"And can't you write?" questioned Dora.
"Me?" said Tode, growing gleeful over the thought. "I shouldn't think I could."
"Aren't you ever going to learn?"
"Never thought of it. Is it fun? No, I don't suppose I'll ever learn. Yes, I will, too. You learn me, will you?"
"How could I? Do you mean it? Do you truly want to learn? Dear me! I never could teach you; mamma wouldn't allow it."
For an answer Tode stepped boldly forward, deterred by no feeling of impropriety, and looked over the little lady's shoulder at the round fair letters.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the first letter of a sentence.
"That is T; capital T. Why, that's the very first letter of your name."
"I don't see anything capital about it; it twists around like a snake. What do you curl it all up like that for?"
"Why, that's the way to make it. Mamma says I make a very pretty letter T, and it's a capital because—because—Oh, Pliny, why is it a capital?"