“Shall I? Can I? I never did before; but I daresay I could,” Arthur said, and he was half pleased and half afraid.
“Will that do?” he asked, after a long time had been spent, very carefully trying to write his best on the thin envelope.
“Why, Arthur, you are getting out of practice with your writing, I should think,” said his aunt. And she thought this might lead on to her proposal, about the school.
“No; I don’t write well, I know,” said Arthur; “but I try; and I heard some one once say, that it is not always the most stupid people who write the worst.”
Mrs. Estcourt laughed.
“No, my dear little boy, I did not say it was. But, dear Arthur, seriously, I think you ought to write better, and I am afraid you will be getting bad habits. Don’t you think it would be a good thing for you to begin school?”
“What, the boys’ school that mother told me about? Oh, I was hoping you were going to say something about that! Shall I soon be able to go?”
“Do you want to go?” asked his aunt, astonished.
“Oh, yes! I should think so.”
“Then, my dear boy, you shall begin to-morrow, if you like. I have spoken to Mr. Carey about your coming; so I can send over a note this evening to let him know.”