"Oh yes!" said Martin, still laughing, "it must have been that long ago. I read his life only a short time since, in the edition of 'Dushenka' which we have. It was surely Bogdanovitch whom you lived with. Why, Nicolai Petrovitch, you ought to be proud of having had such a master! He was one of our great poets. He wrote the song of the shepherdess, and he wrote the 'Dushenka.' He might have acted very simply when he was young, but he certainly became a great poet." "So he wrote the shepherdess song, did he?" said Nicolai. "Yes, he wrote that, and many other good things, and he became quite a famous man. Queen Catharine thought a great deal of him, and the people at court paid him many honors. They did not consider him a fool, as you did. If you would like to know all about what happened to this young boy who was such a simpleton, I will lend you the book with his life in it, and Axinia Nicolaievna can read it to you." "My little Martin Ivanovitch," said the old man, picking up his knife and the yet unfinished rake, "I do not believe that I ever could have become a poet, even if I had known how to read and write. It would have been impossible for me to have gone to a fire in my night-clothes!" [Illustration] THE PROFESSOR. BY CLARENCE COOK. The Professor seated himself at the luncheon-table with an air of importance. He was twelve years old, but he might have been taken for six, or even for three, he looked so wise. The children's nurse poured herself out a cup of tea. The teapot was too full, and a large drop fell upon the shining mahogany table. The Professor looked at the drop with evident pleasure. "Stop, nurse!" he cried, as she was about to wipe it up with her napkin. "Let's see who can take up that tea without touching it, and leave the table dry!" "Thuck it up," said Pip. "Mamma doesn't like you to drink tea," said nurse. "Besides, that would be touching it," said Tom. "Take it up with a thpoon," said Pip. "You couldn't do it; it would spread all over," said the Professor. "And that would be touching it just as much," said Bob. "Don't fink it can be done!" said Pip, shaking her head. "All shut your eyes," said the Professor. "You, nurse, shut yours, too. Don't any of you look." Nurse shut both her eyes, hard. Pip put her two fat little fists into her eyes, and listened. Tom laid his head down sideways on the table, and curled his arms round it. Bob declared that he wouldn't shut his eyes; he was going to see that the Professor acted fair. "Now open your eyes," said the Professor. They all looked up, and there stood the sage, who had covered the drop with a little blue bowl. He lifted the bowl, and, on the spot where had been the drop of tea, stood a lump of loaf-sugar holding up the tea in its paws, or pores, whichever you please. Nurse picked up the lump of sugar and ate it. The table was as dry as a bone. "Oh, my!" said Pip. * * * The Professor walked over to the window.