a word. Tom was profoundly silent. Except when questioned he refused
to make any contribution to their discussion. "One 'ud think," his
mother said at last, "as it was Ellen goin' ter school, not you."

"Why don't she?" was his sole answer.

Ellen looking into his sullen face was both indignant and troubled. Many
colored boys, she knew, had walked hundreds of miles to secure entrance
at this institution and, once admitted, had accepted privations without
a murmur, intent only on gaining the power that comes through knowledge.
Tom was to travel in comparative comfort, he would have money for his
actual needs, and yet he did not wish to avail himself of this unique
opportunity. It was not as though he were a stupid boy; he had done well
for every one for whom he had worked. Evidently he simply did not wish
to leave home.

The older sister rose and closed the catalogue. "It's time we all went
to bed," she announced. "To-morrow you and Hertha will want to have a
long walk together, I know," turning to Tom, "and we'll have dinner when
you get back; and then it'll be Mammy's turn to be with you."

She put herself in the background, genuinely anxious to do all she could
to make endurable her immutable decree. Life to her was like a quilt
made up of great, glowing patches, each patch an achievement; and if the
weaving together of the patches brought with it pricks of pain they were
essential to the completed whole. But Tom not only objected to the
pricking, but had his own ideas as to the color and fabric of his quilt.

The next day found him with Hertha two miles down the river. It had been
very warm in the pine country, and they had followed the open stream.

"I's gwine the way they all go," Tom said meditatively, looking to the
north. "The brooks flow to the rivers and the rivers to the sea. Don't
you want to go too?"

"I? No, indeed."

"I've been thinking, Sister, it must be mighty slow here fer you; and
when I'm gone it'll be worse. Why don't you settle in the city this
winter and go out to work?"

At Merryvale the city always meant the port, twenty-five miles away.

"What a strange notion, Tom. I'd be lonesome there."

"Oh, there'd be lots to do. Church every Sunday, and picnics, and
excursions. You're so pretty, you'd be the best liked girl in the
place."

Hertha laughed. "Now, don't you begin to plan for me! I like it right
where I am at home."

"Most girls marry," Tom remarked after a few moments, "and s