was hopeless. Hopeless! Somehow the word went to Marion's heart. Not
that she was hopeless; far from it, she would have told you. But her
sense of humor did not conceal from her that in spite of her
grin-and-bear-it mien, she was far from happy. At any rate, the
suggestion that Jimmy was hopeless awoke a sympathetic chord in her
breast, so that she looked at him more tenderly on the day after she
had been told. Jimmy was slow of speech and rather dirty as to his
face. There were warts on his hands, and his sphinx-like countenance
was impassive almost to the point of stolidity. Somehow, though, Miss
Willis said to herself, in her zeal to characterize him fairly, the
little thirteen-year-old product of democracy (Jimmy was the son of a
carpenter and a grocer's daughter) suggested power; suggested it as a
block of granite or a bull-dog suggests it. His compact, sturdy frame
and well-poised head, with its close, brown curls, seemed a protest in
themselves against hopelessness. On the third day he smiled; it was in
recess that she detected him at it. An organ-grinder's monkey in the
school-yard called it forth, a sweet, glad smile, which lit up his
dense features as the sun at twilight will pierce through and
illuminate for a few minutes a sullen cloud-bank. Miss Willis saw in a
vision on the spot a refuge from hopelessness. Behind that smile there
must be a winsome soul. That spiritless expression was but a veil or
rind hiding the germs of sensibility and reason. This was discovery
number one. After it came darkness again, so far as outward
manifestation was concerned. Jimmy's attitude toward his lessons
appeared to be one of utter density. He listened with blank but
slightly lowered eyes. When questioned he generally gurgled
inarticulately, as though seeking a response, then broke down.
Occasionally he essayed an answer, which revealed that he had
understood nothing. Oftener he sought refuge in complete silence. But
hope had been stimulated in Miss Willis's breast, and she relaxed