"Better than me?" Chris asked anxiously.
"Well, write and spell your very best, and then I shall be able to tell," I replied with caution. The mention of my small friend of advanced powers as scribe and speller proved a happy thought on my part. The effect was excellent. Chris's mood changed; his lazy fit passed away in a burning desire to emulate—not to say outdistance—his unknown rival. With frowning brow and tongue between his teeth, he laboured assiduously at his copy, without uttering a word, whilst Granny, lulled by the quiet which prevailed, slept the sleep of the just.
I felt, indeed I had cause to be, fully satisfied with the result of my remark, for its effects lasted not only whilst the copy was being written but even through the spelling-lesson; an effect that could hardly have been anticipated when the varying moods of that little beggar were taken into consideration.
As I closed the spelling-book, "Miss Beggarley," he said, gazing at me with anxious eyes, "have I written my writing and spelt my spelling as well as that other boy?"
"Yes, I really think you have; at least very nearly."
"P'r'aps I shall quite, to-morrow."
"Perhaps you will—if you take great pains."
"Shall I kiss my Granny?"
"No, you will wake her up."
"Why does she want to go to sleep? She often goes to sleep when she does my lessons. Do boys' lessons always make old people sleepy?"