"Well," said he, "I saw Benjamin Barnacle yesterday, and signed his article for half a scholar. So I expect thee to go for at least five weeks, and longer if everything seems satisfactory."

Although this announcement was not unexpected, the suddenness of it brought dismay to my shrinking soul. I had long known that, sooner or later, the time would come when, like all other proper boys, I must go to school and "get an education"; but now I was astounded at the nearness of that time, so inevitable and so dreadful. I dared not say a word by way of escaping my doom; I could only hang my head and cherish the feelings of dismay that were crowding into my heart.

True, I had escaped the bondage of school much longer than it will be possible for you to do, my dear Leonidas, my dear Leona. I had grown to the stature of a puny half-grown lad, and had never yet been anybody's scholar. Every winter since I could remember—and, I had no doubt, every winter since Noah's flood—somebody had kept school for a few brief weeks in the old schoolhouse at Dry Forks. But mother had heretofore steadily objected to my attending it, saying that I was too little and peakèd to walk so far in wintry weather, just for the little good it would do me. Cousin Mandy Jane, in sympathy for my crowning weakness, had declared that I was "such a fraidy-cat and so skeery-like," it would be right down cruel to send me where I would surely be "bully-ragged around" by the rough boys of the Settlement. And father had reluctantly excused me by saying that I was getting more knowledge from the reading of books at home than the best teacher in all the Wabash Country could impart to me through the usual processes at school; and, moreover, he himself had undertaken to be my mentor in ciphering and spelling, two branches that could not be learned by mere reading.

And so the winters had come and gone, and the pleasures of being a schoolboy had never yet been mine.

"Who is Benjamin Barnacle?" asked mother.

"He is a young Friend from Duck Creek," answered father. "He showed me his certificate that he brought from the place where he taught last winter, and it spoke very highly of his character. I judge that he is a fine scholar and a good teacher, and Robert will do well with him."

"How many scholars has he got on his article?" queried Cousin Mandy Jane.

"He had nine and three-quarters when he came to me," was the answer; "and I set down a half for Robert, which made it ten and a quarter. He told me that he felt sure of getting signers for at least eighteen before the end of the week. He agrees, in his article, to teach spelling, reading, writing and jography, and also ciphering through the Rule of Three. For twenty-five cents extra, he will teach grammar to any of the young women that may wish to learn it."

"How much will he charge for Robert?" asked mother, always looking ahead and counting the cost.

"He charges a dollar per scholar," was the answer; "and since I signed for half a scholar I shall have to pay him fifty cents whether Robert goes to his school or not—but of course he will go."

"Oh, yes, I think it will do him good to go," said mother; "for he is right smart stronger than he was last year, and the roads is better. He's gettin' to be a big chunk of a boy now, and he ought to be learnin' the ways of school."

And then Cousin Mandy Jane, perceiving how my spirits were downcast by the prospect of it, turned to me kindly, and said, "Thee'll have a mighty lot of fun, too, Robby. I went to school one winter myself, when I was a leetle thing in Carliny, and I liked it the best kind; and thee'll like it too, when thee gits begun at it."

"Yes," added father, "Robert will be much improved by going to school and getting acquainted with other children; and I hope it will be the means of curing him of his timid ways."

And so, without asking my opinion or consent, the matter was settled and a new era in my life was about to have its beginning.

All too soon the eventful day arrived, the day when the "monthly meetin' school" at Dry Forks, under the mastership of Benjamin Barnacle, was to "take up," or, in other words, was to begin its sessions. In the meanwhile by the exercise of all the will power I could muster, I had become in a measure reconciled to my fate. With Inviz as my prompter, I argued that unless I was manly and went to school as was desired, it would be impossible for me to get an education or grow up to be useful in the world. Therefore, why shouldn't I be very brave and make the very best of things as they came to hand? Accordingly, I had prodded my courage daily until I had got it to the sticking point and was ready, if need be, to face the Old Feller himself, rather than shirk my duties as a growing boy. And when the time arrived I rose cheerily at break of day and got myself ready for the three-mile journey to Dry Forks and martyrdom.

The weather was too cold for bare feet and thin robins, and I accordingly put on my new shoes, which squeaked delightfully, and invested the upper part of my body in a jeans "wawmus" that was wonderfully warm and comforting. Then, breakfast having been hastily eaten, I started out with my little dinner bucket in one hand and the three or four books that I thought most needful under my arm.

