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 used that
name when she loved him most. "The look of heaven" was strong on
his face now.