Mr.
Glennie taught us in the almshouses; for though there were now no bedesmen, and the houses themselves were fallen to decay, yet the little hall in which the inmates had once dined was still maintained, and served for our schoolroom.

It was a long and lofty room, with a high wainscot all round it, a carved oak screen at one end, and a broad window at the other.

A very heavy table, polished by use, and sadly besmirched with ink, ran down the middle of the hall with benches on either side of it for us to use; and a high desk for Mr.Glennie stood under the window at the end of the room.

Thus we were sitting one morning with our summing-slates and grammars before us when the door in the screen opens and Mr.Maskew enters.
I have told you already of the verses which Mr.Glennie wrote for David Block's grave; and when the floods had gone down Ratsey set up the headstone with the poetry carved on it.

But Maskew, through not going to church, never saw the stone for weeks, until one morning, walking through the churchyard, he lighted on it, and knew the verses for Mr.Glennie's.
So 'twas to have it out with the parson that he had come to school this day; and though we did not know so much then, yet guessed from his presence that something was in the wind, and could read in his face that he was very angry.