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Monsieur Duguey put his candle into lantern, shouldered a broom, and taking blanket, led the way towards the chateau. Want of words to express our fears and distress sealed our lips as we picked our way into a filthy, can-strewn, bottle-littered courtyard, towards a wing of the chateau where I had chosen to sleep. I hardly know what we plodded through the corridor.
His children fell into the hands of a teacher with a true vocation for his great work and a passion for young life. Under his hand the youth of the rapidly growing mill village were saved from the sordid and soul-debasing influences of their environment, were led out of the muddy streets and can-strewn back yards to those far heights where dwell the high gods of poesy and romance.
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