Squire¹ Griffiths was a small man, with stiff gray hair, which he usually brushed in such a manner that it stood up straight in front, forming a palisade, so to speak. It might have been to increase his apparent height, or again it might have been regarded as adding to the dignity of his presence, for the squire had by no means a contemptible² opinion of himself.

 

“Good-evening, Squire Griffiths,” said General Wall, advancing to meet him. “This is Mr. Howard, the young man whom Mr. Barclay has recommended to fill his place.”

 

Squire Griffiths drew a pair of glasses from his pocket, and, adjusting them in a leisurely³ manner, scrutinized⁴ the face of our hero.

 

“How old be you?” he inquired, rather unceremoniously.

 

“Nearly sixteen,” answered Walter, a little embarrassed by the abruptness⁵ of the question.

 

“Seems to me you’re enterin’ on the teacher’s purfession a leetle airly,” remarked the squire.

 

“Yes, sir, I am rather young,” answered Walter, “but I hope I am qualified⁶, and if I undertake the school I shall do my best to succeed.”

 

“Of course,” said the squire. “I expected you’d say that. Why, there’s some of the scholars could thrash you easy.”

 

“Perhaps so,” said Walter, smiling; “but I shouldn’t let them do it without resisting.”

 

“You look as if you’d got some grit⁷, to be sure,” said the squire, reflectively. “Ever taught afore?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Of course, experience would be desirable in a teacher,” interrupted the general at this point; “but everybody has to begin, and some succeed very well from the first. Mr. Howard is a good Latin scholar, and that is in his favor.”

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