"Zenna Henderson - Holding Wonder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

So that's why? I doodled absently on the workbook cover. I didn't like a big
school system because its one-plus-one was my one and one-half-or two and
three-fourths? Could be-could be. Honestly! What kids don't come up with! I
turned to the work sheet I was preparing for consonant blends for my
this-year's beginners-all both of them-and one for Vincent.

My records on Vincent over the next month or so were an odd patch-work. I
found that he could read some of the articles in the encyclopedia, but
couldn't read Billy Goats Grim. That he could read What Is So Rare As A Day In
June, but couldn't read Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater. It was beginning to look
as though he could read what he wanted to and that was all. I don't mean a
capricious wanting-to, but that he shied away from certain readings and
actually couldn't read them. As yet I could find no pattern to his unreadings;
so I let him choose the things he wanted and he read-oh, how he read! He
gulped down the material so avidly that it worried me. But he did his gulping
silently. Orally, he wore us both out with his stumbling struggles.
He seemed to like school, but seldom mingled. He was shyly pleasant when the
other children invited him to join them, and played quite competently-which
isn't the kind of play you expect from an eight-year-old.

And there matters stood until the day that Kipper-our eighth grade-dragged
Vincent in, bloody and battered.
"This guy's nearly killed Gene," Kipper said. "Ruth's out there trying to
bring him to. First aid says don't move him until we know."

"Wait here," I snapped at Vincent as I headed for the door. "Get tissues for
your face!" And I rushed out after Kipper.
We found Gene crumpled in the middle of a horrified group gathered at the base
of the canyon wall. Ruth was crying as she mopped his muddy forehead with a
soggy tissue. I checked him over quickly. No obvious bleeding. I breathed a
little easier as he moaned, moved and opened his eyes. He struggled to a
sitting position and tenderly explored the side of his head.

"Ow! That dang rock!" He blinked tears as I parted his hair to see if he had
any damage besides the egg-sized lump. He hadn't. "He hit me with that big
rock!"

"My!" I giggled, foolish with relief. "He must have addled your brains at the
same time. Look at the size of that rock!" The group separated to let Gene
look, and Pete scrambled down from where he had perched on the rock for a
better look at the excitement.

"Well," Gene rubbed his head tenderly. "Anyway, he did!"

"Come on inside," I said, helping him up. "Do you want Kipper to carry you?"

"Heck no!" Gene pulled away from my hands. "I ain't hurt. G'wan-noseys!" He
turned his back on the staring children.