'No, I don't seem to remember that word, Mr.Anne,' he would say: 'it don't seem to stick to me, that word don't.' And then, when I had told it him again, '_Etrier_!' he would cry.

'To be sure! I had it on the tip of my tongue.

_Eterier_!' (going wrong already, as if by a fatal instinct).
'What will I remember it by, now?
Why, _interior_, to be sure! I'll remember it by its being something that ain't in the interior of a horse.' And when next I had occasion to ask him the French for stirrup, it was a toss-up whether he had forgotten all about it, or gave me _exterior_ for an answer.

He was never a hair discouraged.

He seemed to consider that he was covering the ground at a normal rate.