Missouri Country Life Conference. 233 



years went by; toys came into the home, picture books, story 

 books and, after a while the baby learned his A, B, C's. Then 

 the mother and the father began to talk about the first day of 

 school. 



Have you ever experienced that first day of school in the 

 country? They dreaded the coming of the day but it came, and 

 the baby went to school. How proudly he walked from the 

 house to the gate, kissed his mother good-by and walked down 

 the lane with his little book under his arm. 



What did he leave when he left the home that morning and 

 went down the lane to the schoolhouse? He left a home sur- 

 rounded by shade trees and grass and flowers and fields and 

 flocks, just as beautiful as nature could make them; a home in 

 which could be found good books, comfortable seats, good pic- 

 tures on the wall, everything calculated for the development of 

 a baby boy into a truly good, useful and noble man. 



Now what did he find down at the other end of the lane? 

 A little old, cold, deserted, paintless, weatherbeaten shack of a 

 building in which I am told even the bats sometimes refused to 

 stay; no grass in the yard, no shade trees, no flowers, no com- 

 fortable seats in the house, no pictures on the wall, no books for 

 him save the little book that he held under his arm. Out on the 

 playground he found a group of anxious little boys and girls, 

 some of whom wondered who the little stranger might be. And 

 the little schoolma'am, I am told, imbued with the surroundings 

 of the place, said in the usual way: "Well, what is your name, 

 sir?" He could hardly understand it all. Everything seemed 

 so different from the life at home. 



Somewhere I have seen a schoolhouse like this set on an 

 acre of ground, the building in the middle of that acre. Inside 

 of the schoolhouse a stove in the center of the room and the 

 seats all nailed down, and under the stove and around it a box 

 in which was placed some sand for the directors and patrons 

 to spit in on election day — and the box still waits, like the little 

 boy who had been bad and his mother shut him up in the closet. 

 He was so very still that she said, "Bobby, what are you doing 

 in there?" He said, "I 'pitted on your hat, and I 'pitted on 

 your dreth and I 'pitted on your coat, and I am waitin' for more 

 'pit." 



Tell me, friends, do you have your stove in the middle of 

 the room at home? No, because that is not the place for the 

 stove. Do you have the chairs all nailed down at home? No, 



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