to laugh, and especially when he saw me so superlatively scrambled.
He had beaten me on my own ground and convicted me of knowing less
than a horse, so I could but yield the palm to him with what grace I
could command. Many a time since that day have I been unhorsed, and
by a mere boy who laughed at my discomfiture. But I learned my
lesson from Dick and have always tried, though grimly, to applaud the
victor in the tournament of wits. Only so could I hold the respect
of the boy, not to mention my own. If a boy sets a trap for me and I
walk into it, well, if he doesn't laugh at me he isn't much of a boy;
and if I can't laugh with him I am not much of a schoolmaster.




CHAPTER VI

LANTERNS

I may be mistaken, but my impression is that "The Light of the
World," by Holman Hunt, is the only celebrated picture in the world
of which there are two originals. One of these may be seen at Oxford
and the other in St. Paul's, London. Neither is a copy of the other,
and yet they are both alike, so far as one may judge without having
them side by side. The picture represents Christ standing at a door
knocking, with a lantern in one hand from which light is streaming.
When I think of a lantern the mind instantly flashes to this picture,
to Diogenes and his lantern, and to the old tin lantern with its
perforated cylinder which I used to carry out to the barn to arrange
the bed-chambers for the horses. All my life have I been hearing
folks speak of the association of ideas as if one idea could conjure