uth, that, whenever he laughs, opens wide enough to swallow you; to be
sure, it is filled with nice, white teeth, and has a good-natured
expression; but his teeth are so strong they look as if they could bite
through a tenpenny nail; and when he answers out in Bible class, and
comes to the long words, such as 'righteousness' and 'Jerusalem,' it
really seems as if they were something good to eat, he crunches them so
with those great teeth of his!

You'll wonder how he came to have such a ridiculous name as _Race_. His
mother named him Horace, after somebody in a book, but as none of her
connection owned the name, nor anybody else in this part of the country,
it didn't come natural to call him by it, so they shortened it down to
Race, to make it handy. I suppose _I_ oughtn't to say much about names,
however, for _Dimpey_ don't amount to much; but that isn't _my_ fault; I
was christened with a right pretty name--Phebe Ann! but Cousin Phebe
lived with us when I was little, and it made a sort o' confusion to have
two of us, and my cheeks were so full of dimples that Calanthy--she's
the oldest of us children, and has kept house ever since mother
died--well, she called me Dimpey, and the rest took it up, and so I
suppose I shall be Dimpey Swift to the end of the chapter--that is, not
Dimpey _Swift_ exactly; but I forgot, I was telling about Race Miller.

I was so vexed with Polly Jane for even hinting that he was a match for
_me_, that I jerked out the weeds with all my might, and I do believe
our Persian pink border never was so clean before or since; when I came
in, there wasn't a weed left in it, big or little!

Now the fact was, I couldn't help knowing I was _tolerable_ good-looking
by the way the boys manoeuvred 'round to walk home from singing school
with me, and by their staring at me in meeting when they ought to have
been looking at the minister. I used to try and keep my eyes fast on my
hymn book, but it seemed as if I could see right through the lids; and I
knew well enough that when Ned Hassel bent down his head and pretended
to be picking out his notes in 'Sacred Psalmody,' he was peeping at _me_
all the time. I suppose I was a little spoiled by having so many beaux,
for Calanthy was a regular old maid: you mustn't ever mention it, but
she'd been disappointed once, and wouldn't keep company with anyone
after that; and Polly Jane had only one sweetheart, and I didn't think
much of him, though he _was_ the schoolma