Some of the scholars thought Jessie must be peculiarly gifted, because her lessons were uniformly so perfect. But this was not the case. Study was study, to her, and not play. It was not because she learned easily, but because she worked hard, that her recitations rarely fell below the required mark.
“I’d give anything in the world if I could have such a memory as you’ve got,” said Abby Leonard to Jessie, one day.
“Why, do you think I’ve got a good memory?” inquired Jessie.
“Of course you have,” replied Abby. “You couldn’t learn your lessons so easily, if you hadn’t. And then only think how little time you have to study, too!”
“I think my memory is rather poor,” resumed Jessie. “I get almost out of patience with myself, sometimes, it takes me so long to learn anything. If you knew how hard I work to get my lessons, you wouldn’t think I learned easily. In fact, I shouldn’t wonder if your memory was better than mine, after all.”
“Why, Jessie Hapley, how absurd!—when everybody knows you’ve got such a splendid memory!” exclaimed Abby.
“Then everybody is mistaken,” replied Jessie, “for my memory is no better than the average, if it is as good. What was that long story I heard you telling some of the girls, yesterday noon?”
“Oh, I was telling them the adventures of Lord Adolphus D’Orsay, the hero of a novel I read a few days ago,” said Abby. “He’s a beautiful character, I can tell you—tall, and handsome, and rich, and his father—”
“No matter about that, now,” interrupted Jessie; “what I want to find out, is, how long it took you to commit that story to memory?”
“Commit it to memory?” inquired Abby, with manifest surprise. “You didn’t suppose I committed that novel to memory, did you? Why, I only read it once—and I went through it like lightning, too, and skipped all the uninteresting parts, besides, I was dying so to see how it was going to end.”