An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

The new schoolroom opened on a bright September morning. Its pale stone front rose above the cottages, and a row of tall windows flashed in the sun. Over the entrance, carved leaves curled around the date. Mr Lyle, the chairman of the school committee, called the building an "ornament to the village". Visitors filled the doorway while the pupils took their places at new desks.

Shortly after midday, clouds covered the sun and rain struck the tall windows. At first, only a few drops slipped through the frames and spotted the pupils' copybooks. Then a brown patch spread across the ceiling. Plaster fell onto an empty chair, and a thin stream of water crept beneath the door. The pupils lifted their books while Miss Keene moved the youngest children away from the walls.

The old schoolroom across the yard had not yet been emptied. Its ceiling was low, its bricks were darkened by years of smoke and there was no carving above its narrow door. However, the roof was dry and the shutters closed firmly. Miss Keene led the pupils across with their slates. Within a quarter of an hour, their reading lesson had begun again.

Mr Lyle remained behind in the new building, holding a basin beneath the worst leak. His opening address lay on a desk, its ink spreading across the wet paper. When the shower ended, the pale stone front shone more brightly than before. From the road, the schoolroom still looked splendid. Inside, its desks were stacked out of the water; across the yard, children's voices continued steadily in the plain old room.

"The writer makes it clear that an impressive appearance is less important than practical usefulness."