No one was late for school on Friday morning. Just on the stroke of nine, prayers were said by the dominie, and we commenced the work of adorning the classrooms. By noon everything was done and the rubbish swept away. Boys and girls hurried home to snatch a hasty meal and don Sunday attire for the afternoon function. By three o’clock all were in their places in school; precisely at a quarter past the hour the parish minister and his elders entered, and we all stood respectfully to receive them. Prayers was offered and a Psalm or paraphrase was sung. The minister called up the bigger pupils to say the Shorter Catechism and answer questions on the portion of scripture history studied during the year. (Religious knowledge formed the first and most important task of every day when I was a boy.) The little ones, too, had a chance of showing their acquaintance with the rudiments of the Christian faith, even if it was only to the extent of that contained in the “Mother’s catechism.” Then came the presentation of prizes and the reading out of the names of Glenconan boys who had won bursaries or college honors during the previous university session. How the old school rang with shouts as lame Jamie Wilson stepped forward to get the silver medal for Latin prose composition, or when Geordie Sangster was complimented by the minister for his progress in Euclid and presented with several handsomely bound volumes as prizes. There was no jealousy or discontent among us, for we knew that though Mr. Angus was a hard man he was scrupulously just. The giving out of tasks to be learned during the holidays was always left to the minister. Sometimes it was the Sermon on the Mount we had to commit to memory; at other times it was a certain number of Psalms or paraphrases, or one of the shorter Epistles. The wiseacres of today will probably sneer at such simple ways, but I could tell of many a man who, in his old age, thanked God and the minister that he learned those grand passages in his youth. A few words of fatherly advice from the good man--and to know the Rev. Dr. Orr was to love him--then a parting benediction and the great function was over. A very simple state of things it was undoubtedly; yet it produced the men and women who have made for Scotland her splendid reputation among Christian nations. Our harvest vacation--it was my last before I went to Sandy Jamieson’s carpenter’s shop to learn my trade--stands out before me in bold relief.