“In the class-room with Standard I., Mr. Kynnersley, and you never came near _my_ class.” How was I to know that there was a class in there? What has she got in her hands? There is a model of a camel, a sketch of its internal arrangements, “Wood’s Natural History,” and rough notes of the lesson. Oh, Miss Miranda! “Excellent wench! Perdition catch my soul but I do----” wish there were more teachers like you. FOOTNOTES: [39] A scientific friend explains that the Manual treats only of vegetable destroyers: the worble fly is the pest of oxen. [40] “Shut off the runnels now, lads; the meadows have drunk enough.” CHAPTER XXVI COMPOSITION “An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.” _King John._ In the dark ages before (about) 1895 one of the subjects allotted to Standard V. was composition, and this was further explained to be “writing from memory the substance of a short story read out twice.” It was a very useful exercise, and many of my friends would be more valuable witnesses in a court of justice, and better company after dinner, if they had received this training. To be able to catch the point of a story and repeat it accurately is a rare accomplishment. I remember an instance in point. I was staying with a doctor, a school manager; and at dinner I told him the old story of H. J. Byron, Sothern, and the great-coat. He laughed, and made a mental note of it for professional use. Next day at lunch he told me that it had brought him good fruit beyond expectation. He had called at the Hall, and finding the daughters of the house assembled in the drawing-room, after he had seen his patient, he had told them the story thus: “I heard a good story last night. H. J. Byron, you know, the man that wrote the plays, was going down Regent Street the other day, and met Sothern, the actor. It was a very cold day, and Sothern, noticing that Byron was lightly clad, exclaimed, ‘What a fellow you are, Byron; you never wear a great-coat.’ ‘No,’ said Byron, ‘I never was.’ “They all laughed consumedly, and in the middle of their laughter a girl friend called, and asked what was the joke. “‘Oh,’ said one, ‘such a funny story the Doctor has just told us. Lord Byron, you know, that wrote the poetry, was going down--what street was it, Doctor?’ “‘Well, it’s immaterial, but it was Regent Street.’ “‘Oh, thanks, yes; and he met--who was it?’ “‘Sothern, the actor.’ “‘Of course, yes:’ and so he said to Sothern, ‘you never wear a great coat;’ so he said, ‘No, I never do.’ (Renewed laughter.) “The caller pondered, and then remarked that she was awfully stupid, but she didn’t see the joke. The narrator pondered also, and finally confessed, ‘No more do I now, but we laughed very much when the Doctor told us.’”