The girl laughed. “Why now’s the time to go to school, before you grow up. You can’t go afterwards.”
“Can’t I?” the boy asked anxiously, “I ain’t got time now.”
“Haven’t you been to school at all?”
“Six weeks when I were ten, and four weeks when I were eight.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you can’t read?”
“I’s feared I’s forgot. I can print some.”
Hazel thought a moment, and then said, “Would you like me to teach you, Scip? I’m not busy. I don’t have anything that I have to do except make my bed, and of course I help Granny with the dishes and ironing. I can iron nicely now, and I can spin, too. But I could teach you any time you would come. I have books.”
Scipio dug a stick in the ground and scattered the pine-cones. “I ain’t smart,” he muttered. “I’s feared you couldn’t learn me.”