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[p. 20] came with his big sleigh, loaded it full of children, turned round slowly and tipped us all out, and down the hill we rolled; he, laughing, called out to get in quickly if we wanted a ride. . . . Mr. Aaron Magoun taught in the brick school house near the Cross street burying ground. Pupils were admitted when eight years of age, but I know of two who were permitted to enter a year younger. He was a dear, good man, thoroughly acquainted with his pupils, visiting them often in their homes. He died May 21, 1899, in the ninety-first year of his age. I called to see him about a year before his death, and was surprised to note so few indications of old age, he coming downstairs without assistance. His bright eyes sparkled with merriment as we talked over the scenes of those early school days. His punishments for mischievous boys and girls were unique—two fun-loving girls, standing on the platform, each with one end of a ruler in her mouth (to punish the ruler for slapping?) or a restless boy made to sit on the small cylinder stove for awhile, that was never taken down until worn out; or a small girl required to sit on the teacher's knee and given candy to eat, that the child did not then love or desire in the least; or a miss to go over and sit beside a lad, of her master's choosing, not hers. I recall the time when the teacher asked one of the scholars if he had nothing to do. ‘No, sir.’ Soon a sheet of paper was cut into tiny squares, strewn over the floor under the teacher's desk, and—well, that pupil never again complained of having nothing to do.
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