This time it was flung square in his face.

Every now and then as he followed the trend of the beach on his way home he would stop and look out over the sea, watching the long threads of smoke being unwound from the spools of the steamers and the sails of the fishing-boats as they caught the light of the setting sun.

The epithet worried him.

It was something to be ashamed of, he knew, or they would not have used it.
Jane, standing outside the gate-post, shading her eyes with her hand, scanning the village road, caught sight of his sturdy little figure the moment he turned the corner and ran to meet him.
"I got so worried--aren't you late, my son ?" she asked, putting her arm about him and kissing him tenderly.
"Yes, it's awful late.

I ran all the way from the church when I saw the clock.