Next time you dictate a word ending in ais, he won't be caught again.
He leaves a blank or makes a blot.
You must never take it for granted that you have given this boy all the explanations he requires to get on with his work. You will always find that there is something you have omitted to tell him.
He is not hopelessly stupid, he personifies the vis inertiæ; he is indifferent, and takes but one step at a time.
He will tell you he did not know that there were notes at the end of his French text-books. When he knows that there are such notes, he will inform you next time that you did not tell him he was to look at them.
He sees things, but at first he does not know what they are for unless they are labelled, and he will ignore the use of a chair if you do not point out the flat part of this piece of furniture, or better still, touch it, saying, "Chair—to sit upon."
The following are bits of conversation you will have with him in the class-room:
"How is it you have no copy to give me?"
"I thought we only had to prepare the piece."