“You talk queer for a girl. What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
“Tom? That’s a boy’s name.”
“They call me so. My right name is Jane.”
“Well, Jane, come along, and I’ll show you where we live.”
The two walked together, soon becoming sociable. The boy, James Hooper, was amazed at Tom’s ignorance of the most common things pertaining to country life, but found that in other ways she was sharp enough.
“You talk just like a boy,” he said.
“Do I?” said Tom. “I used to wish I was a boy, but I don’t know now. I think I’d like to grow up a lady,—a tip-top one, you know,—and dress fine.”
“Are all the girls in New York like you?” asked James, curiously.
“No,” said Tom. “There’s Mary Merton, she isn’t a bit like me. This is the way she walks,” and Tom imitated Mary’s languid, mincing gait.