"She asked me if I had ten pears, and I wanted to keep one for myself,
and divide the others between two of my friends, how many would I give
each, and I told her I'd keep more than one for myself, and I didn't
know two _anybodies_ I'd want to give the others to, and then they all
laughed. I don't see why."

Aunt Judith was trying not to laugh as heartily as the little pupils
whose merriment had so annoyed Gyp.

"And the next thing she asked was about dividing pears, too. Don't
folks divide anything but _pears_? They don't in the arithmetic!"

"Oh, Gyp, Gyp!" cried Aunt Judith, and the puzzled boy laughed with
her, because he could not help it.

He did not mind her laughter. Indeed, he already felt better acquainted
with her, because they had laughed together. The laughter of the little
pupils had maddened him, but that was different.

"_They_ laughed _at_ me, but _you_ laugh _with_ me," he said, with
quick understanding.

"And I'll _work_ with you, Gyp," was the pleasant answer, and the boy
at once opened his book.

When Gyp took his cap and started for home, after two hours spent at
the cottage, he had a better understanding of figures, and their use,
and the actual worth of arithmetic, than he had obtained, thus far,
in his daily attendance at school.