"Once he brought a bag of candy to school, and I thought he was coming up to hand it to me, but he turned red in the face and stuffed it right into his pocket."
"He meant to give it to you, really—he bought it for you—but he couldn't when the time came."
"Oh, did he tell you?"
"It wasn't necessary for him to tell me. I know that boy, I tell you, through and through. Lucy, do you think you could encourage him a little, now and then—be sociable with him—not enough to hurt, of course? You don't know how he'd appreciate the least kindness. He might remember it all his life."
"I might pat his hair—he has such nice hair—if he wouldn't know it—but of course he would know it, and when he looks at you, he is so queer—"
"Yes, I know; I suppose it is hopeless. Couldn't you even ask him to write in your autograph album?"
"Y-e-s—I could, only he'd be sure to write something funny like 'In Memory's wood-box let me be a stick.' He always does write something witty, and I don't much care for ridiculous things in my album; I'm being careful with it."
"Well, if he's as witty as that in your album, it will be to mask a bleeding heart. I happen to know that in a former existence he was never even asked to write, though he always hoped he might be."
"I'm sorry if you like him, Uncle Maje, but I'm positive that Fatty Budlow is not a boy I could ever feel deeply for. I don't believe our acquaintance will
