Tom was soberly silent for the space of half a hundred rail-lengths. Then he said: "I wish I'd had a sister; maybe it would have been different."
She shook her head.
"No, indeed, it wouldn't. You're going to be just what you are going to be, and a dozen sisters wouldn't make any difference."
"One like you would make a lot of difference." It made him blush and have a slight return of the largeness of hands; but he said it.
She laughed. "That's nice. You couldn't begin to say anything like that the day you came up to Crestcliffe Inn. But I mean what I say. Sisters wouldn't help you to be good, unless you really wanted to be good yourself. They're just comfortable persons to have around when you are taking your whipping for being naughty."
"Well, that's a good deal, isn't it?"
Again she made the adorable little face at him. "Do you want me to be your sister for a little while—till you get out of this scrape? Is that what you are trying to say?"
He took heart of grace, for the first time in three bad days. "Say, Ardea; I'm hunting for sympathy; just as I used to a long time ago. But you mustn't mix up with me. I'm not worth it."
"Oh, I suppose not; no boy is. But tell me; what are you going to do when you get back to Paradise?"
"Why—I don't know; I haven't thought that far ahead; go to work in the iron plant and be a mucker all the rest of my life, I reckon."