Squire Griffiths drew a pair of glasses from his pocket, and, adjusting them in a leisurely manner, scrutinized the face of our hero.
“How old be you?” he inquired, rather unceremoniously.
“Nearly sixteen,” answered Walter, a little embarrassed by the abruptness of the question.
“Seems to me you’re enterin’ on the teacher’s purfession a leetle airly,” remarked the squire.
“Yes, sir, I am rather young,” answered Walter, “but I hope I am qualified, and if I undertake the school I shall do my best to succeed.”
“Of course,” said the squire. “I expected you’d say that. Why, there’s some of the scholars could thrash you easy.”
“Perhaps so,” said Walter, smiling; “but I shouldn’t let them do it without resisting.”
“You look as if you’d got some grit, to be sure,” said the squire, reflectively. “Ever taught afore?”
“No, sir.”
“Of course, experience would be desirable in a teacher,” interrupted the general at this point; “but everybody has to begin, and some succeed very well from the first. Mr. Howard is a good Latin scholar, and that is in his favor.”