Then at last a disaster befell him; his house burned while he was away; and from the confusion that resulted the disadvantages of bookkeeping in cereals was so forcibly borne in upon him that he suddenly resolved to learn to read, write and reckon.
On the first day of the following winter term he appeared at the district schoolhouse with a primer, a spelling book, a Greenleaf's Arithmetic, a copy book, a pen and an ink bottle.
The schoolmaster was a young sophomore from Colby College named Marcus Cobb, a stranger in the place.

When he entered the schoolhouse that morning he was visibly astonished to see a large, bony, formidable-looking old man sitting there among the children.
"Don't ye be scairt of me, young feller," old Zack said to him.

"I guess ye can teach me, for I don't know my letters yit!" Master Cobb called the school to order and proceeded to ask the names and ages of his pupils.

When Zack's turn came, the old fellow replied promptly: "Zack Lurvey, fifty-eight years, five months and eighteen days." "Zack ?" the master queried in some perplexity.

"Does that stand for Zachary?
How do you spell it ?" "I never spelled it," old Zack replied with a grin.