The next morning, accordingly, he took me by the hand, and we set forth for the academy, which was located at the farther end of the town.
The Temple School was a two-story brick building, standing in the centre of a great square piece of land, surrounded by a high picket fence.
There were three or four sickly trees, but no grass, in this enclosure, which had been worn smooth and hard by the tread of multitudinous feet.
I noticed here and there small holes scooped in the ground, indicating that it was the season for marbles.

A better playground for baseball couldn't have been devised.
On reaching the schoolhouse door, the Captain inquired for Mr.Grimshaw.
The boy who answered our knock ushered us into a side-room, and in a few minutes--during which my eye took in forty-two caps hung on forty-two wooden pegs--Mr.Grimshaw made his appearance.

He was a slender man, with white, fragile hands, and eyes that glanced half a dozen different ways at once--a habit probably acquired from watching the boys.
After a brief consultation, my grandfather patted me on the head and left me in charge of this gentleman, who seated himself in front of me and proceeded to sound the depth, or, more properly speaking, the shallowness, of my attainments.

I suspect my historical information rather startled him.

I recollect I gave him to understand that Richard III was the last king of England.
This ordeal over, Mr.Grimshaw rose and bade me follow him.