The Master of Lindsay School

Now and then Eric met some callow, check—shirted, bare-legged lad on horse— back, or a shrewd—faced farmer in a cart, who nodded and called out cheerily, “ Howdy, Master“.l ” A young girl, with a rosy, oval face, dimpled cheeks, and pretty dark eyes filled with shy coquetry, passed him, looking as if she would not be at all averse to a better acquaintance with the new teacher.

Half way down the hill Eric met a shambling, old gray horse drawing an ex- press wagon which had seen better days. The driver was a woman: she appeared to be one of those drab-tinted individuals who can never have felt a rosy emotion in all their lives. She stopped her horse, and beckoned Eric over to her with the knobby handle of a faded and bony um- brella.

“ Reckon you’re the new Master, ain’t you? ” she asked.

Eric admitted that he was.

“ Well, I’m glad to see you,” she said,

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