BUBBLES oll

Rover learned to draw a wagon; but I’m not sure whether
that happened just then or a year or two later.

The next thing that comes up is a school-room. I
must have been a big boy by that time, for I remember
having my pockets full of marbles; also J remember hav-
ing a black eye on account of a fellow named Townley.
(Townley is in the sugar business now.) Besides, I was in
fractions, and, though I did n’t care very much for study,
I did n't wish her to think I was stupid. Who? Did n't
I tell you? Why, a little girl who went to the same
school,—a little girl in a pink calico dress and a white
sunbonnet. She had a way of dropping her books on her
way home from school, I remember, and we fellows used
to jump for them so as to have the fun of handing them to
her. Well, the way I used to try to get wp head in the
classes when she was there was astonishing. The other
fellows tried to show off, too; but I knew by the way that
she did n’t ever notice me unless I spoke to her that she
thought my bubble was the biggest. You see it was only
blowing bubbles again, after all.

Well, time flew along, and at last war came. I was a
stout fellow then ; Mother said I could go,—bless her brave
heart!—and I went. The scenes, the horrors of that war!
But we ’Il not talk of them now. It’s enough to say that
though I felt patriotic and all that, I specially wished to
distinguish myself — well, I don’t mind teiling you in
confidence — so that Somebody with brown, laughing eyes
and a gentle voice would be almost as proud as Mother
to see me coming back with honors.

Blowing bubbles again, you ’ll observe.