The results of this examination were so appalling that when he was apprised of them my indignant father burst into the room where I sat resigned to fate； and； in a voice like to that of an angry bull； roared out at me that I was “only fit to be a greengrocer。” Even then I wondered why this affront should be put upon a useful trade。 After the row was over I went for a walk with my brother Andrew who was two years older than myself and who； it appeared； had assisted at my disfiture from behind a door。 Just ain street； I think it is Westbourne Grove — at any rate in those days Whiteley had a single little shop not far off at which my mother used to deal — there is； or was； a fruit and vegetable store with no glass in the window。 My brother stood contemplating it for a long while。 At last he said：
“I say； old fellow； when you bee a greengrocer； I hope you’ll let me have oranges cheap！”
To this day I have never quite forgiven Andrew for that most heartless remark。
After all it was not perhaps strange that I did not learn much at these London day schools — for I went to two of them。 The first I left suddenly。 It was managed by the head master and an usher whose names I have long forgotten。 The usher was a lanky； red…haired； pale…faced man whom we all hated because of his violent temper and injustice。 On one occasion when his back was turned to the class to which I belonged； that I presume was the lowest； I amused myself and my panions by shaking my little fists at him； whereon they laughed。 The usher wheeled round and asked why we were laughing； when some mean boy piped out：
“Please； sir； because Haggard is shaking his fists at you。”
He called me to him and I perceived that he was trembling with rage。
“You young brute！” he said。 “I’ll see you in your grave before you shake your fists at me again。”
Then he doubled his own and； striking me first on one side of the head and then on the other； knocked me all the way down the long room and finally over a chair into a heap of slates in a corner； where I lay a while almost senseless。 I recovered and went home。 Here my eldest sister Ella； noticing my bruised and dazed condition； cross…examined me until I told her the truth。 An interview followed between my father and the master of the school； which resulted in a dismissal of the usher and my departure。 Afterwards I met that usher in the Park somewhere near the Row； and so great was my fear of him that I never stopped running till I reached the Marble Arch。
After this my father sent me to a second day school where the pupils were supposed to receive a sound business education。
Then came the examination that I have mentioned at the hands of my brother…inlaw。 As a result I was despatched to the Rev。 Mr。 Graham； who took in two or three small boys （at that time I must have been nine or ten years of age） at Garsington Rectory near Oxford。
The Rectory； long ago pulled down； was a low grey house that once had served as a place of refuge in time of plague for the Fellows of one of the Oxford colleges。 Twice； if not three times； in the course of my after life I have revisited this spot； the last occasion being about two years ago。 Except that the Rectory has been rebuilt the place remains just the same。 There is the old seventeenth…century dovecote and the shell of the ancient pollard elm； in the hollow trunk of which I used to play with a child of my own age； Mrs。 Graham’s little sister Blanche； who was as fair in colouring as one of her name should be。 I believe that she has now been dead many years。
Quite near to the Rectory and not far from the pretty church； through the chancel door of which once I saw a donkey thrust its head and burst into violent brays in the midst of Mr。 Graham’s sermon； stood a farm…house。 The farmer； a long； lank man who wore a smart frock； was very kind to me — I found his grave in the churchyard when last I was there。 He e that I used in “King Solomon’s Mines” and other books in after years。 After looking at this farm and the tree nearby which bore walnuts bigger and finer than any that grow nowadays； I went to the new Rectory and there saw working in the garden a tall； thin old man； who reminded me strangely of one whom I remembered over thirty years before。
“Is your name Quatermain？” I asked。
He answered that it was。 Further inquiry revealed the fact that he was a younger brother of my old friend； whom I was able to describe to him so accurately that he exclaimed in delight：
“That’s him！ Why； you do bring him back from the dead； and he gone so long no one don’t think of him no more。”
To this Garsington period of my childhood I find some allusions in letters received from the wife of my tutor； Mrs。 Graham。 Like so many ladies’ epistles they are undated； but I gather from internal evidence that they were written in the year 1886； a quarter of a century ago。 I quote only those passages which give Mrs。 Graham’s recollections of me as I appeared to her in or about the year 1866。 She says； talking of one of my books； “I could scarcely realize that the little quiet gentle boy who used to drive with me about the Garsington lanes could have written such a very clever book。” In this letter she adds an amusing passage： “I was told the other day that you had never been abroad yourself but had married a Zulu lady and got all your information from her。”
I suppose it was before I went to Mr。 Graham’s that we all migrated abroad for a certain period。 Probably this was in order that we might economise； though what economy my father can have found in dragging a tumultuous family about the Continent I cannot conceive。 Or perhaps I used to join them during the holidays。
One of the places in which we settled temporarily was Dunkirk； where we used to have lively times。 Several of my elder brothers； particularly Jack and Andrew； and I； together with some other English boys； among whom were the sons of the late Professor Andrew Crosse； the scientist； formed ourselves into a band and fought the French boys of a neighbouring lycee。 These youths outnumbered us by far； but what we lacked in numbers we made up for by the ferocity of our attack。 One of our stratagems was to stretch a rope across the street； over which the little Frenchmen； as they gambolled joyously out of school； tripped and tumbled。 Then； from some neighbouring court where we lay in wait； we raised our British war…cry and fell upon them。 How those battles raged！ To this day I can hear the yells of “Cochons d’Anglais！” and the answering shouts of “Yah！ Froggie； allez a votre maman！” as we hit and kicked and wallowed in the mire。
At last I think the police interfered on the plaints of parents； and we were deprived of this particular joy。
Another foreign adventure that I remember； though I must have been much older then； took place at Treport。 There had been a great gale； and notices were put up forbidding anyone to bathe because of the dangerous current which set in during and after such storms。 Needless to say； I found in these notices a distinct incentive to disobedience。 Was a British boy to be deterred from bathing by French notices？ Never！ So I took my younger brother Arthur； and going some way up the beach； where I though