"Yes, four times, but it made me—rather ill. I wanted to smoke until the chaps at school could see I could. They said I was a kid and couldn't. I wanted 'em to see I could do the same as they did."
"It seems to me you've been an uncommonly silly little boy, not a bit better than a monkey that tries to copy all its companions' silly tricks. Nothing seems to me quite so ridiculous as a boy who tries to be a man before his time, and it's wrong as well. You can spoil the splendid health and body God has given you by beginning to smoke too soon. And do the big boys you are so anxious to copy tell lies, too, and cheat at lessons? Are you learning that as well?"
Jack quivered as if Tom had hit him.
"I haven't lied until now. I wish you'd beat me."
Instead, Tom caught him in his arms, and held him fast a minute.
"Thank God for that. At least we can thank Him for that, that it is your first, and, let us trust, your last lie. I could not love or trust a boy whose word I could not believe, but you've got out of the right road, boy, and you must come back again. You've altered strangely from the little boy I left behind me."
"I've grown big," said Jack, a little resentfully.
"Yes, and you fancy yourself much bigger than you are. Lots of little things tell me that, although I only came back last night. You've thrown over your chum, you are troublesome to Aunt Betty, you fancy yourself too big for Sunday School—as if we were ever, any of us, too big to go on learning how to serve and please God! You've got to relearn that you're just a little boy, who, if he ever means to be of any good in the world and be a real man, must learn first himself to be obedient, brave; and truthful, and must keep his own course straight, however crooked other boys may go. Have you forgotten about your Confirmation, Jack? You were keen about it when I went away."
"I don't care so much about it now."
"What has made you change your mind?"