That elegant copy of Moore's Poems had been gratefully received, and she was so fond of the bard's beautiful and touching melodies that she could never read any of them without thinking of the brave little fellow who had given her the volume; which no one will consider very remarkable, even in a little miss of twelve.
After he had bidden her and her father adieu, he resumed his journey.
Of course he was thinking with all his might; but no one need suppose he was wondering how wide the Kennebec River was, or how many books he should sell in the towns upon its banks.

Nothing of the kind; though it is enough even for the inquisitive to know that he was thinking of something, and that his thoughts were very interesting, not to say romantic.
"Hallo, Bob!" shouted some one from the road side.
Bobby was provoked; for it is sometimes very uncomfortable to have a pleasant train of thought interrupted.

The imagination is buoyant, ethereal, and elevates poor mortals up to the stars sometimes.

It was so with Bobby.

He was building up some kind of an air castle, and had got up in the clouds amidst the fog and moonshine, and that aggravating voice brought him down, _slap_, upon terra firma.
He looked up and saw Tom Spicer seated upon the fence.