es until
Sunday-school was half over, so the superintendent read a chapter,
Daddy Debs prayed, and all of us stood up and sang: "Ring Out the Joy
Bells." Then the superintendent read the lesson over as impressively
as he could. The secretary made his report, we sang another song,
gathered the pennies, and each teacher took a class and talked over the
lesson a few minutes. Then we repeated the verses we had committed to
memory to our teachers; the member of each class who had learned the
nicest texts, and knew them best, was selected to recite before the
school. Beginning with the littlest people, we came to the big folks.
Each one recited two texts until they reached the class above mine. We
walked to the front, stood inside the altar, made a little bow, and the
superintendent kept score. I could see that mother appeared worried
when Leon's name was called for his class, for she hadn't heard him,
and she was afraid he would forget.

Among the funny things about Leon was this: while you had to drive
other boys of his age to recite, you almost had to hold him to keep him
from it. Father said he was born for a politician or a preacher, if he
would be good, and grow into the right kind of a man to do such
responsible work.

"I forgot several last Sabbath, so I have thirteen to-day," he said
politely.

Of course no one expected anything like that. You never knew what
might happen when Leon did anything. He must have been about sixteen.
He was a slender lad, having almost sandy hair, like his English
grandfather. He wore a white ruffled shirt with a broad collar, and
cuffs turning back over his black jacket, and his trousers fitted his
slight legs closely. The wind whipped his soft black tie a little and
ruffled the light hair where it was longest and wavy above his
forehead. Such a perfect picture of innocence you never saw. There
was one part of him that couldn't be described any better than the way
Mr. Rienzi told about his brother in his "Address to the Romans," in
McGuffey's Sixth. "The look of heaven on his face" stayed most of the
time; again, there was a dealish twinkle that sparkled and flashed
while he was thinking up something mischievous to do. When he was
fighting angry, and going to thrash Absalom Saunders or die trying, he
was plain white and his eyes were like steel. Mother called him
"Weiscope," half the time. I can only spell the way that sounds, but
it means "white-head," and she always