"Don't thee be a fraidy-cat, now," was Cousin Mandy Jane's parting caution.

"Try to be a good boy and learn all thee can," said mother, with a sympathetic—yes, anxious—look in her eyes.

And father, stern and dignified, merely remarked, "I expect to hear good reports of thee the next time I see Benjamin."

I had so persistently fortified myself for this undertaking that, as I sallied out into the lane, I had not the slightest feeling of hesitation or dread. My mind was filled with courage and overflowing with vanity. I stepped lightly and with the feelings of a conqueror, and already I saw myself the head scholar at the school, favored by the master, and envied by all the pupils. At the gate, Inviz came running to be my companion.

"Going to school?" he queried, having all he could do to keep up with me.

"I certainly am," I answered. "I'm not going to be a stay-at-home baby any longer. I'm going to get an education."

"Well, you must remember your motto," said Inviz (strange to say, he had fallen into the habit of using the unplain language)—"You must remember your motto:

'Let this be your plan,

Learn all that you can.' "

"Yes, I remember it;" and, fortified with renewed courage, I stepped higher than ever before.

But at the foot of the lane, whom should I encounter but David, who was repairing a break in the fence. He looked at me curiously, and I thought disdainfully, and then whistled softly to himself.

"Thee needn't hold thy head so tarnal high," he remarked. "Thee'll be a-laughin' on t'other side of thy face afore thee gits back."

I made no answer, but went on; and yet that unkind speech went straight to the spot; my ardor was dampened, my pride was cast down, and my enforced courage began to ooze away through the tips of my fingers. And now each forward step brought me nearer to my doom. Instead of advancing vigorously as before, I slouched along unwillingly, picturing in my mind all sorts of dreadful things that would probably happen when I should at length stand in the presence of the mighty schoolmaster.

All too soon, the long and lonely road was traversed, and the meetin'-house, with the schoolhouse just beyond it, was close at hand. Then, my courage all gone, I glided into a friendly fence corner and stood there irresolute, despondent, rebellious. How much better it would be to die and have done with it than to face the terrors that were before me! And then my mind reverted to Robinson Crusoe. He didn't like to go to school; he never went to meetin'; he cared nothing about being a scholar; and so he ran away to sea and had a glorious time of it on a desert island. Why couldn't I do likewise? But the sea was far, far away, and I didn't know how I could ever find it; and I thought of mother, how she would miss me, and of father's stern face when he should have learned of my folly; and I sat down on the ground with my face against a fence rail, and began to cry.

Suddenly, a cheery voice behind me cried out, "Hello there, Bobby! What's the matter? Feet cold?"

I looked up. It was big jolly Ikey Bright with a book and a slate under his arm.

"What makes you cry, Bobby? Going to school?" he asked, as I rose and wiped my eyes. "Don't you want to go?"

It was a full minute before I could answer him; and he in his pompous way picked up my dinner bucket and patted me on the shoulder and said, "There! there! Don't feel so bad about it, Bobby."

"I've never been to school before," I stammered between the sobs that would come in spite of me.

"Oh! Is that all?" he answered in the cheeriest manner you ever heard. "Well, then, you come right along with me, and don't be afraid even of the master. I'll take care of you."

He slipped my arm into his, and together we went bravely onward, he talking all the time about the adventures he had had at various schools in Sin Snatty, and how he had always been able to make the schoolmaster behave himself properly, and how his Uncle Levi had once given him a prize for knowing more than any other boy in his class. Oh, my Leonidas, what a wonderful sense of comfort and safety came over me as I walked along under the protecting care of this heroic friend!

How very full of talk he was that morning! "Do you notice," he said, "that I don't use the plain language any more? I think the unplain is a good deal more dignified, don't you?"

"Yes," I answered; "but what does thy—what does your mother think of it?"

"Oh, I always say thee and thy when I'm around her—'cause she likes it, you know; but I say you to everybody else. Why don't you learn to talk that way, Robert?" And he patted me very kindly, all with the intention of keeping my thoughts away from that dreaded school.

"I did try it once," I said; "and now I think I will try it again."

As we approached the schoolhouse we saw two or three boys and a little girl loitering outside the door as though afraid to enter, and we rightly surmised that we were among the first arrivals.

