Produced by Al Haines
To Homer Lane, whose first lecture convinced me that I knew nothingabout education. I owe much to him, but I hasten to warn educationiststhat they must not hold him responsible for the views given in thesepages. I never understood him fully enough to expound his wonderfuleducational theories.
"Just give me your candid opinion of A Dominie's Log; I'd like tohear it."
Macdonald looked up from digging into the bowl of his pipe with adilapidated penknife. He is now head-master of Tarbonny Public School,a school I know well, for I taught in it for two years as an ex-pupilteacher.
Six days ago he wrote asking me to come and spend a holiday with him,so I hastily packed my bag and made for Euston.
This evening had been a sort of complimentary dinner in my honour, theguests being neighbouring dominies and their wives, none of whom Iknew. We had talked of the war, of rising prices, and a thousand otherthings. Suddenly someone mentioned education, and of course myunfortunate Log had come under discussion.
I had been anxious to continue my discussion with a Mrs. Brown on thesubject of the relative laying values of Minorcas and Buff Orpingtons,but I had been dragged to the miserable business in spite of myself.
Now they were all gone, and Macdonald had returned to the charge.
"It's hardly a fair question," said Mrs. Macdonald, "to ask an authorwhat he thinks of his own book. No man can judge his own work, anymore than a mother can judge her own child."
"That's true!" I said. "A man can't judge his own behaviour, andwriting a book is an element of behaviour. Besides, there is a betterreason why a writer cannot judge his own work," I added.
"Because he never reads it?" queried Macdonald with a grin.
I shook my head.
"An author has no further interest in his book after it is published."
Macdonald looked across at me. It was clear that he doubted myseriousness.
"Surely you don't mean to say that you have no interest in A Dominie's
Log?"
"None whatever!" I said.
"You mean it?" persisted Macdonald.
"My dear Mac," I said, "an author dare not read his own book."
"Dare not! Why?"
"Because it's out of date five minutes after it's written."
For fully a minute we smoked in silence. Macdonald appeared to bedigesting my remark.
"You see," I continued presently, "when I read a book on education, Iwant to learn, and I certainly don't expect to learn anything from theman I was five years ago."
"I think I understand," said Macdonald. "You have come to realise thatwhat you wrote five years ago was wrong. That it?"
"True for you, Mac. You'v