“Spelling is a curious thing... it’s so often different from what you expect it to be. I used to think ‘please’ was spelled p-l-e-e-s, but it isn’t, you know; and you’d think ‘dear’ was spelled d-e-r-e, if you didn’t inquire. Sometimes it almost discourages you.”
“But Mr. Dalton has a soft spot for Steve, because he’s special. Sometimes he’s brilliant in class and gets everything right, while other times he can’t even spell his own name. Mr. Dalton says he’s somewhat of an idiot savant, which mean he’s a stupid genius!”
“Here’s what I can do
Chew gum, write, spell, stand on my head for the longest amount of time, stand on my toes, get dizzy and fall down, make a terrible face
And here’s the thing of it
Most of the time I’m on the telephone”
These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only one in the forest who could spell; for Owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST.
He could spell his own name WOL, and he could spell Tuesday so that you knew it wasn’t Wednesday, and he could read quite comfortably when you weren’t looking over his shoulder and saying “Well?”