But she had not been asleep; or our voices had aroused her. For at this moment she sat up, and looked at us, one after another. Then she rose, and came softly to Jack’s side, and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Jack, may I ask a question?” she said. “I want to see if I can’t help you.”
[CHAPTER XII.]
CAN AND CAN’T.
JACK caught Maimie’s little hand and kissed it. “To be sure,” he said. “Ask anything you like. I don’t see how you can help me, though.”
“What are all these mistakes that you make?” she inquired.
“Oh,—stupid things,—all sorts. In spelling,—words that I really know quite well I go and spell all wrong, and don’t see till the mischief is done. And then there’s scratching out, and spoilt paper, and wasted time. I’m an awful idiot, of course,—I know that well enough. You can’t think worse of me than I think of myself, Maimie.” And he sat as if he were awaiting her sentence.
“Jack,—” she said slowly. Then she stopped, and began again,—“But, Jack,—you know what it all means?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“It means want of attention,” she said. “It means that you don’t give your mind to what you are doing. And, Jack,—you can get over that.”