When it was time for the Child to have lessons, the Teacher-Angel gave
him a sheet of paper, smooth and white, and a pencil, and a ruler.
"Write as well as you can," he said; "and mind you keep the lines
straight!"
The Child admired the ruler greatly; "I will put it up on the wall," he
said, "where I can see it always." So he put it up on the wall, and the
sunbeams, hardly brighter than itself, sparkled on it.
"It must be pure gold," said the Child; "there is nothing else so
beautiful in the world." And then he began his task.
By and by the lesson time was over, and the Teacher-Angel came to see
what had been done. The Child showed him the paper on which he had
written his task. Up and down went the lines, here and there, from side
to side of the sheet, which was covered with sprawling, straggling
letters. There were smudges, too, where he had tried to rub something
out; it was not a pretty page.
"What is this?" asked the Teacher-Angel. "Where is your ruler?"
"There it is," said the Child. "Up on the wall. It was so beautiful, I
put it up there where I could see it always. See where it hangs! But
methinks it is not so bright as it was."
"No!" said the Teacher-Angel. "It would have been brighter if you had
used it."
"But I admired it greatly," said the Child.
"But your lines are crooked!" said the Angel.