o learn my lessons. See
here, what I've got to do," said Tom, drawing Maggie towards him and
showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and
prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She
began to read with full confidence in her own powers; but presently,
becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was
unavoidable: she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of
humiliation.

"It's nonsense!" she said, "and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to
make it out."

"Ah, there now, Miss Maggie!" said Tom, drawing the book away and
wagging his head at her; "you see you're not so clever as you thought
you were."

"Oh," said Maggie, pouting, "I daresay I could make it out if I'd
learned what goes before, as you have."

"But that's what you just couldn't, Miss Wisdom," said Tom. "For it's
all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you've got to
say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V is. But get along with you
now; I must go on with this. Here's the Latin Grammar. See what you can
make of that."

Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical
mortification, for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that
there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise
about Latin, at slight expense. It was really very interesting--the
Latin Grammar that Tom had said no girls could learn, and she was proud
because she found it interesting.

"Now, then, Magsie, give us the Grammar!"

"Oh, Tom, it's such a pretty book!" she said, as she jumped out of the
large arm-chair to give it him; "it's much prettier than the Dictionary.
I could learn Latin very soon. I don't think it's at all hard."

"Oh, I know what you've been doing," said Tom; "you've been reading the
English at the end. Any donkey can do that."

Tom seized the book and opened it with a determined and business-like
air, as much as to say that he had a lesson to learn which no donkeys
would find themselves equal to. Maggie, rather piqued, turned to the
book-cases to amuse herself with puzzling out the titles.

George Eliot: "The Mill on the Floss."

INGRATITUDE

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As be