Though it's so long ago, and the interval packed so full of all kinds of memories and incidents and experiences, I can see myself, juast as if it was yesterday, coming home from my work; washing the stains of my day's labour off my face and hands; swallowing my supper — my books on the table before me all the time — and setting out for the class, not, however, without receiving a bit of good-natured taunt from the old woman, who " won'ers what hobby I'll strideleg next, an' ride tae the deevil."