"It arrived ahead of time to-day," Hertha explained. And then noting Tom on the wet sand, the rain beginning to soak through his coat, her motherliness got the better of her embarrassment. "Come up on the porch," she said coaxingly. "I'll run upstairs and get a coat I keep here for just such a time as this. I won't be a moment. Please!"
He mounted the steps to please her and then walked to the end that was furthest from Merryvale.
The white man sat down in a porch chair, threw his head back, crossed his knees, and began to smoke.
"You smoke, Tom?"
"No, sir."
"The first thing you'll do when you go to school will be to smoke; not because you like it but because it's against the rules. Break all the rules you can, my boy, and get sent home, for you're needed here."
"Naw," Tom replied turning at him and almost snarling, "I ain't no use."
Young Merryvale regarded the boy with some amazement, then noting the grimness of his expression, said nothing further. In a moment Hertha, wearing her long coat, came down the stairs and she and her brother went on their way.
Before he went to his room that night, Tom spoke a word alone with Ellen. "Don't let Sister grieve too much," he said.
Ellen looked at him sadly. "You put me in a very hard position, Tom. You make me seem almost cruel."