“Granny,” Maida explained, “this little boy can’t go to school
because his mother works all day and he has to do the housework and
take care of the baby, too, and he wants to learn to read because he
thinks he won’t be half so lonely with books, and you know, Granny,
that’s perfectly true, for I never suffered half so much with my
legs after I learned to read.”

It had all poured out in an uninterrupted stream. She had to stop
here to get breath.

“Now, Granny, what I want you to do is to let me hear him read
evenings until he learns how. You see his mother comes home then and
he can leave the baby with her. Oh, do let me do it, Granny! I’m
sure I could. And I really think you ought to. For, if you’ll excuse
me for saying so, Granny, I don’t think you can understand as well
as I do what a difference it will make.” She turned to the boy.
“Have you read ‘Little Men’ and ‘Little Women’?”

“No—why, I’m only in the first reader.”

“I’ll read them to you,” Maida said decisively, “and ‘Treasure
Island’ and ‘The Princes and the Goblins’ and ‘The Princess and
Curdie.’” She reeled off the long list of her favorites.

In the meantime, Granny was considering the matter. Dr. Pierce had
said to her of Maida: “Let her do anything that she wants to do—as
long as it doesn’t interfere with her eating and sleeping. The main
thing to do is to get her _to want to do things_.”