th which he was wont to decorate my monthly
reports to my grandfather. I can shut my eyes and see now that wonderful
hyperbola in the C in Carvel, which, after travelling around the paper,
ended in intricate curves and a flourish which surely must have broken
the quill.

The last day of every month would I fetch that scrolled note to Mr.
Carvel, and he laid it beside his plate until dinner was over. And then,
as sure as the sun rose that morning, my flogging would come before it
set. This done with, and another promised next month provided Mr.
Daaken wrote no better of me, my grandfather and I renewed our customary
footing of love and companionship.

But Mr. Daaken, unwittingly or designedly, taught other things than
those I have mentioned above. And though I never once heard a word of
politics fall from his lips, his school shortly became known to all good
Tories as a nursery of conspiracy and sedition. There are other ways of
teaching besides preaching, and of that which the dominie taught best he
spoke not a word. He was credited, you may well believe, with calumnies
against King George, and once my Uncle Grafton and Mr. Dulany were for
clapping him in jail, avowing that he taught treason to the young. I can
account for the tone of King William's School in no other way than to
say that patriotism was in the very atmosphere, and seemed to exude
in some mysterious way from Mr. Daaken's person. And most of us became
infected with it.

The dominie lived outside the town, in a lonely little hamlet on the
borders of the Spa. At two of the clock every afternoon he would dive
through School Street to the Coffee House, where the hostler would have
his bony mare saddled and waiting. Mr. Daaken by no chance ever entered
the tavern. I recall one bright day in April when I played truant and
had the temerity to go afishing on Spa Creek with Will Fotheringay, the
bass being plentiful there. We had royal sport of it that morning, and
two o'clock came and went with never a thought, you may be sure. And
presently I get a pull which bends my English rod near to double, and
in my excitement plunge waist deep into the water, Will crying out
directions from the shore, when suddenly the head of Mr. Daaken's mare
is thrust through the bushes, followed by Mr. Daaken himself. Will stood
stock still from fright, and I was for dropping my rod and cutting, when
I was arrested by the dominie calling out:

"Have a care, Master Carvel; have a c