grades.

The comparison pleased Caleb. He was nodding his head over it as he
buried his nose in the mint-sprayed glass again, when a haze of dust to
the north caught his vagrant attention. Quite apparently it was raised
by a foot-traveler, and the latter were not frequent upon that road,
especially foot-travelers who came from that direction. Trivial as it
was, it piqued his interest, and he lay back and followed it from
lazily half-closed eyes. It topped a rise and disappeared--the dust
cloud--and reappeared in turn, but not until it had advanced to within
a scant hundred yards of him could he make out the figure which raised
it. And then, after one sharp glance, with a quick intake of breath,
he rose and went a trifle hastily out across his own lawn toward the
iron picket fence that bordered the roadside. He went almost hurriedly
to intercept the boy who came marching over the brow of the last low
hill.

Caleb Hunter, particularly in the last year or so, had seen many a
strange and brilliant costume pass along that wilderness highway, but
as he hung over the front gate he remembered that none of them had ever
before drawn him from his deep chair in the shadow. For him none of
them had ever approached in sensationalism the quite unbelievable garb
of the boy who came steadily on and on--who came steadily nearer and
nearer.

With a little closer view of him the watching man understood the reason
for the dense cloud of dust above the lone pedestrian. For when the
boy raised his feet with each stride, the man-sized, hob-nailed boots
which encased them failed to lift in turn. Indeed, the toes did clear
the ground, but the heels, slipping away from the lean ankles, dragged
in the follow-through. And the boy's other garments, save for his
flannel shirt and flapping felt hat, were of a size in keeping with the
boots.

His trousers had once been white cotton drill, but the whiteness had
long before given up the unequal struggle against grime and grease and
subsided to a less conspicuous, less perishable grey. They had been
cut off just below the knees and, unhemmed, hung flapping with every
step he took above a stretch of white-socked, spindly shanks. But it
was the coat he wore which held Caleb spellbound. It was of a style
popularly known as a swallowtail, faced with satin as to lapels and
once gracefully rounded to a long, bisected skirt in the rear. The
satin facings were gone and the original color of th