Clem reached up at once and laid his fingers on it, gently as a butterfly alights on a flower.
"How does it swing?"
"On gimbals."
"Eh? and what may gimbals be?"
"There's a ring fastened here,"—the boy's fingers found it—"and swinging to and fro; and inside the ring is a bar, holding the lamp so that it tips to and fro crossways to the ring. You weight the bottom of the lamp, and then it keeps plumb upright however the ship moves."
"Wunnerful memory you've got, to be sure—and your gran'father tells me you can't even read!"
"But he knows his letters," Myra announced proudly; "and when the new teacher comes he's to go to school with me. Susannah says so."
"How in the world did you teach'n his letters, child?"
"I cut them on the match-boarding inside the summer-house, and he traces them out with his fingers. If you go up you can see for yourself—the whole lot from A to Ampassy! He never makes a mistake—do you, Clem? And I've begun to cut out 'Our Father,' but it's slow work."
"Did ever you hear tell!" Mrs. Purchase turned to her husband, who had come out of his reverie and sat regarding Clem with something like lively interest. He had, in fact, opened his mouth to utter a scriptural quotation, but, checked on the verge of it, dropped back into pensiveness.