"Dodd." He learned to read better than ever, learned to spell, and
took pride in standing at the head of his class. He plucked flowers
for his teacher as he went to school, and his cheeks flushed as she
took them from his band and set them in the glass tumbler on the table.
He even thought in his little heart, betimes, that, when he got grown
up, he would marry Amy! Rather young for such ideas? Perhaps so; but
these ideas begin to develop, often, when boys are very young. They
don't say anything about it, out loud; but away down in the deep
hiding-places of the heart--oh, well, we all know how it is, and what
an influence such notions may have upon our lives.

But for all of these things "Dodd" Weaver was still "Dodd" Weaver, and
there were times when he suffered a relapse from his high estate. One
of these times came as follows:

It was a sultry forenoon in May, and "Dodd" was restless and uneasy.
He fidgeted about in his seat, teased the boy in front of him, and
tripped up a little fellow who passed him on the way to a class. His
teacher watched him for some time, and, at the last offense, concluded
that it was best to give the boy a bit of attention. She came down to
his desk and said:

"It's a bad kind of a morning for boys, isn't it, 'Dodd'?"

The boy hung his head a little, and Amy proceeded:

"Come here to the door a minute; I want to show you something."

"Dodd" wondered what was wanted, but arose, as he was bidden, and went
to the door,