arithmetic.

When all is said, our master was an excellent man who could have
kept school very well but for his lack of one thing; and that was
time. He devoted to us all the little leisure which his numerous
functions left him. And, first of all, he managed the property of
an absentee landowner, who only occasionally set foot in the
village. He had under his care an old castle with four towers,
which had become so many pigeon houses; he directed the getting in
of the hay, the walnuts, the apples and the oats. We used to help
him during the summer, when the school, which was well attended in
winter, was almost deserted. All that remained, because they were
not yet big enough to work in the fields, were a few children,
including him who was one day to set down these memorable facts.
Lessons at that time were less dull. They were often given on the
hay or on the straw; oftener still, lesson time was spent in
cleaning out the dovecote or stamping on the snails that had
sallied in rainy weather from their fortresses, the tall box
borders of the garden belonging to the castle.

Our master was a barber. With his light hand, which was so clever
at beautifying our copies with curlicue birds, he shaved the
notabilities of the place: the mayor, the parish priest, the
notary. Our master was a bell ringer. A wedding or a christening
interrupted the lessons: he had to ring a peal. A gathering storm
gave us a holiday: the great bell must be tolled to ward off the
lightning and the hail. Our master was a choir singer. With his
mighty voice, he filled the church when he led the Magnificat at
vespers. Our master wound up and regulated the village clock.
This was his proudest function. Giving a glance at the sun, to