"All right; it's a bargain," I answered. "We'll begin this very minute. Have you noticed that I talk differently from you, and Granf'er, and Granny'?"
Her mouth was set firmly as her chin moved up and down. I think she was a little scared at the beginning of her lessons.
"I talk correctly, and you talk incorrectly. That's hard to say, but we can't build without solid truth for a foundation. You should learn to speak correctly in a very short time, if you will be very careful, and try. It will take longer to learn to read, and write, but even that will not prove such a great task. Now, answer me—why did you come here to-day?"
"I come 'cause I wanted to!"
Quick as a flash her reply was out, and I could see she was watching me in a fascinated, apprehensive manner. I smiled to reassure her.
"You should say—'I came be-cause I wanted to.' Say it that way."
"I—came—be-cause I wanted to!"
There was something almost pitiful in her fearful earnestness. This was the beginning of the opening of a sealed door before which she had stood so long, with no one to break the fastenings for her. She had put one hand against the dark trunk of the tree, and now her finger tips were white around the nails from the pressure she had unconsciously brought to bear, and she was trembling the least bit. Poor little Dryad in her windowless house! It must have been an ordeal for her.
How queerly that simple sentence broke upon my ears. It was the first perfect one she had ever spoken, and she enunciated it with painful precision, breathing each word forth in trepidation.
"Good!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands, whereat her tenseness vanished, and her bearing became like one who is somewhat confused, but happy. "Don't forget that, now. Always say 'I came.' Many of your words are not words at all, but fearful corruptions which long use and carelessness have made worse. Then you drop your 'gs' outrageously, but that is a fault you'll overcome by practice."