The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his surroundings.

He sat long with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating.

It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful, he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever and ever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing the grass and the flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve about, ever any more.

If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he could be willing to go, and be done with it all.

Now as to this girl.
What had he done?
Nothing.