It was easy to see that maternal pride had presided over the youth's toilet; though his attire was of the simplest, most inexpensive kind, yet the pretty cerise satin cravat was remarkably becoming to a person of his complexion, his shirt front was dazzling in its whiteness, there were large pearl buttons on his nankeen vest, and his hands, far from resembling the frightful paws of the average schoolboy, with dirty nails often bitten down to the quick, and grimy, ink-stained knuckles, were as well cared for as those of his young mother, and like hers were adorned with pink, beautifully kept nails of faultless colour. (Mothers of sixteen-year-old sons will understand and appreciate these apparently insignificant details.) As we have already remarked, Frederick and his mother, seated opposite each other at the same table, were working, or rather digging away hard, as school-boys say, each having a volume of "The Vicar of Wakefield" to the left of them, and in front of them a sheet of foolscap which was already nearly filled. "Pass me the dictionary, Frederick," said Madame Bastien, without raising her eyes, but extending her pretty hand to her son. "Oh, the dictionary," responded Frederick, in a tone of mocking compassion, "the idea of being obliged to depend upon a dictionary!" But he gave the book to his mother, not without kissing the pretty hand extended for it, however. Marie, still without taking her eyes from her book, smiled without replying, then, placing her ivory penholder between her little teeth, which made the penholder look almost yellow in comparison, began to turn the leaves of the dictionary. Profiting by this moment of inattention, Frederick rose from his chair, and placing his two hands upon the table, leaned over to see now far his mother had proceeded with her translation. "Ah, ah, Frederick, you are trying to copy," said Marie, gaily, dropping the dictionary and placing her hands on the paper as if to protect it from her son's eyes. "I have caught you this time." "No, nothing of the kind," replied Frederick, dropping into his chair again. "I only wanted to see if you were as far along as I am." "All I know is that I have finished," responded Madame Bastien, with a triumphant air. "What, already?" exclaimed Frederick, humbly. As he spoke, the tall clock in the corner, after an ominous creaking and groaning, began to strike five. "Good, it is time for recess!" exclaimed Marie, joyfully. "Do you hear, Frederick?" And springing up, the young woman ran to her son. "Give me ten minutes, and I will be done," pleaded Frederick, writing for dear life; "just ten minutes!" But with charming petulance the young mother placed a paper-weight on the unfinished translation, slammed her son's books together, took his pen out of his hand, and half led, half dragged him out into the grove. It must be admitted that Frederick offered no very determined resistance to his mother's despotic will, however. CHAPTER II.