He begins to have some notion of counting
and numbers--he has learnt to crochet and thread beads---poor little lad
of fifteen!--he has built not only a tower but something like a house, of
bricks--and now his enthusiastic teacher is attempting to teach him the
first rudiments of speech, in this wonderful modern way--lip-reading and
the like. He has been under training for about six weeks, and certainly
the results are most promising. I believe his mother protested to Lord
Buntingford that he had not been neglected. Nobody can believe her, who
sees now what has been done. Apparently a brain-surgeon in Naples was
consulted as to the possibility of an operation. But when that was
dropped, nothing else was ever tried, no training was attempted, and the
child would have fared very badly, if it had not been for the old
_bonne_--Zelie--who was and is devoted to him. His mother was ashamed of
him, and came positively to hate the sight of him.
"But the tragic thing is that as his mind develops, his body seems to
weaken. Food, special exercise, massage--poor Lord Buntingford has been
trying everything--but with small result.
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