Of course each side would
be eager to get the quickest and fastest runner on their side. How I did
like that game! We then tossed to see who would be the outs and who
would chase the outs, and many's the mile we boys would run. We would be
late for school and would be kept in after three o'clock; that would
break my heart, but I would forget all about it the next day and do the
same thing again.
Our teacher, J. W. Wakeman--God bless him!--is living yet, and I hope he
will live a good many years more. A boy doesn't always like his teacher,
and I was no exception; I did not like him very much. He gave me more
whippings than any other boy in the school. All the learning I received
was, you might say, pounded into me. He used to say to me, "David, why
don't you be good and study your lessons? There is the making of a man
in you, but if you don't study you will be fit for nothing else than the
pick and shovel." How those words rang in my ears many a time in after
years when they came true, when I had to use the pick and shovel! I am
not saying anything against that sort of labor; it has its place. We
must fill in somewhere, in some groove, but that was not mine.
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