My Schooling 



master's handkerchief. Next came the visit 

 of the hen, bringing her velvet-coated chicks 

 to see us. All of us eagerly crumbled a little 

 bread for our pretty visitors. We vied with 

 one another in calling them to us and tickling 

 with our fingers their soft and downy backs. 

 No, there was certainly no lack of distractions. 

 What could we learn in such a school as 

 that ! Let us first speak of the young ones, of 

 whom I was one. Each of us had, or rather 

 was supposed to have, in his hands a little 

 penny book, the alphabet, printed on grey 

 paper. It began, on the cover, with a pigeon, 

 or something like it. Next came a cross, fol- 

 lowed by the letters in their order. When we 

 turned over, our eyes encountered the terrible 

 ba, be, bi, bo, bit, the stumbling-block of most 

 of us. When we had mastered that formi- 

 dable page, we were considered to know how 

 to read and were admitted among the big ones. 

 But, if the little book was to be of any use, the 

 least that was required was that the master 

 should interest himself in us to some extent 

 and show us how to set about things. For this, 

 the worthy man, too much taken up with the 

 big ones, had not the time. The famous al- 

 phabet with the pigeon was thrust upon us 

 only to give us the air of scholars. We were 

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