Do you think Satan was willing to leave him, and let him grow quietly into a good boy?
Not a bit of it.

You see he had been born bubbling over with fun and frolic; he had never learned to have them come in at the right place or the right time.
Sometimes he felt willing to give up all trying to do right, for the sake of having a grand frolic just when and where he wanted it,--no matter what might be going on just then.

Sometimes, when he failed, he felt fierce and sullen, and told himself it was all humbug, this trying to be good.

Sometimes he felt so utterly sad and discouraged, that it seemed to him he never could try again; yet through it all he _did_ try heartily.
His arithmetic was the hardest.

He was still in the dunce class,--so the boys called it, because it was made up of the drones from several classes, and was constantly being put back to addition.
It was a sharp winter's morning.