So Lewis became deeply discouraged.
One day when he felt sure of only one thing, and that was that he could not spell, he did what I am ashamed to tell you of. He opened his book, under the shadowy screen of the desk lid, and peeped. Were there two l's? Did i come first, or e? Alas! Lewis knew. He saw the letters plainly, and he spelled them boldly and clearly.
"Right," said the trusting teacher, with a smile of approval which went straight to the boy's heart. Oh, how sorry he felt! and how mortified when he felt that he had gained that pleasant word "Right" without deserving it!
He did not run merrily home that night. He had no desire to go out and play. He was far happier when he knew that a black failure was written against his name, for then he had not failed in himself. He had been honest, if he had not been clever.
That evening he told me the whole story, and ended by saying: "It has taught me a lesson, Aunt Marjorie. All fair, and no cheating, for me, after this. It's awful to feel so mean as I've felt all day."
[PROMPT OBEDIENCE.]
BY JIMMY BROWN.
I haven't been able to write anything for some time. I don't mean that there has been anything the matter with my fingers so that I couldn't hold a pen, but I haven't had the heart to write of my troubles. Besides, I have been locked up for a whole week in the spare bedroom on bread and water, and just a little hash or something like that, except when Sue used to smuggle in cake and pie and such things, and I haven't had any penanink. I was going to write a novel while I was locked up by pricking my finger and writing in blood with a pin on my shirt; but you can't write hardly anything that way, and I don't believe all those stories of conspirators who wrote dreadful promises to do all sorts of things in their blood. Before I could write two little words my finger stopped bleeding, and I wasn't going to keep on pricking myself every few minutes; besides, it won't do to use all your blood up that way. There was once a boy who cut himself awful in the leg with a knife, and he bled to death for five or six hours, and when he got through he wasn't any thicker than a newspaper, and rattled when his friends picked him up just like the morning paper does when father turns it inside out. Mr. Travers told me about him, and said this was a warning against bleeding to death.
Of course you'll say I must have been doing something dreadfully wrong, but I don't think I have; and even if I had, I'll leave it to anybody if Aunt Eliza isn't enough to provoke a whole company of saints. The truth is, I got into trouble this time just through obeying promptly as soon as I was spoken to. I'd like to know if that was anything wrong. Oh, I'm not a bit sulky, and I am always ready to admit I've done wrong when I really have; but this time I tried to do my very best and obey my dear mother promptly, and the consequence was that I was shut up for a week, besides other things too painful to mention. This world is a fleeting show, as our minister says, and I sometimes feel that it isn't worth the price of admission.