"'Of course you didn't know that Wurtzi was one of the boys in my school,' he replied, 'and more than that, he is the poorest boy in the school. He lives about three miles out of the village, and the only way in which he could secure his father's permission to allow him to come to school was that he should turn over to him the trifling sum we pay for janitor work.'" "Pretty good stuff in the boy to want to learn under those conditions," commented Hamilton. "He wanted to educate himself, and his mother was very ambitious. She is Polish, evidently of the better class--and, as you know, the Poles are one of the most intellectual races of the world--and the boy gets his brains from her. The school-master told me that two years ago the boy could neither read nor write his own name, and yet, within that time he had learned to rival his teacher in a fair contest! And during those two years he had been walking barefoot three miles to school, getting there by daybreak, making the fire, sweeping the floor, cleaning the windows, and then settling down to prepare his morning lessons before the opening of school. "I told Sinclair," the supervisor continued, "that I thought he ought to be ten times prouder of the success of his pupil than of the merits of an examination paper, because it took a higher degree of ability to teach well than merely to answer a set of test questions, and the boy must have been wonderfully well taught to achieve so much. He agreed with me, of course, but I could see that it irked him a little just the same. He volunteered, however, to assist his pupil as much as he could." "That was very decent of him, I think," Hamilton said, "lots of men would have borne a grudge. But did you say his name was Sinclair?" "Yes," the supervisor answered, "Gregory Sinclair. Why?" "And you said he had been in the mountains?" "Quite a good deal." "Then that must be Bill Wilsh's teacher," exclaimed Hamilton, and he told the supervisor the story of the "cunjer," the whittled schoolhouse and the "trying" scholar. "I've got the carving still," he concluded, "and as you probably will see Mr. Sinclair again soon, I wonder if you would give it to him for me. Don't forget to tell him that the door was made to appear open, to show him that he was expected back." "Of course, I shall be glad to give it to him," the supervisor answered, "and from what I know of Sinclair, I feel sure he will go back, though probably only in the holidays and for a visit. Where is this carving?" "At the hotel, sir," the boy answered, "I'll bring it over this afternoon. I'm sorry not to have had the chance of seeing him myself, he must be a fine chap." "He is," the supervisor agreed, "and he showed the stuff he was made of in connection with this poor lad in his school. I happen to know that he really put in a lot of time helping Wurtzi in order that he might make good." "You said the boy was Polish?"