eyes as though wishing to see what new deviltry was breeding there:
and his crony, who never could learn the multiplication table, who was
forever swearing vengeance on the teacher, whose clothes were always
torn, and who carried frogs and little snakes in his pockets: and the
timid boys who always played in one corner of the yard by themselves
or with the girls or stood by and watched, with mingled admiration and
envy, the games and pranks of the bolder lads: and "Dummy"--poor
"Dummy"--the shining mark for every schoolboy trick and joke; with his
shock of yellow hair, his weak cross eyes, his sharp nose, thin lips,
and shambling, shuffling, shifting manner--poor "Dummy."

And of course there was a bully, the Ishmael of the school, whom
everybody shunned and nobody liked; who fought the teacher and
frightened the little children; who chewed, and smoked, and swore, and
lied, and did everything bad that a boy could do. He had a few
followers, a very few, who joined him rather through fear than
admiration and not one of whom cared for or trusted him. The woman
remembered how this schoolboy face was sadly hard and cold and cruel,
as though, because he had gotten so little sunshine from life, his
heart was frozen over. She had read of him, in the grown up world,
receiving sentence for a dreadful crime, and, remembering his father
and mother, had wondered if his grandparents were like them and how
many generations before his birth his career of crime began.

Again and again, the car had stopped to let people off but the woman
had not noticed. The schoolgirls, all but the tall one who had found a
seat, were gone. But the woman had not seen them go.

And then, as she sat dreaming of the days long gone--as she saw again
the faces of her school day friends, one there was that stood out from