If his object in these singular manoeuvres was to see Miss
Minford, he always failed to improve the opportunity when it offered;
for, as surely as Pet came out from the school, or turned into the
street to go toward it, so surely did the boy Bog walk off whistling in
another direction. Nobody can understand the motives of Bog's conduct,
except those who have done the same thing in their youthful days.
On this eventful afternoon (eventful as a starting point in a history of
sorrows), Bog had taken his usual circuitous route home from a
profitable professional tour on the east side of town. Reaching the
grocery store, he sheltered himself behind the friendly post, and
commenced looking up and down the street, and across the way, and into
the sky, always winding up his mysterious observations by a single
glance at Miss Pillbody's front door. When Pet came out, after her
musical exercise, the boy Bog flushed up a little, turned upon his
heels, and walked quickly away. He had not gone a dozen steps, before
the shouts of the workmen and the sound of the first falling board
reached his ears.
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