"Now I'll hear the class in
spellin'."
"I wish we had more scholars," complained Brother. "It's no fun
with just one; I have to be everything."
"There's that little boy again--maybe he'd play," suggested
Sister, pointing to the red-haired, barefooted little boy who
stood staring on the walk that led up to the porch.
He could not see through the screens very clearly, but he had
heard the voices of the children and, stopping to listen, had
drawn nearer and nearer.
"That's Mickey Gaffney," whispered Brother. "Hello, Mickey," he
called more loudly. "Want to come play school with us?"
Mickey came up on the steps, and flattened his nose against the
screen door.
"I dunno," he said doubtfully. "How do you play?"
Sister pushed open the door for him, and Mickey rather shyly
looked about him.
"It's nice and shady in here," he said appreciatively. "You got a
blackboard, ain't you?"
"You should say 'have' a blackboard and 'ain't' is dreadful,"
corrected Sister, blissfully unaware that "dreadful" was not a
good word to use. "You can use the chalk if you'll be a scholar,
Mickey."
Mickey was anxious to draw on the blackboard and he consented to
play "just for a little.
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