But never mind: in another chapter I have already described what a raging hell of repentance I passed through then.

I believe that for months I was as pure as the driven snow.

After dark.
It was back in those far-distant days--1848 or '9--that Jim Wolf came to us.

He was from Shelbyville, a hamlet thirty or forty miles back in the country, and he brought all his native sweetnesses and gentlenesses and simplicities with him.

He was approaching seventeen, a grave and slender lad, trustful, honest, a creature to love and cling to.