got them straight, and it is now
time that we took a lesson in spelling."

"Oh, I can't do that, Mr. Brush," protested the queen, rising from
the chair, adjusting her skirts and sitting down again; "I never can
spell."

"What is it to spell?"

"I don't know; what is it?"

"I can best answer your question by showing you. Have you ever seen a
cat?"

"Do you mean a pussy?"

"Yes; some folks call it that."

"Oh, yes; when we came from where we used to live,--I guess it must
have been three or four hundred years ago, we brought my pussy along.
Her name was Nellie, the same as mine."

"What became of her?"

"She died," was the sorrowful reply; "I guess she was homesick."

"That was too bad. Now will you tell me what letter that is?"

"Why, Mr. Brush, don't you know?"

"Yes, but I wish to find out whether you know."

"It is C; anybody knows that."

"And this one?"

"A."

"That is right; now this one?"

"T; I hope you will remember, Mr. Brush, because I don't like to tell
you so often."

The teacher continued to drill her, skipping about and pointing at the
letters so rapidly in turn that he was kept bowing and straightening
up like a jumping-jack. Then, allowing her to rest, he pronounced the
letters in their regular order, giving them the sounds proper to the
word itself. Nellie, who was watching closely and listening, suddenly
exclaimed with glowing face:

"Why, that's 'cat'!"

"Of course; now can you say the letters without looking at them?"

After one or two trials she did it successfully.

"There! you have learned to spell 'cat.' You see how easy it is."

"Does that spell 'pussy' too?"

"No,--only 'cat.' After a time you will be able to spell big words."

"Let me try something else, Mr. Brush."

The next word tackled was 'dog,' which was soon mastered. When this
was accomplished, the teacher paused for a moment. He was trying to
think of another word of three letters, but oddly enough could not
readily do so.

"Ah," he exclaimed, "here is another. Now give me the name of that
letter,"

"D."

"And that?"

"A."

"And that?"

"M."

"Now say them quickly, 'd-a-m;' what is the word?"

"Why, it's 'dam'; O, Mr. Brush, I heard you say that is a bad word."

The teacher was thunderstruck and stammered:

"I didn't think of that, but there are two kinds of 'dam' and this one
is not a bad word. It means a bank of earth or stones or wood, that is
put up to stop the flow of water."