"It is nothing very bad, Nelly," said Miss Powell, laughing, but looking, as Nelly thought, a little vexed. "An object really means any thing that you can see, or take hold of, or think about. This work of mine is an object, and that pretty doll there, and that red basket. So, you see, it was not a very ugly name."
"It sounded ugly as she said it," persisted Nelly.
"Perhaps so. But Nelly, if you had a proper dress would you like to come to Sunday-school?"
Nelly hesitated.
"Say just what you think," said Miss Powell.
"I should like to learn to read a little, first," said Nelly. "I couldn't learn lessons unless I could read; and I should be ashamed, such a big girl as me, to go with the little ones. I should feel so awkward I shouldn't know what to do."
A good many people would have considered this false shame on Nelly's part, and would have endeavoured to reason or laugh her out of it, in order to bring her at once into Sunday-school. Miss Powell thought differently. She believed Nelly's shame at her own ignorance would be the best spur in driving her to learn. She saw, too, that Nelly's feelings were very strong, and easily excited, and she was afraid that the laughter she might be exposed to from the other children in the infant-room would be likely enough to disgust her and drive her away altogether.
"Well, Nelly, perhaps you are right," said she. "I rather think you are. In fact, when you do come, I want to have you either in my class or Miss Kirkland's; and you could not well be in either unless you knew how to read."
"Does Miss Kirkland have a class,—that lady that gave me the thread and shuttle?"
"That is Mrs. Kirkland. She has a class of little boys. The young lady with fair hair down in the shop is Miss Kirkland,—the one who gave you the braid to bring up to me."