In the rural districts of Scotland, forty years ago, the parish schools had no summer vacation; autumn was the holiday season. We schoolboys envied the lot of the lads who had returned from college and were enjoying all the fishing and fun of the first summer days; eagerly we watched the ripening of the fields of oats and barley, and when Jeemes Dewar, the village oracle, proclaimed to the worthies in smithy assembled that Hillton would begin reaping on the following Monday, you may be sure we spread the news like wildfire. When school prayers were over on Wednesday morning we waited breathlessly for the announcement of the vacation. And we were not disappointed. “You may tell your parents that the holidays will begin on Monday, and the closing exercise will take place on Friday of this week.” As Mr. Angus uttered the authoritative fiat, every eye glistened and all sorts of glorious “ploys” loomed in anticipation. We got our holidays in autumn that we might be free to lend a helping hand at home or in the harvest-field during the busy season. How different are things nowadays! The twentieth-century boy must on no account be subjected to any work during his holiday time; he needs not only to have all his vacation for rest and amusement--he even looks to have amusement provided for him. The boys of our day were cast in a hardier mould. Harvest-time, while it brought to most of us lots of hard work, brought also lots of fun. Certainly, when we returned to our school tasks our appearance gave the impression that harvest work and harvest fare agreed with us marvellously well. Many an Aberdeenshire lad, eager to secure a college education, earned enough during harvest to buy his class books and leave a few shillings for pocket money. If he managed to get into the scholarship list his bursary would pay matriculation and class fees; and with an occasional box of supplies from home, he was able to get along comfortably during the winter session. Well, as soon as the date of closing was announced, the “buskin” of the school was the theme of conversation. Every spare moment was given up to that. Bands of boys scoured the woods for the nicest evergreens, which the girls made up into wreaths and festoons; contributions of fruit and flowers were solicited from all who had gardens, and no one was so churlish as to refuse. Is there a Glenconan laddie who does not remember with love and gratitude the kindly receptions given by some of the old people--how Mrs. Blair would strip her apple trees and rose bushes that we might have a “braw buskin”? And how old Hillton would choose out the ripest and neatest sheaves of grain to help us in our harvest decorations!