“You said a garment and isn’t a coat a garment?”
“Yes, but it would be a funny looking coat if I made it, that is if I sewed it. When I learn to knit I might make you a sweater. Would you like that? You could wear it when you go up to Cousin Ned’s to fish.”
“I’d be delighted to have it. When do you think you will get it done?”
“Oh, dear, I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to learn knitting. Win said crochet was easier, but I don’t believe it is, at least not for me. Grad, how did you learn to spell and write as well as you do?”
“Oho! I thought you didn’t think those accomplishments necessary. You’ve always maintained that you would use a typewriter, and that spelling didn’t matter so long as one understood what was written.”
“Yes, I know, but I have changed my mind. You see a lot of my school work has to be written and I get fearful marks sometimes just because I make so many mistakes and write so horribly. How did you learn? I love the way you write.”
“Well, let me see. I shall have to go back fifty years or more when it was considered a part of every one’s education to write a good hand. We had a special teacher at school and I remember laboring painstakingly to make my copybook the best in my class. As for spelling, it was a great thing when one could jump from the foot to the head of the class when a particularly hard word was given out. We used to stand in a row against the wall. Sometimes the whole school would be in the spelling match, and the last one left standing had outspelled the others, for as each one missed a word down he must sit.”
“How exciting! I wish they would do that way now. It was like a play, wasn’t it? Were you ever the last one left standing?”
“Yes, I was several times, as I remember it, but if I happened to be the first to miss a word how disgraced I did feel. I was very ambitious about my writing and practised penmanship in the evenings after I had studied my lessons. My father, who was an exceedingly good penman, would set me a copy on my slate.”
“I’m going to do that,” declared Joanne, throwing down her crocheting. “I haven’t a slate, to be sure, but I can use paper. Will you set me a copy, Grad? I’d love to write like you.” She fumbled among the papers on his desk and finally brought forth a large sheet upon which her grandfather amusedly set her a copy at which she labored till bedtime.