“Upon my word, here is my friend Bart.  I was not looking for you here.”

He put his hand on my head, now higher than his shoulder, and said:  “I was not looking for you here.”

He moved his hand down some inches and added:  “I was looking for you down there.  You can’t tell where you’ll find these youngsters if you leave them a while.”

“We are all forever moving,” said the schoolmaster.  “No man is ever two days in the same altitude unless he’s a Whig.”

“Or a born fool,” the Senator laughed with a subtlety which I did not then appreciate.

He asked about my aunt and uncle and expressed joy at learning that I was now under Mr. Hacket.

“I shall be here for a number of weeks,” he said, “and I shall want to see you often.  Maybe we’ll go hunting some Saturday.”

We bade him good morning and he went on with his wheelbarrow, which was loaded, I remember, with stout sacks of meal and flour.

We went to the school at half past eight.  What a thrilling place it was with its seventy-eight children and its three rooms.  How noisy they were as they waited in the school yard for the bell to ring!  I stood by the door-side looking very foolish, I dare say, for I knew not what to do with myself.  My legs encased in the tow breeches felt as if they were on fire.  My timidity was increased by the fact that many were observing me and that my appearance seemed to inspire sundry, sly remarks.  I saw that most of the village boys wore boughten clothes and fine boots.  I looked down at my own leather and was a tower of shame on a foundation of greased cowhide.  Sally Dunkelberg came in with some other girls and pretended not to see me.  That was the hardest blow I suffered.

Among the handsome, well-dressed boys of the village was Henry Wills—­the boy who had stolen my watermelon.  I had never forgiven him for that or for the killing of my little hen.  The bell rang and we marched into the big room, while a fat girl with crinkly hair played on a melodeon.  Henry and another boy tried to shove me out of line and a big paper wad struck the side of my head as we were marching in and after we were seated a cross-eyed, freckled girl in a red dress made a face at me.

It was, on the whole, the unhappiest day of my life.  It reminded me of Captain Cook’s account of his first day with a barbaric tribe on one of the South Sea islands.  During recess I slapped a boy’s face for calling me a rabbit and the two others who came to help him went away full of fear and astonishment, for I had the strength of a young moose in me those days.  After that they began to make friends with me.

In the noon hour a man came to me in the school yard with a subpoena for the examination of Amos Grimshaw and explained its meaning.  He also said that Bishop Perkins, the district attorney, would call to see me that evening.

While I was talking with this man Sally passed me walking with another girl and said: