Nellie dislikes school. What a tragedy. She is a dear sweet child
with kind eyes and a bonny smile. She spoke frankly to me at first but
when I told her that I was a teacher she looked at me with fear and (I
smiled at this) dropped her Dundee dialect and answered me in School
English. I had to throw plantain heads at her for a full five minutes
before the look of fear left her eyes and her dialect returned.
"I dinna believe ye _are_ a teacher," she said to-night.
"Why not?"
"Ye're no like ane," she said hesitatingly. "Ye're ower--ower daft."
"But why shouldn't a teacher be daft?" I asked.
"They shud be respectable," she said, "or the children winna respect
them."