‘I cannot do this sum, it is so difficult.’
‘Bring your slate here;’ and Alice did so, and grandmamma said, ‘What is difficult?—show me.’
‘I do not know what nine times seven are?’
‘Not know what nine times seven are? Think a little, dear child; you know it well, because you said your multiplication of nine to me only yesterday. What is seven times nine?’
‘Seven times nine are sixty-three; but I want to know what nine times seven are?’
‘The same thing—sixty-three!’
‘So it is;’ and Alice laughed, but soon began to cry again; and when grandmamma asked her what was the matter now, she only sobbed the more, and could not speak at first. At last she said with many a sob,’ I cannot learn this long piece of poetry, and do these three sums, and learn my spelling, in time to go out with you this morning.’
‘Why not, my little girl?’ said grandmamma, gently. ‘I have never seen you shed a tear over your lessons before.’
‘Because—because—’ and Alice began to cry again.
‘Crying will not help you, Alice; wipe away those naughty tears and listen to me.