The following day you find a letter awaiting you at school. It is from his indignant mother. She informs you that she fears her little boy will not learn much in the class you have put him in. He ought to be in one of the advanced classes. He has read Voltaire [ [4] ] and can speak French.
She knows he can, she heard him at Boulogne, and he got on very well. The natives there had no secrets for him; he could understand all they said.
You feel it to be your duty not to comply with the lady's wishes, and you have made a bitter enemy to yourself and the school.
This boy never takes for granted the truth of the statements you make in the class-room. What you say may be all right; but when he gets home he will ask his mamma if it is all true.
He is fond of arguing, and has no sympathy with his teacher. He tries to find him at fault.
A favorite remark of his is this:
"Please, sir, you said the other day that so-and-so was right. Why do you mark a mistake in my exercise to-day?"
You explain to him why he is wrong, and he goes back to his seat grumbling. He sees he is wrong; but he is not cured. He hopes to be more lucky next time.
When you meet his mother, she asks you what you think of the boy.
"A very nice boy indeed," you say; "only I sometimes wish he had more confidence in me; he is rather fond of arguing."