About two months after this he paid another visit to Sam Tyler. Sam's
plot of ground and cabin was near the division line between the two
farms, and Lewis took his time to go down there after dark. He asked Sam
to teach him to read.

"I should think you'd got enough of that," said Sam. "I shouldn't think
it would pay."

"What would you take for what you know about readin'?" asked Lewis.

"Well, I can't say as I'd like to sell it, but it would only be a plague
to you so long as you belong to Massa Stamford."

By dint of coaxing, however, Lewis succeeded in getting him to teach him
the letters, taking the opportunity to go to him rainy nights, or when
Mr. Stamford was away from home. That was the end of Sam's help. He had
an "idea in his head" that it was not good policy for him to do this
without Massa Stamford's consent, after what Mr. Pond had said about
Lewis's coming to Sunday school. Sam was a cautious negro, not so
warm-hearted and impulsive as the most of his race. He prided himself on
being more like white folks.

Lewis was soon in trouble of another sort. He had found an old
spelling-book, and Sam had shown him that the letters he had learned
were to be put together to make words. Then, too, he managed to get a
little time to himself every morning, by rising very early. So far so
good, and his diligence was deserving of success, but the progress he
made was very discouraging. C-a-n spelled sane, n-o-t spelled note, and
g-o spelled jo. "I sane note jo;" what nonsense! and there was no one