In doing so I put them on the wall of my memory where I have seen them every day of my life and from which I read as I write.
"Speak no evil of the absent for it is unjust." "Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire called conscience." The boys in the school were a sturdy big-boned lot with arms and legs like the springing bow.

Full-lunged, great-throated fellows, they grew to be, calling the sheep and cattle in the land of far-reaching pastures.

There was an undersized boy three years older who often picked on me and with whom I would have no peaceful commerce.
I copy from an old memorandum book a statement of my daily routine just as I put it down one of those days: "My hardest choar is to get up after uncle calls me.

I scramble down stairs and pick up my boots and socks and put them on.

Then I go into the setting room and put on my jacket.