It is necessary that the teacher should be able to recognise the different types. The extrovert is popular; he it is who leads the gang. Doubts and fears do not trouble him; life is pleasant and he laughs his way through it. But the introvert is the boy who stands apart in a corner of the playground; he is timid and fears the rough and tumble of team games. He feels inferior and he turns in upon himself to find superiority. Thus he will day-dream of situations in which he is a hero like David Copperfield when he stood at Dora's garden gate and saw himself rescuing her from the burning house. I think that the job of the teacher is to help each type to a position midway between introversion and extroversion. The boy who lives in the crowd might well be tempted to take more interest in his own individuality, and the introvert might well be encouraged to project his emotions outward. * * * * * To-night Mac told me a story about old Simpson the dominie over at Pikerton. Last summer an English bishop was touring Scotland, and one morning he drove up to Simpson's school in a big car, flung open the door and walked in. "Good morning, children," he cried. The bairns sat gazing at him in awe. He turned to Simpson. "My good sir," he protested, "when I enter a village school in England, the children all rise and say: 'Good morning, sir'!" "Possibly," said Simpson dryly, "but in Scotland children are not accustomed to see strangers walk into a school. Scots visitors always knock at the door and await the headmaster's invitation to enter." * * * * * Mac and I were talking about education to-night. "I never heard you mention the teaching side of education," he remarked. "Giving a child freedom isn't enough, you know. What about History and Geography and so on?" "I think they are jolly well taught in many schools, Mac," I said. "It is the psychological side of education that is a thousand years behind the times." "Yes," said Mac doubtfully, "but suppose you have a school of your own, I presume you'd teach the English yourself?" I nodded. "How would you do it?" I thought for a while. "I'd reverse the usual process, Mac," I said. "Usually the teacher begins with Chaucer and works forward to Dickens; I would begin with _Comic Cuts_ and _Dead-wood Dick_ and work back to Chaucer." "Oh, do be serious for once," he said impatiently. "I am quite serious, Mac," I said. "The only thing that matters in school work is interest, and I know from experience that the child is interested in _Comic Cuts_ but not in the _Canterbury Tales_. My job is to encourage the boy's interest in _Comic Cuts_." I ignored Macdonald's reference to idiocy, and went on.