Arthur's desk is hooked up to mine and he never moves a muscle 'cepting his lips when he's reading. That's why Miss Lesley likes him the best. It's not only 'cause he's the best reader. It's 'cause he's a sitter and the rest of us are hoppers, jumpers, fidgeters. Arthur's twelve too, but he's four months older than me. I can read just as good as him so long as I can move around at the same time.
I go on." 'He could not accept with asshur—' "
"Assurance," Miss Lesley says. "That means he could not believe. Henry, sit up and listen. Your sister's reading a story."
I finish the sentence. " '. . . he was about to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth.' "
"Thank you, Grace. Please sit now. What do you think that means? Class?"
Arthur's hand goes up. Miss Lesley nods at him.
"The youth's going to be in a war."
"How do you know that?"
"I read ahead."
Arthur always reads ahead.