His dark eyes were full of appeal.
"You no talk to teacher any more about me?" he besought. "You no
tell her my father lazy, we no-'count folks?"
Timoteo's voice shook. He hurried on: "I like teacher. I try be
clean. I wash my hands, my face, all time. I do ver' good to the
teacher. But my mother differ from your mother. Your mother give you
nice clean shirt and clothes. My mother too poor. I try learn, read,
spell. I grow like American boy."
It was the appeal of a soul that looked from Timoteo's eyes. Herbert
flushed.
"Why, you poor fellow, of course you try!" he answered heartily. "I-
-I'm sorry if I've ever said anything to the teacher that made you
feel badly, Timoteo. I won't do it again, and the other boys
sha'n't, either! The teacher knows how hard you try. She said the
other day that you were a good boy. Come on up to our house. Won't
you?"
But Timoteo smiled, and shook his head, and went away on the long
road that led toward home. The heart of the Spanish boy was very
happy. He had done good to his enemy, and that enemy was turned into
a friend. And the teacher had said that Timoteo was a good boy! She
knew how hard he tried!
Timoteo sang for joy as he ran.
"I will learn! I will learn! I shall be like los Americanos!" he
sang, and then he remembered how he had been tempted for one instant
not to help Herbert.
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