse," said Mrs. Roscoe, from her easy-chair. "As I am Maso's teacher, and as I hate arithmetic, we have never gone very far. I don't know what we shall do when we get to fractions!" "And what is your dog doing on the table, may I ask?" inquired the visitor, surveying Mr. Tiber coldly. "Oh, he helps lots. I couldn't study at all without him," explained Maso, with eagerness. "Indeed?" said Miss Spring, turning the gaze of her glasses from the dog to his master. "How's that?" Maso was always rather afraid of the tall Roberta; he curled the pages of his History with stubby fingers and made no reply. "If you won't tell, Maso, I shall," said his mother; "I shall do it to make you ashamed of your baby ways. He divides each lesson, Miss Spring, into four parts, if you please; then, as each part is learned (or supposed to be learned), Mr. Tiber has to sit on his hind legs and wave a paw. Then, when all four parts are done, Mr. Tiber has to lie on the book. Book after book is added to the pile, and finally Mr. Tiber is on top of a monument. But he is so used to it that he does not mind it much. After the last lesson is learned, then Mr. Tiber, as a celebration, has to go through all the tricks. And there are twenty-two." "Well!" said Miss Spring. She never could comprehend what she called "all this dog business" of the Roscoes. And their dog language (they had one) routed her completely. "Twenty-two!" "An' _gherry_ kinnin, idn't they?" Maso was whispering to his pet. "Why did you name him Mr. Tiber?" pursued the visitor, in her grave voice. "We didn't; he was already named," explained Mrs. Roscoe. "We bought him of an old lady in Rome, who had three; she had named them after Italian rivers: Mr. Arno, Mr. Tiber, and Miss Dora Riparia." "Miss Dora Riparia--well!" said Miss Spring. Then she turned to subjects more within her comprehension. "It is a pity I am going away, Maso, for I could have taught you arithmetic; I like to teach arithmetic." Maso made no answer save an imbecile grin. His mother gesticulated at him behind Miss Spring's back. Then he muttered, "Thank you, 'm," hoping fervently that the Munich plan was secure. "I shall get a tutor for Maso before long," remarked Mrs. Roscoe, as Miss Spring came back to the fire. "Later, my idea is to have him go to Oxford." Miss Spring looked as though she were uttering, mentally, another "well!" The lack of agreement in the various statements of her pretty little countrywoman always puzzled her; she could understand crime better than inconsistency. "Shall you stay long in Munich?" Violet inquired.