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In 1851 at the school maintained at Kaposia it is reported that Daniel Renville, Gustavus A. Robertson, Rosalie Renville, and Fat Duty Win can spell and read in English in McGuffy's Eclectic Primer, and can spell and read in the Sioux language in Wowape Metawa.
He considers the advantage of such an arrangement in school two hands in plain view above the desk holding McGuffy's Fourth Reader at the proper angle for study and the other two out of sight, down underneath the desk engaged in manufacturing paper wads or playing crack-a-loo or some other really worth while employment. Or for robbing birds' nests.
There is a tale in that good old classic, McGuffy's Third Reader, to the effect that a man once punished one of his children, and a minute after had his own ears violently boxed by his mother, with the admonition, "You box the ears of your child, and I'll box the ears of mine!"
But I was glad to see that old McGuffy's readers prevailed, for in many parts of the South they had been supplanted by books of flimsy text, and now to see them cropping up gave me great pleasure. There they were, with the same old lessons that had fired me with ambition, the words of Shakspeare and the speeches of great Americans.
He closed his eyes, and, inasmuch as the town clock furnishes the official time for Rearward, the published report of Tommy McGuffy's going records that he passed at twenty-five minutes after eleven P.M., November 11, 1890.
Atkins has his fun mixed in with his hardships, and, contrary to popular belief, the rank and file of the British Army in the trenches is one big happy family. Now in Virginia, at school, I was fed on old McGuffy's primary reader, which gave me an opinion of an Englishman about equal to a '76 Minute Man's backed up by a Sinn Feiner's.
Very few people know that time turned back one hour and a half in order that the reputation of Tommy McGuffy's tombstone for veracity might be spotless in the eyes of future generations. Billy Skidmore, the sexton, arranged to have Rearward time ready for the sun when it rose upon the following morning. He was a bachelor, and he owned a little tobacco store in the suburbs.
Who, save old Billy Skidmore, would care whether old Tommy McGuffy's last resting-place were designated or not? Once let the worms begin operations upon this antique morsel, what would it matter to Rearward folks where the banquet was taking place?
This mounted chase, in the best horse-opera manner, came thundering down a road past a schoolhouse just as the pupils were being let out for recess. One of these, a 14-year-old boy named Cabell Maddox, jumped onto the pony on which he had ridden to school and joined in the pursuit, armed only with a McGuffy's Third Reader.
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