"Well, what did the goose do?" asked Johnny's mother, with a smile of expectation.
"Why, this goose didn't do anything, but she is being taught her letters with big red blocks, and after awhile I suppose she'll be able to read Mother Goose. Won't she be surprised to find out that there was ever a poet in the family?" As Johnny's mother made no reply, he continued, pleasantly:
"I hope the poor goose won't ruin her eyes when she does know how to read, because it would be awful if she had to wear eye-glasses like grandmamma. I suppose she is now studying hard and going to school just like a little girl."
"There isn't any school for geese, is there, Johnny?"
"No; I forgot when I said she was going to a regular school. She is being taught at home by her owner. Don't you think it very kind of this good man to teach the poor goose to read?"
"It is, Johnny; but I can't see the use in it."
"There may be no use in it," replied Johnny, who was not a little surprised at his mother's view; "but I think it will be very nice for the goose to be able to enjoy picture-books and read fairy tales, especially when the pond's frozen and she cannot go swimming, and when the snow is so deep that she can't go rooting around. Besides, when the lawn is nice and green she can read the sign 'Keep off the Grass,' and, of course, she will do it, because when she is educated she will be more polite and refined. And then when the goslings crawl under her at night she can put them to sleep by singing to them little songs, and she can also tell them pretty stories about giants and fairy princesses when they are swimming around the mill-pond, and then she will teach the goslings to read. But there's one thing they will never do."
"What's that, Johnny?"
"Why, if they ever learn to write they won't do it with goose-quills. But I suppose they will wander into the house, and sit on the sofa in the library, and read books. Now suppose you were a goose, mamma, wouldn't you like to be able to read?"
"I don't know, Johnny."