didnât want to do this.
âPlease proceed.â
I didnât feel I had any choice. He looked so grave and stern, staring at me through his glasses. âA ⦠c ⦠h ⦠e â¦â
âSorry, that is not correct,â he said very formally, and I felt my heart fall. âBut,â he said, âIâll tell you how you can spell it correctly from now on.â
âYou can?â
âItâs simple, once you know the trick. Do you want to know the trick?â
I nodded my head. âPlease.â
âAll you have to do is remember a little rhymeâi before e except after c.â
âI before e â¦â
âExcept after c,â he repeated. âNow try spelling achievement again.â
I took a deep breath. âA ⦠c ⦠h ⦠i ⦠e ⦠v ⦠e ⦠m ⦠e ⦠n ⦠t.â
âCorrect!â he yelled, and I felt like jumping up from my seat. âJust remember the rhyme and youâll never have trouble with words like that.â
âThank you so much.â
âThat will make it a little bit easier, although try to remember that spelling words correctly isnât as important as the manner in which you put those words together.â
I didnât understand what he meant, and I think my expression must have shown it.
âI know many wonderful spellers who arenât very good thinkers,â he explained. âItâs better to think wellthan to spell well. I used to struggle so much over my spelling, and my mother didnât understand. She used to tell me that if I didnât spend so much time sketching and drawing, Iâd have more time to learn my spelling words, but I knew that even if I worked twenty-four hours a dayââ
âIt still wouldnât make a difference,â I said, completing his sentence once again.
âYou are obviously a very smart young girl,â he said. He smiled and I smiled back. âAnd quite frankly, in the long run the love of art has been more valuable to me than the ability to spell.â
âDo you still draw?â I asked. I loved doodling little pictures on the margins of my workbooks.
âI paint,â he said. âOils. Iâd love nothing better than to be out in the country painting today, instead of toiling in this steamy city. But, alas, thatâs not to be. I have to do my work, and apparently you have to do yours.â
âMy mother said if I want to become a doctor, I have to be good at spelling,â I said.
âYou want to be a doctor?â
âI guess ⦠maybe.â To be honest Iâd never given it much thought. âI might be a doctor or a nurse.â
âBoth excellent professions. You are offered the opportunity to help your fellow man ⦠and woman. And, while I certainly donât mean to contradict your mother, I know of at least one person who managed to become a doctor despite his limitations in spelling.â
âYou do?â I asked.
He nodded. âMe.â
âYouâre a doctor?â
âA surgeon ⦠but it was poor manners for me not to formally introduce myself.â He held out his hand. âI am Dr. Banting ⦠Fred Banting.â
I took his hand. âI am pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Ruth Williams.â
âIt is an honour to meet you, Miss Williams,â he said as he bowed. âIt is excellent that your mother wishes you to pursue a career. Many women assume their daughters will simply marry and have no need for an education.â
âMy mother doesnât think that.â
There was the sound of somebody clearing her throat. I looked up. My mother was standing there, a scowl on her face. I knew she wouldnât be happy about me talking to a stranger.
âAnd you must be Mrs. Williams,â Dr. Banting said. He stepped forward and offered his hand, which she took. âI am Dr. Frederick Banting, and your