[A] Find me an English word as good, reader, and I will gladly dispense with the French word. "Reflections" won't do.
What is this by itself in a wood no longer green, no longer even russet, a wood neutral tint--this dark blue moving object? Why, it is a schoolboy--a Briarfield grammar-school boy--who has left his companions, now trudging home by the highroad, and is seeking a certain tree, with a certain mossy mound at its root, convenient as a seat. Why is he lingering here? The air is cold and the time wears late. He sits down. What is he thinking about? Does he feel the chaste charm Nature wears to-night? A pearl-white moon smiles through the gray trees; does he care for her smile?

What is this, moving in a wood no longer green, no longer even russet, this dark blue object? Why, it is a schoolboy who is trudging home alone, and seeking a certain tree where he can sit. Why is he lingering here? The air is cold and the time grows late. He sits down. What is he thinking about?
