"Done!!!"
* * * * *
H. W. S. is not particularly lucky with his genders. Fortunately for
him, the French language possesses no neuter nouns, so that sometimes
he hits on the right gender. For this he asks no praise. Providence
alone is to be thanked for it.
Once he had to translate: "His conduct was good." He first put _sa
conduite_. After this effort in the right direction, his conscience was
satisfied, and he added, _etait bon_. Why? Because an adjective is
longer in the feminine than in the masculine, and with him and his like
the former gender stands very little chance.
* * * * *
I remember two very strange boys. They were not typical, I am happy to
say.
When the first of them was on, his ears would flap and go on flapping
like the gills of a fish, till he had either answered the question or
given up trying, when they would lie at rest flat against his head. If
I said to him sharply: "Well, my boy, speak up; I can't hear," his ears
would start flapping more vigorously than ever. Sometimes he would turn
his eyes right over, to see if he could not find the answer written
somewhere inside his head. This boy could set the whole of his scalp in
motion, bring his hair right down to his eyes, and send it back again
without the least difficulty. These performances were simply wonderful.
The boys used to watch him with an interest that never flagged, and
more than once I was near losing my countenance.
One day this poor lad fell in the playground, and cut his head open. We
were all anxious to ascertain what it was he had inside his head that
he always wanted to get at. The doctor found nothing remarkable in it.
The other boy was a fearful stammerer. The manner in which he managed
to get help for his speech is worth relating. Whenever he had to read a
piece of French aloud, he would utter the letter "F" before each French
word, and they would positively come out easily. The letter "F" being
the most difficult letter for stammerers to pronounce, I always
imagined that he thought he would be all right with any sound, if he
could only say "F" first.
He was successful.
A boy with whom you find it somewhat difficult to get on is the
diffident one who always believes that the question you ask him is a
"catch." He is constantly on guard, and surrounds the easiest question
with inextricable difficulties. It is his misfortune to know that rules
have exceptions, and he never suspects that it would enter your head to
ask him for the illustration of a general rule.
He knows, for instance, that nouns ending in _al_ form their plural
by changing _al_ into _aux_; but if you ask him for the plural of
_general_, he will hesitate a long while, and eventually answer you,
_generals_.
"Do you mean to say, my boy, that you do not know how to form the
plural of nouns in _al_?"
"Yes, sir, but I thought _general_ was an exception."
* * * * *
I pass over the wit who, being asked for the plural of _egal_,
answered, "two gals."
* * * * *
A diverting little boy in the class-room is the one who always thinks
"he has got it." It matters little to him what the question is, he has
not heard the end of it when he lifts his hand to let you know he is
ready.
"What is the future of _savoir_?"
"Please, sir, I know: _je savoirai_."
"Sit down, you ignoramus."
And he resumes his seat to sulk until you give him another chance. He
wonders how it is you don't like his answers. His manner is generally
affable; you see at once in him a mother's pet who is much admired at
home, and thinks he is not properly appreciated at school.
Mother's pets are to be recognized at a glance. They are always clean
and tidy in face and person. Unfortunately they often part their hair
in the middle.
* * * * *
Such is not the testimonial that can be given to young H. He spends an
hour and a pint of ink over every exercise.
He writes very badly.
To obtain a firm hold of his pen, he grasps the nib with the ends of
his five fingers. I sometimes think he must use his two hands at once.
He plunges the whole into the inkstand every second or two, and
withdraws it dripping. He is smeared with ink all over; he rubs his
hands in it, he licks it, he loves it, he sniffs it, he revels in it.
He wishes he could drink it, and the ink-stands were wide enough for
him to get his fist right into it.
This boy is a most clever little fellow. When you can see his eyes,
they are sparkling with mischief and intelligence. A beautiful, dirty
face; a lovely boy, though an "unwashed."
* * * * *
A somewhat objectionable boy, although he is not responsible for his
shortcomings, is the one who has been educated at home up to twelve or
fourteen years of age.
Before you can garnish his brain, you have to sweep it. You have to
replace the French of his nursery governess--who has acquired it on the
_Continong_--by a serious knowledge of _avoir_ and _etre_.
He comes to school with a testimonial from his mother, who is a good
French scholar, to the effect that he speaks French fluently.