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MySchoolDaysLookingovermyownschooldays,therearesomanythingsthatIwouldrathernottell,thatitwilltakeverylittletimeandspacefo

rmetouseintellingwhatIamwillingthatthecarpingpublicshouldknowaboutmyearlyhistory.Ibeganmyeducationalcareerinalogschoolhouse.Findi

ngthatothergreatmenhaddonethatway,IbeganearlytolookaroundmeforalogschoolhousewhereIcouldbegininasmallwaytosoakmysystemfullofhardwordsandinformation

.ForatimeIlearnedveryrapidly.Learningcametomewithverylittleeffortatfirst.Iwouldreadmylessonoveronceortwiceandthentakemyplace

intheclass.ItneverbotheredmetorecitemylessonandsoIstoodattheheadoftheclass.Icouldstickmybigtoethroughaknot-holeinthefloorandworkou

tthemostdifficultproblem.Thisbecameatlastahabitwithme.Withmyknot-holeIwassafe,withoutitIwouldhesitate.Alar

gered-headedboy,withfeetlikeasummersquashandeyeslikethoseofadeadcodfish,wasmyrival.HesoondiscoveredthatIwasverydepen

dentonthatknot-hole,andsoonenighthestoleintotheschoolhouseandpluggeduptheknot-hole,sothatIcouldnotworkmytoeintoitandthusrefreshmymemory.Thenthelarg

ered-headedboy,whohadnotformedtheknot-holehabit,wenttotheheadoftheclassandremainedthere.AfterIgrewlarger,myparentssentmetoamilitaryschool.Thatis

whereIgotthefinemilitarylearningandstatelycarriagethatIstillwear.Myroomwasonthesecondfloor,anditwasverydifficultformetoleaveitat

night,becausetheturnkeylockedusupat9o’clockeveryevening.Still,Iusedtogetoutonceinawhileandwanderaroundinthestarlight.Ididnot

knowyetwhyIdidit,butIpresumeitwasakindofsomnambulism.IwouldgotobedthinkingsointentlyofmylessonsthatIwouldgetupandwanderaway,someti

mesformiles,inthesolemnnight.OnenightIawokeandfoundmyselfinawatermelonpatch.Iwasneversoashamedinmylife.Itisaveryseriousthingtobeawakenedsorudelyou

tofasoundsleep,byabulldog,tofindyourselfinthewatermelonvineyardofamanwithwhomyouarenotacquainted.Iwasnotontermsofsocialintimacywithth

ismanorhisdog.Theydidnotbelongtoourset.Wehadneverbeenthrowntogetherbefore.AfterthatIwascalledthegreatsomnambulistandmenwhoha

dwatermelonconservatoriesshunnedme.Butitcuredmeofmysomnambulism.Ihavenevertriedtosomnambuleanymoresincethattime.Thereareother

littleincidentsofmyschooldaysthatcometroopingupinmymemoryatthismoment,buttheywerenotstartlingintheirnature.Mineisbutthehistoryofonewhostruggledonye

arafteryear,tryingtodobetter,butmostalwaysfailingtoconnect.TheboysofBostonwoulddowelltostudycarefullymyrecordandthen–dodiffe

rently.