Mr. Churchward was familiar with the sketch, and nodded.
"Yes, he has the artist's instinct. He colours still, I believe, and has sold one or two little trifles at Tavistock. He doesn't take to the book business, I find. If we could but get a patron for him—somebody to send him to London free of expense to develop the possibilities of art. But patrons are things of the past."
"Else you would be in a higher sphere yourself, no doubt, schoolmaster."
"Thank you, Taverner. But I am quite content. Multum in parvo, as we say. I get much into little. I hope the rising generation will show that I have done my duty, if not more than my duty."
"Be they a very on-coming lot, or thick-headed?" inquired Mr. Huggins. "I often think if us old men had had such chances to larn as the boys nowadays, that we should have made a stir in the nation. Anyway, we stood to work in a fashion I never see of late years. Hard as nails we used to be. Now—my stars! you'll see the childer going to school under umbrellas! 'Tis a great sign of weakness in my opinion, and ought to be stopped."
"As to the main question," answered Adam, "my youthful charges may be considered rather under than over the average in their intellects. With the exception of Johnny Williams and his brother Arthur, I should say my present classes will leave the world pretty much as they find it. I need not tell you that I inculcate high moral principles; and in that respect they are as good and honest a lot of boys as Lydford has ever turned out—or any other centre of instruction. But as to book learning—no."
"Too many school treats and holidays, in my opinion," said Jarratt Weekes.
He had just entered, and was shaking himself like a dog that emerges from the water.
"Hold on!" cried Jacob Taverner. "What be about?"
Weekes took off his coat and flung it on a settle.