"Old Benny hain't opened the door yet," said Ikey. "Let's wait out here till it's time for books to take up."

So we sat down on a log and waited. Presently other children began to come, some by one road and some by another. They came singly and by twos or threes, carrying their few books and their dinner buckets, and appearing to be very happy because it was the first day of school. They were of all ages from five to twenty, and of all sizes from little Dotty Darlington, who seemed no more than a baby, to big lubberly Tommy Bray, whose upper lip was in sad need of a razor. The boys, as a rule, seemed rude and unmannerly; but the girls were modest and well-behaved, and some of them appeared really handsome as they peeped out from behind their plain sunbonnets. They looked at me smilingly, and some of them spoke to me by way of pleasant welcome:

"Howdy, Robert; is thee comin' to school?" or, "Hello, Bob! What's thee a-doin' here?"

Then the girls went on and entered the schoolhouse, the door having been opened; but the boys loitered about the playground, talking in subdued tones; for the master was new and they were uncertain what kind of behavior he might be expecting of them. And all this time, Ikey sat close beside me on the log and, as though to prevent my courage from flagging, kept up a running commentary on each successive arrival.

"There comes Mary Price. Look your best, Bobby, for she has a great shine after you—everybody says she has."

Now, I had seen Mary Price at meetin' every First-day since my memory began, and I hated her. I hated her because David and Jonathan and Cousin Mandy Jane had repeatedly teased me about her; more than this, she had a habit of gazing at me in meetin' and looking sweetly at me on all occasions, and this had caused unnecessary remarks. And now, to hear Ikey say that she had "a shine" for me! it filled me with shame and rekindled the flames of hatred in my heart.

But Mary, all unconscious of my feelings, smiled very pleasantly as she passed, and said, "Howdy, Robert! I'm glad thee's goin' to come to school." If I had been a pious lad I would have prayed for the earth to open and swallow her up; but being unused to making such appeals, I contented myself with fervently wishing that the Old Feller would get her and carry her away. Yet Mary was a good-looking child, although plain; and if other people had held their tongues, I might have acquired a great liking for her, and then—who knows what would have happened? Perhaps, Leonidas, you would never have been my presumptive great great grandson.

"There comes the master's sweetheart," whispered Ikey, nudging me with his elbow.

I looked. Three grown-up young women were coming up the hill and approaching the schoolhouse. They seemed too old to be scholars coming to school, but the books which they carried in their hands told me otherwise. I knew them, every one; for they, also, were regular attendants at meetin'.

"Which is his sweetheart?" I whispered.

"The middle one—the one with the yeller hair—Lena Bouncer. Everybody says that's what made him come here to teach the school. Maybe he'll marry her if he can."

The young women passed us without so much as glancing our way, and went directly into the schoolhouse.

"There comes Jake Dobson," said Ikey. "He'll be wanting you to swap something, but don't you do it."

Yes, I knew Jake Dobson. He was one of the bad boys that whittled the benches in the meetin'-house and sometimes made a noise when everybody ought to be very solemn and still. He was a slender lad, a little taller than myself, with a freckled face, a big nose, and eyes like a pig. He came swaggering up to us and greeted me very kindly:

"Hello, Towhead! What's thee doin' here? Comin' to school?"

"Yes," I answered. There was something so patronizing in his manner that I felt drawn toward him in spite of myself.

"That's good," he said. "Thee'll have lots of fun. How many marbles has thee got?"

"Nine."

"Let's see 'em. Maybe thee'd like to swap some of 'em for my big taw!"

I was about to put my hand in my pocket when Ikey nudged me hard, and saved me from further confusion by telling a very pretty little lie:

"Bobby hain't got his marbles with him," he said. "His mother won't let him fetch 'em to school."

"Huh!" granted Jake. "Well, maybe he might lose 'em. But how would thee like to swap knives, onsight and onseen, Bobby? I've got a mighty good Barlow."

"Be still!" said Ikey in a whisper. "There's Old Benny now."

I looked up. The master was standing in the doorway. He was a short, pudgy, middle-aged man, round-faced and very bald. I felt a kind of awe at the sight of him, not because I was afraid, but because he was the schoolmaster and therefore a very great man who was to be regarded with reverence. He stood in the door with the conscious air of a monarch surveying his trembling subjects; then raising a heavy ruler that he held in his hand he smote the door-jamb thrice, at the same time crying out:

"Books! books! books!"

