Scipio took the pencil and laboriously printed S C I P I O L E E. “The C isn’t pronounced,” Hazel said thoughtfully. “I guessed it was spelt SIPIO. You can never guess at spelling, though, it’s so queer.” [Illustration: Scipio Lee] “It’s a fool name,” said Scip, moodily. “My pa and ma done give us all fool names but Tom.” “I think Scipio was a Roman, and the Romans were very brave. You aren’t afraid of anything are you?” “I’s afraid of my father.” Hazel was silent. She felt very sorry for her new playmate. “Shall we go on?” she said at length. “Yes, ma’am.” She let the “ma’am” pass, and began to teach again. “We’ll spell the things about us. There are the pigs. See, pig is spelt P I G.” And she printed it for him. He slowly repeated the letters. “Say it phonetically,” she commanded. “P--ig.” He tried unsuccessfully to imitate her. “Oh, Scip, you’re so funny. This is the sound of P, Pe̤, Pe̤.” She blew the P out from between her lips. “P--ig P--en, P--encil, P, P, P, say them, Scip.” He did better this time. “Now, can’t you think of something that begins with P yourself?” “P, P, P, Peep,” Scip said, stumbling on the word by chance. “Yes, that’s right. That’s what the chickens say, isn’t it? Have you chickens at your house?” “Yes, Sister. We tries to raise ’em; but they ain’t pert like Aunt Ellen’s chickens.” “There’s another P. P--ert. Don’t you hear it, Scip?” He repeated it after her. “Good! Now I’ll write these words for your lesson to-morrow. Can you come here to-morrow, do you think?” “I try to,” he answered, looking at her gravely. “We ain’t over busy now. Ma, she’d be glad to have me come. She’d kep’ me in school if she’d been ’lowed. I come if I can, but I can’t never be sure.” “What is the best time for you to get away?” “I reckon when dinner’s done. Pa goes to sleep then sometimes.” “We’ll play like this, Scip. I’ll always be here after dinner, if it is pleasant. Granny doesn’t need me then, so I’ll come to my house up here. And I’ll brush up, and get things tidy; and if my brother comes I’ll teach him his lessons. If he doesn’t, I’ll play by myself. Now I’ll write out your words.” And she made a fair copy and handed it to him. He held it by the corner carefully, afraid of soiling the page. Hazel gathered up her belongings and together they moved from the little enclosure. “This is our house, isn’t it, Scip? And we won’t tell anyone about it. We might go to it a roundabout way. Oh, where is my stick to scare the pigs with?” Scipio brought it to her. “This ain’t much account,” he said. “I done bring you a better one to-morrow.” “Will you? Thank you. Good-bye, Scip.” “Good-bye, Sister.” He watched her run down the road and into her grandmother’s open door. Then he trudged home. Hazel told Granny that evening of what she had undertaken.