Having
rescued him, the teacher said:
"Why don't you keep with the little boys? What are you doing along
with him?"
"Please, sir," was the answer, "I was minding him."
He would have "minded" Noah if he had got hold of him.
He was a good-natured lad, and at school he was always willing for
the whole class to copy from his slate--indeed he would urge them
to do so. He meant it kindly, but inasmuch as his answers were
invariably quite wrong--with a distinctive and inimitable wrongness
peculiar to himself--the result to his followers was eminently
unsatisfactory; and with the shallowness of youth that, ignoring
motives, judges solely from results, they would wait for him
outside and punch him.
All his energies went to the instruction of others, leaving none
for his own purposes. He would take callow youths to his chambers
and teach them to box.
"Now, try and hit me on the nose," he would say, standing before
them in an attitude of defence. "Don't be afraid. Hit as hard as
ever you can."
And they would do it. And so soon as he had recovered from his
surprise, and a little lessened the bleeding, he would explain to
them how they had done it all wrong, and how easily he could have
stopped the blow if they had only hit him properly.
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