"Come!" said Ikey to me. "School has took up. Let's go in!"

All the boys, of whom there were probably a dozen, crowded into the house and, after hanging their dinner buckets on some pegs provided for that purpose, took their seats behind two or three long rough desks at the right-hand side of the room. The girls were already sitting demurely in their places on the opposite side. The master stood behind a small table upon a little low platform at the opposite end of the room. He rapped upon the table and repeated the call:

"Books! books! books!"

There was a great deal of noise and confusion as each scholar sought to secure the place of his choice, and among the boys there was not a little unnecessary pushing and shoving; but Benjamin Barnacle was patient, and presently order was evolved from chaos and the turmoil began to subside. Then the master, with a tremendous rap of his ferule, commanded:

"Silence!"

Immediately, the room was so still that I could easily have imagined myself the only person in it.

"Scholars," said Benjamin Barnacle, speaking very loudly and with great deliberation, "you have come to school to learn, and I shall expect you every one to behave and obey the rules. You may all keep the seats that you now have till I think it best to put you somewhere else. We will now read a chapter from the New Testament."

The scholars sat very quietly while he read, for this was the first day and every child enjoyed the novelty of it. When he had finished the chapter, the master sat down by his table and began to arrange his writing materials. The hum of voices was resumed. Some of the older scholars opened their books and made a pretense of studying; some of the younger ones, who like myself were at school for the first time, waited and wondered in silence; still others, who were more experienced in the methods of getting an education, proceeded to amuse themselves in ways which I do not care to describe. Every act in the little drama was very interesting to me, and, sitting silent and expectant, I began to think that school was, after all, the most delightful place in the world.

The schoolroom was long and low, with a door at one end and the vestiges of a great fireplace, long disused, at the other. In the center was a huge box stove, in which on cold days a great fire was kept roaring from morning till night. On the girls' side of the room there were two narrow windows, long horizontally; and on the boys' side there were also two such windows and between them a small wooden blackboard on which the ciphering scholars "worked their sums." All this I observed while Benjamin Barnacle was sharpening a goose-quill pen behind his little table and getting himself ready for the day's multifarious duties. Presently he sat down and proceeded to call the children, one by one, to come forward and report their names and the necessary information about their parents, their books, and the studies which they desired to pursue. Soon my turn came. I rose and went forward, not so timidly as you might suppose, for the presence and example of the other children had buoyed up my courage most wonderfully.

"What is thy name?"

"Robert Dudley."

"Thy father's name?"

"Stephen Dudley."

"How much did thy father sign for thee?"

"Half a scholar."

"Can thee read?"

"Yes." (At this, I heard Ikey and some of the other scholars snicker quite noisily.)

"Let me see thy book."

I showed him the mutilated copy of the English Reader which I had brought, at father's suggestion, as being better suited for school recitation than any other of my numerous volumes. The master examined it for a moment, and then said, "I think this is too hard reading for a boy of thy age. If there is a First Reader at thy home thee had better fetch it to-morrow."

I told him that I had McGuffey's First Reader. "Very well," he answered. "Be sure to fetch it, for it will be much better adapted to thy comprehension. And of course thee has a spelling-book?"

"No, I never had one of my own; but there is one in father's library."

"Well, thee needs to study that very diligently, and so I shall expect thee to fetch it to-morrow. For spelling is the foundation of all knowledge."

He was about to dismiss me when I showed him the copy of Pike's Arithmetic that I had brought, also at father's suggestion.

"I hardly think thee is capable of that," he said.

"But I've ciphered all the way through short division," I protested, "and father says he wishes me to go on with it."

"Very well, then. Thee may begin with the rule for long division, and work the first five sums on the next page. That is all."

"I—I think I would like to study geography," I said, feeling unusually brave, and not willing to be dismissed without making my wishes known.

"Geography! Why, that's a branch for advanced scholars. I'm afraid thee's almost too small to understand it."

"Well, I've got a book here that I've read through four or five times, and I think I understand it;" and with that, I showed him my cherished Parley Book.

He took it in his hands, opened it and examined it from beginning to end with much interest. Finally, returning it to me, he said, "And so thee thinks thee wants to study this work?"

"Yes," I replied; "and father says that I may."

