She did not answer at once, but picked up a book, and held it so close to her face that it almost touched her nose; then staring at it till her eyes nearly jumped out of her head, she said—
“What name, likee this? likee this? likee this?”
I laughed at her and said—
“Bett-Bett, I hope I don’t look like that when I read,” for she looked a fearful little object. But I saw what was puzzling her; she could not understand why I sat looking so earnestly at little black marks on paper.
I explained that books could talk like “paper yabbers,” as she called letters—papers that “yabber,” or talk, you know.
Then I got a little ABC book, and some paper and pencils, and told her I would teach her to read; but it was easier said than done.
We began with the capital letters. Bett-Bett repeated “A” after me, and made it on paper, and then wanted to know what it was. Was it tucker, or an animal, or somebody’s name?
I sat looking so earnestly at little black marks on paper. “What did the mark say?” she asked. “What name him yabber, Missus, this one A?” were the exact words she used.
You remember that on Goggle Eye’s letter-stick marks were cut, and that every mark had a special meaning; so Bett-Bett was sure that “A” must be the name of something.
I couldn’t explain it, so told her that when she knew all the names of the letters, I would tell her what they meant, and we went on to B.