"What sort of lesson will it be?" he asked, "geography or history?"
"I don't know," I said, and I turned to my bairns.
"Why do rabbits have white tails?" I asked, and from that we wandered on through protective coloration and heredity to wolves and their fear of fire. We finished up with poetry, but I don't recollect how we got to it. When I had finished he pondered for a little.
"It's all wrong," he said. "That boy in the corner was half asleep; four of these girls weren't really attending to you, and two girls left the room."
"My fault," I said. "I took them to subjects they weren't interested in."
"No," he said decidedly, "it was only your fault in not forcing them to sit up and attend."
"But why should I?" I asked wearily. "Schooling is the beginning of the education we call life, and I want to make it as true to life as possible. In after life no one compels my attention or yours. We can sleep in church and we can sleep at a political meeting. We learn lots of things but we are interested in them. Tell me, what boy in this room answered best?"
He pointed to a boy of twelve.
"I agree," I said, and I called the boy to my desk.
"Hugh," I said, "kindly tell this gentleman how long you have been at school."