Theodore Laurence- Laurie to all who knew him. He hated the name Theodore, 'For the fellows called me Dora, so I thrashed them and made them call me Laurie,' he had explained one day upon you commenting on what an odd name Laurie Laurence was. A lad of 17, he was having a classic moment of teenage petulance.

Laurie lay luxuriously swinging to and fro in his hammock one September afternoon, wondering what you, his neighbor, were up to, but too lazy to go and find out. He was in one of his moods; for the day had been both unprofitable and unsatisfactory, and he was wishing he could live it over again. The hot weather had made him indolent; he had shirked his studies, tried Mr. Brooke's patience to the utmost, displeased his grandfather by practicing the piano half the afternoon, frightened the maid-servants half out of their wits by mischievously hinting that one of his dogs was going mad, and, after high words with the stableman about some fancied neglect of his horse, he had flung himself into his hammock, to fume over the stupidity of the world in general till the peace of the lovely day quieted him despite himself. Staring up into the green gloom of the horse-chestnut trees above him, he dreamed dreams of all sorts, and was just imagining himself tossing on the ocean, in a voyage around the world, when the sound of your voice and footsteps brought him ashore in a flash.

"What in the world are you about now?" he asked tiredly, opening his sleepy eyes to take a good look.