dal. Also the iceman
himself couldn't possibly of done half the things Shelley hotly urged
him to do.

Us people that had seemed to linger walked right on, not meeting each
other's eye, and Shelley again become the angel child, turning in at his
gate and walking up the path in a decorous manner with his schoolbooks
under his arm. I first wondered if I shouldn't go warn Arline that her
child had picked up some words that would get him nowhere at all with his
doting pastor. Little could the fond woman dream, when she tucked him in
after his prayers at night, that talk such as this could come from his
sweet young lips. How much mothers think they know of their sons and how
darned little they do know! But I decided to keep out of it, remembering
that no mother in the world's history had ever thanked a person for
anything but praise of her children.

Still, I couldn't help but worry about Shelley's future, both here and
hereafter. But I talked to other people about it and learned that he was
already known as a public character to everyone but his own dear mother.
It was these here curls that got him attacked on every hand by young and
old, and his natural vigour of mind had built him up a line of repartee
that was downright blistering when he had time to stop and recite it all.
Even mule skinners would drive blocks out of their way just to hear
little Shelley's words when someone called him sissy or girl-boy.

It seems Shelley never took any of these troubles to his mother, because
he was right manly and he regarded curls as a natural infirmity that
couldn't be helped and that his poor ma shouldn't be blamed for. He'd
always had curls, just as other unfortunates had been disfigured or
maimed from birth, so he'd took it as a cross the Lord had give him to
bear. And he was willing to bear it in silence if folks would just let
him alone. Otherwise, not. Oh, most surely not!

I kind of kept watch on Shelley's mad career after that. It was mad most
of the time. He had already begun to fight as well as to use language,
and by the time he was ten he was a very nasty scrapper. And ready--it
soon got so that only boys new-come to town would taunt him about his
golden locks. And unless they was too much out of Shelley's class he made
believers of 'em swiftly. From ten to twelve he must of had at least one
good fight a day, what with the new ones and the old ones that still
couldn't believe a boy in velvet pants with curls on his sh