He preferred to throw himself on a rug before the
open fire-place, and, curling up, not unlike a cat, began to pore
over his primer.
Frank often looked up from his own studies and looked down with
an amused glance at little Pomp's coal-back face and glistening
eyes riveted upon the book before him. There was no lack of
brightness or intelligence in the earnest face of his young
pupil. He seemed to be studying with all his might. In a
wonderfully short time he would uncoil himself, and, coming to
his teacher, would say, "I guess I can say it, Mass' Frank."
Finding how readily Pomp learned his lessons, Frank judiciously
lengthened them, so that, in two or three months, Pomp could read
words of one syllable with considerable ease, and promised very
soon to read as well as most boys of his age.
Frank also took considerable pains to cure Pomp of his
mischievous propensities, but this he found a more difficult task
than teaching him to read. Pomp had an innate love of fun which
seemed almost irrepressible, and his convictions of duty sat too
lightly upon him to interfere very seriously with its
gratification.
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