"I am not much good at drawing," he explained apologetically, "as a matter of fact I know nothing about it."
"In that case," I said, "why not let them go on with the methods I gave them? I know something about the subject."
He asked what my methods were and I explained them in a few minutes. He expressed his gratitude and seemed honestly glad to learn something about the subject.
"I won't take them out drawing though," he said; "an inspector might come to the school in my absence."
"You conscientious devil!" I said, "let's have a squint at their exercise books."
As he moved to the cupboard a boy whispered to his neighbour and Macdonald turned like a flash; the lad visibly quailed before his fixing eye. I fancied that the next inspector's report would commence with the words: "The discipline of this school is excellent."
The books were much neater than mine had been. I began to look for blots, but the search was hopeless.
"Oh! for God's sake, Macdonald, show me Peter Mackay's book; surely a good healthy blot will be found there!" But Peter's book was scrupulously clean.
"I had to deal with that boy with a stern hand," said Macdonald grimly, and as I stood looking at the book I saddened.
"On the outside of this book you should write the words: 'Peter Mackay ... a Tragedy, by William Macdonald,'" I said, but I don't think the man understood me.