Pinty Tailor was a little boy who enjoyed going to school and doing all sorts of things, except
But one day Pinty found a pencil of such lovely colours that he could not resist, and he tried
drawing a circle. As ever, it did not go well, and he was about to throw the pencil away
‘Psst! You aren’t going to leave me like this, are you? Come on, the least you can do is draw
‘Much better, now I can see myself,’ said the circle, looking around at itself… ‘Arghh! But
better. Go on, rub me out!’ So Pinty erased the circle and drew another one. Like the first
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‘Hey! You forgot the eyes again!’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Hmmm, I think I’m going to have to teach you how to draw until you can do me well,’ said
the circle with its quick, squeaky little voice.
To Pinty, who remained almost paralysed with shock, this did not seem like a bad idea, and
he immediately found himself drawing and erasing circles. The circle would not stop saying
‘rub this out, but carefully; it hurts,’ or ‘draw me some hair, quickly, I look like a lollipop!’
and other funny remarks.
After spending nearly the whole afternoon together, Pinty could already draw the little
figure much better than most of his classmates could have. He was enjoying it so much that
he did not want to stop drawing with this crazy new teacher of his. Before going to bed that
night, Pinty gave his new instructor a hearty thank you for having taught him how to draw
so well.
‘But I didn’t do anything, silly!’ answered the little drawing, in its usual quick manner.
‘Don’t you see that you’ve been practicing a lot, and enjoying it all the while? I bet that’s the
first time you’ve done that!’
Pinty stopped to think. The truth was that previously, he had drawn so badly because he
had never practiced more than ten minutes at a time, and he had always done it angrily and
grudgingly. Without doubt, what the little drawing had said was correct.
‘OK, you’re right, but thank you anyway,’ said Pinty, and before he went to bed he carefully
placed the pencil in his school bag.
The next morning Pinty jumped out of bed and went running to find his pencil, but it was
not there. He searched everywhere, but there was no sign of it. And the sheet of paper on
which he had drawn the little figure, although still full of rubbing out marks, was completely
blank. Pinty began to worry, and he did not know if he had really spent the previous
afternoon talking with the little man or whether he had dreamt the whole thing.
So, to try to settle the matter, he took a pencil and some paper and tried to draw a little
man.
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It turned out not bad at all, except for a couple of jagged lines. He imagined his bossy little
teacher telling him to round out those edges, and that it looked like he was trying to give
him spots. Pinty gladly rubbed out those bits and redrew them. He realised that the crazy
little teacher had been right: it made no difference whether you had the magic pencil or not;
to manage to do things, you only needed to keep trying and to enjoy doing so.
From that day on, whenever Pinty tried to draw or paint, or do anything else, he always had
fun imagining the result of his work protesting to him and saying ‘Come on, my friend, do
me a bit better than that! I can’t go to the party looking like this!’
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