Leonidas, dazed, dazzled, but delighted, showed all his white teeth in a shy laugh. At which the enchanting stranger leaped from his horse like a very boy, drew his arm through the rein, and going up to Leonidas, lifted the boy's straw hat from his head and ran his fingers through his curls. There was nothing original in that--everybody did that to him as a preliminary to conversation. But when this ingenuous fine gentleman put his own Panama hat on Leonidas's head, and clapped Leonidas's torn straw on his own, and, passing his arm through the boy's, began to walk on with him, Leonidas's simple heart went out to him at once. “And now, Leon,” said the delightful stranger, “let's you and me have a talk. There's a nice cool spot under these laurels; I'll stake out Pepita, and we'll just lie off there and gab, and not care if school keeps or not.” “But you know you ain't really Jim Belcher,” said the boy shyly. “I'm as good a man as he is any day, whoever I am,” said the stranger, with humorous defiance, “and can lick him out of his boots, whoever HE is. That ought to satisfy you. But if you want my certificate, here's your own letter, old man,” he said, producing Leonidas's last scrawl from his pocket. “And HERS?” said the boy cautiously. The stranger's face changed a little. “And HERS,” he repeated gravely, showing a little pink note which Leonidas recognized as one of Mrs. Burroughs's inclosures. The boy was silent until they reached the laurels, where the stranger tethered his horse and then threw himself in an easy attitude beneath the tree, with the back of his head upon his clasped hands. Leonidas could see his curved brown mustaches and silky lashes that were almost as long, and thought him the handsomest man he had ever beheld. “Well, Leon,” said the stranger, stretching himself out comfortably and pulling the boy down beside him, “how are things going on the Casket? All serene, eh?” The inquiry so dismally recalled Leonidas's late feelings that his face clouded, and he involuntarily sighed. The stranger instantly shifted his head and gazed curiously at him. Then he took the boy's sunburnt hand in his own, and held it a moment. “Well, go on,” he said. “Well, Mr.--Mr.--I can't go on--I won't!” said Leonidas, with a sudden fit of obstinacy. “I don't know what to call you.” “Call me 'Jack'--'Jack Hamlin' when you're not in a hurry. Ever heard of me before?” he added, suddenly turning his head towards Leonidas. The boy shook his head. “No.” Mr. Jack Hamlin lifted his lashes in affected expostulation to the skies. “And this is Fame!” he murmured audibly.