The boy’s mind was inquisitive and ingenious. He pestered his father, after the visitor had gone, for an explanation as to what he meant by digesting the book.
“Why, sonny,” returned David, knitting his brows very hard, for the question was somewhat of a puzzler, “he means that you’ve got to stow away in your brain the knowledge that’s in the book, an’ work away at it—di-gest it, d’ee see—same as you stow grub into yer stummick an’ digest that.”
Billy pondered this a long time till a happy thought occurred to him.
“I’ll digest it,” said he, slapping his thigh one day when he was left alone in the house. “We’ll all di-gest it together!”
He jumped up, took the lid off a pot of pea-soup that was boiling on the fire, and dropped the hated book into it.
“What’s this i’ the soup, Nell?” said David that day at dinner, as he fished a mass of curious substance out of the pot. “Many a queer thing have I fished up i’ the trawl from the bottom o’ the North Sea, but ne’er afore did I make such a haul as this in a pot o’ pea-soup. What is’t?”
“Why, David,” replied the wife, examining the substance with a puzzled expression, “I do believe it’s the primer!”
They both turned their eyes inquiringly on the boy, who sat gravely watching them.
“All right, father,” he said, “I put ’im in. We’re a-goin’ to di-gest it, you know.”
“Dirty boy!” exclaimed his mother, flinging the remains of the boiled book under the grate. “You’ve ruined the soup.”