"What's that done for me?" demanded Robin, carelessly,--"Where has
it put me? Just nowhere, but exactly where I might have stood all
the time. I didn't learn farming at Oxford!"

"But you didn't learn to despise your father either, did you,
sir?" queried one of the farm hands, respectfully.

"My father's dead," answered Robin, curtly,--"and I honour his
memory."

"So your own argument goes to the wall!" said Landon. "Education
has not made you think less of him."

"In my case, no," said Robin,--"but in dozens of other cases it
works out differently. Besides, you've got to decide what
education IS. The man who knows how to plough a field rightly is
as usefully educated as the man who knows how to read a book, in
my opinion."

"Education," interposed a strong voice, "is first to learn one's
place in the world and then know how to keep it!"

All eyes turned towards the head of the table. It was Farmer
Jocelyn who spoke, and he went on speaking:

"What's called education nowadays," he said, "is a mere smattering
and does no good. The children are taught, especially in small
villages like ours, by men and women who often know less than the
children themselves. What do you make of Danvers, for example,
boys?"