It was a plain stone building with crow-step gables
and a slated roof; and the only indication of its purpose was a
large board over the door, upon which Andrew Drever had himself
imprinted the word "SCHOOL" in bold black letters on a white
ground.
The morning's lessons were already well advanced, as I could hear
by the hum of voices as I approached. Even Peter, the jackdaw, in
his wicker cage at the open doorway, joined in the clatter of
tongues. His quick eye noticed me hurrying to the school, and he
sidled awkwardly along his perch, put out his long black beak
through the bars of his cage, and flapped his wings with
unmistakable signs of welcome.
I was very late; so late that I half dreaded going into the school;
and to discover if possible what humour the schoolmaster was in, I
peeped through the half-open window. In the inner room I could see
old Grace Drever seated with her gray cat beside the peat fire,
busily twirling her spinning wheel. Nearer to me Mr. Drever himself
sat at a high desk, at the side of which hung the inevitable
"tawse;" and I did not fail to notice that this instrument of
torture had already been used that morning, for it still swung with
a gentle motion from side to side, like the pendulum of a lazy
clock.
Lest you should suppose that Andrew Drever was a severe taskmaster,
however, let me here hasten to assure you that his nature was as
sweet as summer.
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