"Well, then, if that is the case, thee may begin with the first lesson, page five, and take to the bottom of the next page for to-morrow. That is all; thee may take thy seat."

But I still persisted. "Father says he would like for me to study writing," I said, producing a sheet of foolscap and a brand new quill pen.

"Yes, that is a very useful study," returned the master. "I will set thee a copy at the dinner intermission, and if thee has some black ink thee may write a line when the time comes, in the afternoon. Now thee may take thy seat."

This time I obeyed him, and as I walked across the floor I felt conscious that I was the lion of the school; for no other lad, not even Ikey Bright, could undertake to pursue a course of study so varied and comprehensive. Reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic and geography!—surely, all these implied a vast store of knowledge besides a mental capacity of unusual dimensions. I felt that all the eyes in the schoolroom were directed toward me in admiration.

"He's the best scholar thee has," I overheard Lena Bouncer whisper to the master as she came forward to have her pen sharpened.

And Mary Price, from her humble seat by the water bucket—for there was no room for her at any desk—looked proudly at me and smiled!

At about the middle of the forenoon, the master, having finished his preliminary examination of all the scholars, rapped loudly upon his desk and announced:

"Time for recess!"

Immediately the boys, as if moved by a single impulse, sprang up and rushed out-of-doors, whooping and screaming like so many savages turned suddenly loose. The girls, being by nature less demonstrative, gathered in groups around the water bucket or by the great stove; and two or three ventured to the door to watch the boys at their play. As for myself, although I had been very brave when facing the master, the thought of mingling with so many boys—and incidentally being observed by the girls—completely unnerved me, and I remained in my seat, cowering behind the long desk. Even the friendly beckonings of Ikey and of Jake Dobson failed to lure me from my place of refuge.

"Don't thee want to go out and play with the other boys?" queried Lena Bouncer, very patronizingly.

I hung my head very low over my open Parley Book.

Then the master spoke up: "Yes, Robert Dudley, I think it would do thee good to go out and take a little exercise."

But I was resolved not to go; and so I shrank into as small dimensions as were possible, and sulked—yes, actually sulked—until Old Benny again rapped upon the door-jamb and shouted, "Books! books! books!"

After recess the real work of the school began. There were as many grades and as many classes as there were scholars—no fewer than twenty-five on that opening day. The master, with his dreaded ferule in his hand and a goose-quill pen stuck over each ear, sat by the side of his small desk and from that elevated station ruled and served his subjects. There was no program to be followed, no order of exercises, no system. When a scholar felt that he had studied his lesson well and was prepared to recite, he would take his book in hand and go forward to the master's desk. The master would open the book and listen to the scholar read or spell or answer whatever questions might be printed on the page that had been studied.

If the scholar did well in this recitation, Benjamin would say approvingly, "That will do. Take the next lesson." But if he stumbled in his reading, or misspelled an easy word, or failed to answer the questions before him—then, let him face his doom!

"Take that lesson again," the master would say sharply; and the admonition was usually accompanied by a thump on the cheek, or a twitch of the ear, or in extreme cases by a thoroughgoing, old-fashioned spanking. A second failure would sometimes bring a hickory switch into requisition, and the culprit would be sentenced to stand in a corner until he had read or spelled the lesson over and over again a stated number of times. If a scholar delayed too long to report himself ready to recite, he was reminded of it by seeing the master's ferule flying across the room at no great distance from his head.

The A B C scholars and others who were too young to comprehend the meaning of study, were dealt with in a different manner. They sat together on the low backless benches assigned to them and tried very hard to keep their eyes fixed upon the ragged primers or spelling-books that had been provided for their torture. In the intervals between other duties the master would call one of them by name. The startled youngster would grasp his primer, stumble across the room, climb upon the platform and with fear and trembling stand by the master's side.

"Open thy book," the master commanded.

It was opened.

"Now what letter is this?"

The child hesitated. "It's A," said the master, "A, A, A! Look at it. Now tell me what it is."

The child timidly answered, "A."

"That's right. Remember it's A. Now what's this next letter?"

Again the child hesitated.

"I tell thee it's B. Look at it. It's B, B, B! Now tell me what it is."

The child, a little encouraged, answered, "B."

"Yes, that's right. Now don't forget. This is A and this is B. Now go to thy seat, and study these two letters till thee knows them by heart."

