countryside came to the school-house in wagons
at early candle-lighting time, and watched them fight it out. The
interest grew as the contest narrowed down, until at last there were the
two captains left--big John Rice for District Number 34, and that wiry,
nervous, black-haired girl of 'Lias Hoover's, Polly Ann. She married
a man by the name of Brubaker. I guess you didn't know him. His folks
moved here from Clarke County. Polly Ann's eyes glittered like a
snake's, and she kept putting her knuckles up to the red spots in her
cheeks that burned like fire. Old John, he didn't seem to care a cent.
And what do you think Polly Ann missed on? "Feoffment." A simple little
word like "feoffment!" She hadn't got further than "pheph--" when she
knew that she was wrong, but Teacher had said "Next!" and big John took
it and spelled it right. She had a fit of nervous crying, and some were
for giving her the victory, after all, because she was a lady. But big
John said: "She missed, didn't she? Well. And I spelled it right, didn't
I? Well. She took her chances same as the rest of us. 'Taint me you got
to consider, it's District Number 34. And furthermore. AND FURTHERMORE.
Next time somebuddy asts her to go home with him from singin'-school,
mebby she won't snigger right in his face, and say 'No! 's' loud 'at
everybuddy kin hear it."

It's quite a thing to be a good speller, but there are people who can
spell any word that ever was, and yet if you should ask them right quick
how much is seven times eight, they'd hem and haw and say: "Seven tums
eight? Why--ah, lemme see now. Seven tums--what was it you said? Oh,
seven tums eight. Why--ah, seven tums eight is sixty-three--fifty-six I
mean." There's nothing really to spelling. It's just an idiosyncrasy.
If there was really anything useful in it, you could do it by
machinery--just the same as you can add by machinery, or write with a
typewriter, or play the piano with one of these things with cut paper
in it. Spelling is an old-fashioned, hand-powered process, and as such
doomed to disappear with the march of improvement.

One Friday afternoon we chose up and spelled down, and the next Friday
afternoon we spoke pieces. Doubtless this accounts for our being a
nation of orators. I am far from implying or seeming to imply that this
is anything to brag of. Anybody that can be influenced by a man with a
big mouth, a loud voice, and a rush of words to the face--well, I've got
my opinion of a