" My heart leaped as the word fell from the school-master's
lips. It was one of my favorite hard words and was not in the spelling
book. It had been selected so as to floor the entire line in order to
make way for the exercises to follow.
As I looked over the long line of overgrown country boys and girls I
felt sure that none of them would be able to correctly spell the word.
"Next!" "Next!" "Next!" said the school-master, and my pulse beat
faster and faster as the older scholars ahead of me were relegated to
their seats.
At last the crucial time had come. I was the only one left standing.
As the school-master stood directly in front of me and said "Next," I
could see by the twinkle in his eye that he thought I could correctly
spell the word. My countenance had betrayed me. With a clear and
distinct voice loud enough to be heard by every one in the room
I spelled out "ph-th-is-ic--phthisic." "Correct," said the
school-master, and all the scholars looked aghast at my promptness.
I shall never forget the kindly smile of the old school-master, as he
laid the spelling book upon the teacher's desk, with the quiet remark:
"I told you he could spell." I had spelled down four schools, and my
reputation as a speller was established.
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