BENNY'S ARITHMETIC LESSON.
Little Benny has just begun to go to school.
Some boys as young and active as he is would rather play all day long than to spend part of the time in the school-room; but he seems to like it.
Almost every day he comes running home, saying, "I've learned something more to-day;" and, after he has told us about it, we send him out of doors with his little cousins, who live close by.
We know that all work and no play would make Benny a dull boy.
To-day he felt very proud, because he had been learning to add. He said that he could say the first table.
I told him to begin, and I would tell him if he was right.
So he began; and this is the way it went on:—
Benny.—One and one are two.
Mamma.—That is very true.
Benny.—Two and one are three.
Mamma.—Nought could better be.
Benny.—Four and one are five.
Mamma.—True as I'm alive.
Benny.—Five and one are six.
Mamma.—That's a pretty fix.
Benny.—Six and one are seven.
Mamma.—Thought you'd say eleven.
Benny.—Seven and one are eight.
Mamma.—Bless your curly pate!
Benny.—Eight and one are nine.
Mamma.—Why, how very fine!
Benny.—Nine and one are ten.
Mamma.—Pretty good for Ben.
We had a good hearty laugh when we got through; for Benny's earnest way of reciting pleased me, and he enjoyed the emphatic manner in which I replied to his additions. How many of the little "Nursery" boys can say the table that Benny did?
C. H.
