Centuries ago, the good monks of St. David had a school where lads
were taught Latin and good manners. One of their pupils was a boy
named Elidyr. He was such a poor scholar and he so hated books and
loved play, that in his case spankings and whippings were almost of
daily occurrence. Still he made no improvement. He was in the habit
also of playing truant, or what one of the monks called "traveling to
Bagdad." One of the consequences was that certain soft parts of his
body--apparently provided by nature for this express purpose--often
received a warming from his daddy.
His mother loved her boy dearly, and she often gently chided him, but
he would not listen to her, and when she urged him to be more
diligent, he ran out of the room. The monks did not spare the birch
rod, and soon it was a case of a whipping for every lesson not
learned.
One day, though he was only twelve years old, the boy started on a
long run into the country. The further he got, the happier he felt--at
least for one day.
At night, tired out, he crept into a cave. When he woke up, in the
morning, he thought it was glorious to be as free as the wild asses.
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