And I went to this on days when I was downhearted.

Your boy of fifteen, I think, is the only perfect lover--giving all, demanding nothing, save, indeed, the right to his secret cherishings.
Tremors, born within me that day when old gray, bristling Leggett, our Principal, opened the schoolroom door upon Lucy Tait, are as poignant, as sweetly terrible, now as in that far time when the light of her wondrous presence first fell upon me.
An instant she hesitated timidly in the sombre frame of the doorway, looking far over our heads.

Then old Leggett came in front of her.

There was a word of presentation to Miss Berham, our teacher, the vision was escorted to a seat at my left front, and I was bade to continue the reading lesson if I ever expected to learn anything.

As a matter of truth I did not expect to learn anything more.