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Updated: May 24, 2025
He dared no longer venture through Kristianshavn. Pelle could not understand how Ferdinand had lit upon him. Was he living out here in the Rabarber ward? Morten was sitting down, writing in a thick copybook. He closed it hastily as Pelle entered. "What is that?" asked Pelle, who wanted to open the book; "are you still writing in your copybook?" Morten, confused, laid his hand on the book. "No.
The small "g" led a public speaker to denounce the sort of men "sordid and ignorant" who write "God with a small g and gold with a big one." This was a scrapbook in humble imitation of the albums in the East. Another copybook motto. Good boys who to their books apply Will all be great men by and by.
I have changed the poet's line, using prose of course: There is beauty everywhere and therefore joy. And I will explain briefly, too, how it is that this copybook maxim is now for me a practical reality.
She examined an inkstand that the dried ink of ages had encrusted, beyond redemption, in a sunken cavity of restraint in an inktray overstocked with extinct and senile pens. Its residuum of black fluid had been glutinous ever since Miss Julia had known it; ever since she had written, as a student, that Bounty Commanded Esteem all down one page of a copybook.
It was careful, but perfect, writing, such as one sees in a school copybook. With an apology he tore the covering, and read the letter. Adrienne, glancing at his face, saw it suddenly pale and grow as set and hard as marble. Samson's eyes were dwelling with only partial comprehension on the script. This is what he read: "DEAR SAMSON: The war is on again.
If he had said, "Be not faithless," or anything in the copybook manner, I should have sat down and resigned myself to solemn despair. But now I felt a fool and a coward as well. So I addressed myself, like a dog who hears the crack of a whip, to the rocks. It would be tedious to relate how I clambered and stumbled and agonised.
He remembered when a boy at school scribbling as best he could on his copybook, "Discretion is the better part of valour," and the sentence flashed across his heated brain with all the force of actual conviction. "What was he to do?" "Was it to be football first, and Mary afterwards?"
But the lines of the copybook thereafter faded into long parallels of never-ending road, over which childish figures seemed to pass sobbing and crying to the night. Then, the little schoolhouse seeming lonelier than before, he shut the door and went home. The next morning M'liss came to school.
Everything belonging to that time interested her, verses and faded flowers; but her thoughts were especially centred on an old copybook in which she kept the fragments of poetry that used to strike her fancy at the moment.
Shuffling about a little, he murmured something about the 'apples comin' on fine in the orchard' as if Walden's three days' absence had somehow or other accelerated their ripening, and then slowly and reluctantly retired, deeply dejected in his own mind. "For silence gives consent," he argued dolefully with himself "That's copybook truth!
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