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, 
     
    
   
   
    
     35