When it was time for the Child to have lessons, the Teacher-Angel gave him a sheet of paper, smooth and white, and a pencil, and a ruler.

"Write as well as you can," he said; "and mind you keep the lines straight!"

The Child admired the ruler greatly; "I will put it up on the wall," he said, "where I can see it always." So he put it up on the wall, and the sunbeams, hardly brighter than itself, sparkled on it.

"It must be pure gold," said the Child; "there is nothing else so beautiful in the world." And then he began his task.

By and by the lesson time was over, and the Teacher-Angel came to see what had been done. The Child showed him the paper on which he had written his task. Up and down went the lines, here and there, from side to side of the sheet, which was covered with sprawling, straggling letters. There were smudges, too, where he had tried to rub something out; it was not a pretty page.

"What is this?" asked the Teacher-Angel. "Where is your ruler?"

"There it is," said the Child. "Up on the wall. It was so beautiful, I put it up there where I could see it always. See where it hangs! But methinks it is not so bright as it was."

"No!" said the Teacher-Angel. "It would have been brighter if you had used it."

"But I admired it greatly," said the Child.

"But your lines are crooked!" said the Angel.