r.

All, that is, except Rosy Posy, who had gone to bed long ago. Kingdon
was reading, and Kitty was idly playing with the kitten, while Marjorie,
her head bent over a book on the table, was abstractedly moving her lips
as if talking to herself.

"Oh, Father! it's this horrid old spelling lesson. I just _can't_ learn
it, and that all there is about it!"

"Can't learn to spell? Bring me your book, and let me have a look at
it."

Very willingly Marjorie flew to her father's side, and, big girl though
she was, perched herself on his knee while she showed him the page.

"Just look! There's 'deleble' spelled with an e, and 'indelible' with an
i! Why can't they spell them alike?"

"I think myself they might as well have done so," said Mr. Maynard,
"but, since they didn't, we'll have to learn them as they are. Where is
your lesson?"

"All that page. And they're fearfully hard words. And words I'll never
use anyway. Why would I want to use 'harassed' and 'daguerreotype' and
'macaroni' and such words as those?"

Mr. Maynard smiled at the troubled little face.

"You may not want to use them, dearie, but it is part of your education
to learn to spell them. Come, now, I'll help you, and we'll soon put
them through. Let's pick out the very hardest one first."

"All right; 'daguerreotype' is the hardest."

"Oh, pshaw, no! That's one of the very easiest. Just remember that it
was a Frenchman named Daguerre who invented the process; then you only
have to add 'o' and 'type,' and there you are!"

"Why, that _is_ easy! I'll never forget that. 'Macaroni' is a hard one,
though."

"Why?"

"Oh, because I always put two c's or two r's or two n's in it."

"Ho, that makes it easy, then. Just remember that there isn't a double
letter in it, and then spell it just as it sounds. Why, macaroni is so
long and thin that there isn't room for a double letter in it."

"Oh, Father, you make it so easy. Of course I'll remember that, now."

Down the long list they went, and Mr. Maynard, with some little quip or
quibble, made each word of special interest, and so fixed it in
Marjorie's memory. At the end of a half-hour she was perfect in the
lesson, and had thoroughly enjoyed the learning of it.

"I wish you'd help me every night," she said, wistfully. "All this week,
anyway. For there's to be a spelling-match on Friday, between our class
and Miss Bates' class, and we want to win. But I'm such a bad speller,
nobody wants to choose me o