‘… But thou, if thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul,’ were the words with which I paid my mother when she had finished preparing me for school that morning.

I became conscious of something wrong and I wondered what on earth made me pronounce those words. When I arrived at the school I found that I was five minutes late. Afraid to meet my teacher, I hid myself behind a hedge just near enough to the class room in order to overhear all that would be said.

I remained there with a mixed feeling of fear and pleasure because I had escaped my teacher's brutish and numberless lashes. Nevertheless, I regretted that I was not doing what my parents had expected me to be doing that day. Suddenly and half-disbelieving my ears, I heard my teacher scold and forgive a boy who was also late. In the next second, I was at the threshold of the classroom thinking that if a boy in the same category was forgiven, then I must also have the same treatment. But the reverse was the case. I had six good lashes on my bare back and I was told to keep standing with my arms raised to my shoulder level for a score of minutes. Cruel, isn't it? Anyway, this affair had no relation to my words: ‘But thou, if thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul’.

A few minutes later, at about 8.30 a.m, some elder boys of my class were selected to go into the woods to cut some bamboo. This at once aroused a spirit of jealous competition in me. I therefore resolved to all in my power to go with them. A series of questions began to chase one another in my head: ‘Should I ask my teacher? Should I leave the class and let my teacher find out for himself? Or should I remain in the school and allow my friends to go?’ The last of the series received a big ‘No’, the second was taken up with enthusiasm.

Five minutes after my friends had left, I stole out of the class room and chased them hard. In the next three minutes I was conversing heartily with them. They knew me too well to be surprised at my action.