difficult for him to attract the sympathetic interest of those in whom
he was interested. A twelve-year old girl, Patience Barlow, who lived
further up the street, was the first to attract his attention or be
attracted by him. Black hair and snapping black eyes were her portion,
with pretty pigtails down her back, and dainty feet and ankles to match
a dainty figure. She was a Quakeress, the daughter of Quaker parents,
wearing a demure little bonnet. Her disposition, however, was vivacious,
and she liked this self-reliant, self-sufficient, straight-spoken boy.
One day, after an exchange of glances from time to time, he said, with a
smile and the courage that was innate in him: "You live up my way, don't
you?"

"Yes," she replied, a little flustered--this last manifested in a
nervous swinging of her school-bag--"I live at number one-forty-one."

"I know the house," he said. "I've seen you go in there. You go to the
same school my sister does, don't you? Aren't you Patience Barlow?" He
had heard some of the boys speak her name. "Yes. How do you know?"

"Oh, I've heard," he smiled. "I've seen you. Do you like licorice?"

He fished in his coat and pulled out some fresh sticks that were sold at
the time.

"Thank you," she said, sweetly, taking one.

"It isn't very good. I've been carrying it a long time. I had some taffy
the other day."

"Oh, it's all right," she replied, chewing the end of hers.