Thus, the master on his pedestal was the busiest of men. Recitation followed recitation, briefly and in rapid succession. Not more than three scholars at a time were permitted to approach the throne, and they must take their turns in orderly succession. Although the most usual business was "to say my lesson," there were many excuses, some necessary and others unnecessary, for keeping the master occupied.

"May I go out?" This was the favorite petition; and if it was granted, the pupil was required to leave his book on a shelf by the door until his return, pending which no one else need apply.

"Won't thee sharpen my pen?"

"May I set by the stove and warm my feet?"

"Mayn't I move my seat further away from Jake Dobson? He sticks pins in me!"

"May I go to the blackboard and do my sums?"

"May me and Mary Price go after a bucket of water?"

All these petitions and many more did Benjamin Barnacle listen to on that opening day; and to each he rendered a judicious and well-considered reply. Moreover, in addition to giving audience to these and also listening to each scholar "say his lesson" individually, he found time to give special instruction to a class of ten whom he called upon to read, verse by verse, a chapter in the New Testament. Besides all this, he maintained order in the school and attended to more than one case of infraction of discipline. Was he not a busy man, my dear Leonidas? Compare him with your modern scientific school-teacher (no longer master), busy with fads and frills, and experimenting with the children's minds in order to invent some new method and write a book about it!

At length, the middle of the day arrived, as was attested by a score of hungry stomachs. The shadow of the door-jamb was beginning to obscure the noon mark on the floor. The master, with due deliberation, drew his big silver watch from his waistcoat pocket and compared it with the sun. Then, with a crash of his ferule, he cried:

"Silence! Silence!"

Instantly every scholar was as quiet as the proverbial rodent in the meal chest.

"The young women who wished to study English grammar," announced the master, "will recite to me during the noon intermission. Those of you who remain in the room at that time will be required to keep very still while the recitation is going on. You may now proceed to eat your dinners."

The boys and most of the girls were on their feet in a moment. There was a mad rush for the dinner buckets (the word "pail" was unknown in the New Settlement); then the children assembled in various groups about the room, according to family relationships or personal preferences, and the eating began. It was a quick lunch with most of us; for we had grown very tired of the narrow hard benches and the restraints of the schoolroom, and were impatient to enjoy the noon intermission in the free air of outdoors. At the end of fifteen minutes the master again consulted his watch, and then announced:

"Intermission!"

Oh, the tumbling and rushing and crowding to escape that prison house, and then the yelling and jumping and rolling that signalized the beginning of our brief spell of liberty! I had never before witnessed anything of the kind, and I shrank timidly away from the turbulent mob, and stood leaning against a friendly tree, a silent and lonely looker-on. Not even the entreaties of Ikey Bright or the soft blandishments of Jake Dobson could induce me to join in any of the merry games that were soon in progress.

At the end of half an hour, the master came again to the schoolroom door, the ferule crashed three times against the jamb, and the air again resounded with the vociferous summons:

"Books! books! books!"

And so my first day at school passed, minute by minute, and hour by hour, without any serious set-back to my courage or my personal enjoyment. It was all so new to me, so novel, so different from any former experience, that I really liked it notwithstanding the occasional slight shocks that I received. The master treated me with condescension, the children were kind, and the bookish atmosphere of the place was very agreeable. I said my lessons in reading and spelling and geography in a manner that won the approbation of the master and the generous envy of the older scholars; and, ere long, my shyness began to be swallowed up in vanity, and an unusual sense of my own self-importance increased my courage. At last the sun was sinking in the western horizon, and again we heard the stentorian cry of the master:

"Silence! Silence! Put up your books," he said. "Be here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Books is now let out."

If there had been a great rush at noon, there was now a wild stampede. Within thirty seconds the schoolroom was cleared of human beings except the master and the three young women scholars; and in less than a minute every child had disappeared from the neighborhood as if by magic.

And I, with big self-important Ikey Bright as my companion and protector, wended my way home in the gloaming.

"How did thee like it, Robert?" inquired Cousin Mandy Jane.

"Pretty well," I answered, curtly.

Thus, my dear Leonidas, my dear Leona, another milestone of existence is passed. How shall I number it? How shall I designate it in my inventory of experiences? The sheet of paper, once so pure and spotless, is fast becoming soiled, disfigured with blots and marred with unseemly scrawls.

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