IT was not in the least like the red schoolhouses one may see every day in the city. They are great piles of brick, usually all the uglier for the attempts at ornament bestowed upon them. They have any number of rooms for any number of grades, with A classes and B classes, and all the other machinery for grinding out scholars by the hundred, all done to one pattern. My red schoolhouse was more like the little "custom mill," built by the side of a dashing, flashing mill-stream, with trees growing about it, and a row of sheds where stand steady, sober old horses, patiently waiting while their owners sit inside or about the mill-door discussing politics and neighborhood news and waiting in thei…
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