Uncle Eb shook with laughter as I
tried the cry of that deadly bugbear of my youth.
We got into the wagon presently and drove away. The sun was down as I drew up at the old school-house.
“Run in fer a minute an' set down in yer old seat an' see how it seems,” said Uncle Eb. “They're goin' to tear it down, an' tain't likely you'll see it ag'in.”
I went to the door and lifted its clanking latch and walked in. My footsteps filled the silent room with echoes, and how small it looked! There was the same indescribable odor of the old time country school—that of pine timber and seasoning fire-wood. I sat down in the familiar seat carved by jack-knives. There was my name surrounded by others cut in the rough wood.
