The heavy under-jaw and square
forehead gave him an appearance of hardness which was greatly relieved
by the honest look out of his eyes, and the smile which now and then
would slowly creep over his face, like the movement of the shadow of a
thin cloud on a calm day in summer. An Indian smiles deliberately, and
in a dignified way--at least Jack did.
I first knew Jack at Santa Rosa, of which beautiful town his patron, Mr.
White, was then the marshal. Jack came to my Sunday-school, and was
taken into a class of about twenty boys taught by myself. They were the
noisy element of the school, ranging from ten to fifteen years of age
--too large to show the docility of the little lads, but not old enough
to have attained the self-command and self-respect that come later in
life. Though he was much older than any of them, and heavier than his
teacher, this class suited Jack. The white boys all liked him, and he
liked me. We had grand times with that class. The only way to keep them
in order was to keep them very busy. The plan of having them answer in
concert was adopted with decided results. It kept them awake and the
whole school with them, for California boys have strong lungs. Twenty
boys speaking all at once, with eager excitement and flashing eyes,
waked the drowsiest drone in the room.
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