rvarders. The third introduces a
man in old Colburn's Arithmetic, driving his sheep or geese to market.
The fourth is a scorcher, and has to do with the diameter of a
grindstone, after a certain number of inches have been ground from it.
Then comes what I call the _piece de resistance_, but which my uncle
called 'killing two birds with one stone.' He has a fad on writing and
spelling, and required his victims to put on paper the following:

"'Mr. Wright has a right To write the rites of the church.'

"Blamed if I didn't get stuck on that last _rite_ when he gave it to me!
If the teachers got safely through with the sheep, or geese, and the
grindstone, and Mr. Wright, and the rest of them, he gave them a
certificate declaring them qualified to teach a district school. In
these days of methods, and analysis, and different ways of looking at
things, all that is exploded, and the Crompton people have dropped my
uncle, who is furious, and charges it to young blood, and the normal
schools which have sprung up, and in which he does not believe. 'No
matter how many diplomas a girl may have,' he says, 'proving that she
has stood up in a white gown, and read an esay nobody within four feet
of the rostrum could hear, or care to hear, if they could, she ought to
pass a good solid examination to see if she were rooted and grounded in
the fundamentals,' and when he heard that a normal graduate was engaged
for District No. 5, he swore a blue streak at the girl, the trustee who
hired her, and the attack of gout which keeps him a prisoner in the
house, and will prevent his interviewing Miss Smith, as he certainly
would if he were able. I tried to quiet him by offering to interview her
myself. Think of me in a district school-house, talking to the teacher
about the diameter of a grindstone! The absurdity must have struck my
uncle. You should have seen the look he gave me over his spectacles, as
he said, 'You, who know nothing, except ball games, and boat races, and
raising the devil generally, interview a girl with a diploma! You would
probably end by making love to her, but I won't have it; mind, I won't
have it! Remember, you are a Crompton, and no Crompton ever married
beneath him!' Here he stopped suddenly, and turned so white that I was
alarmed, and asked what ailed him.

"'Nothing,' he said, 'nothing but a twinge. I had an awful one.'

"I suppose he referred to his foot, which was pretty bad that day. After
a little, quite to my