While the Billy Boils by Henry Lawson — Read

I lately met an old schoolmate of mine upcountry. He was much changed. He was tall and lank, and had the most hideous bristly red beard I ever saw. He was working on his father's farm. He shook hands, looked anywhere but in my face -- and said nothing. Presently I remarked at a venture:

"So poor old Mr. B., the schoolmaster, is dead."