"The Mester gae us a story to write for composition the day," said Annie. "It was aboot a boy that was after a job and a' the boys were lined up and they had to go in to see the man, and he had a Bible lyin' on the floor, and a' the lads steppit over it, but this laddie he pickit it up and got the job." "That's what you call a story with a moral, Annie. It is meant to teach you a lesson. The best stories have no morals ... neither have the people who listen to them." "We had to write the story," said Ellen, "and syne we had to tell why the boy got the job. Aw said it was becos he was a guid boy and went to the Sunday Schule." "Aw said it was becos he was a pernikity sort o' laddie that liked things to be tidy," said Gladys. Annie laughed. "Aw said the man was maybe a fat man that cudna bend doon to pick it up. What did you say, Jan?" "Aw dinna mind," said Janet ruefully, "but when the Mester cried me oot for speakin', Aw picked up a geography book on the floor, just to mak the Mester think that Aw had learned a lesson frae his story, but he gae me a slap on the lug for wastin' time comin' oot." "Jim Jackson got three scuds wi' the strap for his story," said Annie. "Ah!" I cried, "what did he write?" "He said that the laddie maybe hadna a hankie, and his nose was needin' dichted and he didna like to let the man see him dichtin' it wi' the sleeve o' his jaicket, so he bent doon to pick up the Bible and dicht his nose on the sly at the same time." "Yes," I said sadly, "that's Jim Jacksonese, pure and simple. Poor lad!" "The Mester said he was a vulgar fellow," said Janet. "A low-minded something or other, he ca'ed him," said Gladys. "But he didna greet when he got the strap," said Annie, "he just sniffed thro' his nose and--and dichted it wi' his sleeve." I knew then that all the Macdonalds in creation couldn't conquer my Jim. XVI. Macdonald and I were comparing notes to-night. "I found that Monday was always a noisy day in school," I said; "the bairns were always unsettled." "I don't find that," he said; "Friday is their worst day. I don't understand that." "Friday was my free day," I said. "What do you mean by free day?" "Every bairn did what it liked." "Good Lord!" exclaimed Macdonald. "That's nothing," I laughed, "why, I gave them a free week once." "What was your idea. Laziness?" "Laziness! My dear boy, I never put in such a hard week in my life. A boy would come out and ask for a certain kind of sum, then a girl would bring out a writing book and ask for a setting; by the time I had attended to these, a dozen were waiting." "Did they all work?" "They were all active. Dickie Gibson spent the week in sketching; Geordie Steel read five penny dreadfuls; Janet Brown played at anagrams; Annie Miller read _The Weekly Welcome_; Ellen Smith worked arithmetic all week and Jock Miller wrote a novel. Jock spent half his dinner-hour writing." "That's what a school should be," I added.