A smile of derision was fatal.
He would not submit to ridicule or joking.

At the first jocular word his hands clinched and his eyes flamed with anger.

His was not a face of laughter; for the most part it was serious in expression, and his eyes were rapt with dreams of great deeds.
He had one mate to whom he talked freely, and him he chose often to be his companion in the woods or on the prairies.

This was John Burns, son of a farmer who lived near the town.

Harry spent nearly every Saturday and Sunday during the summer months on the Burns farm.