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Pearl’s face flushed. She worried her finger and looked away from Mr. Edgeworth. “I have trouble sometimes. I’m not very good at it.” The girl was hardly more than eight years old, but for all the hopes her proud mother had for the child certain aspects of life were not taken as seriously as they ought to have been. Edgeworth placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I’m glad that you decided to share this with me,” he said quietly. “Did your mother not teach you to read?” Pearl nodded. “But you still have… trouble sometimes.” The child was silent, now rubbing a small fist into her eye. “What kind of trouble?”
“Trouble,” she broke into a wail. Edgeworth went to his knees and hushed her. “I’ll never learn—never, never!”
“Pearl Fey,” said Edgeworth. “That simply isn’t true. Let me help you.”
“You can’t teach me!” she cried louder than ever. “No one can!”
“I swear to you, I will get you help for you problem, if you will only let me try,” his voice was still soft, fragile. Her sobs quieted. He leaned in and let her rest her head on his shoulder as the last of them died. “There are lots of helpers in the world, Pearl Fey. I know I can find someone who can help you with your reading troubles.”
“Thank you, Mr. Edj-i-worth,” said Pearl as she dried the last of her tears.