Miss Carrie knew perfectly there was a reason for his coming,
and that it would come out by-and-by without asking. So it did. They
had finished tea, and Tom was sitting on a stool at the fire just
opposite Miss Goldthwaite. There had been silence for a little while.
"I had a frightful row with Aunt Hepsy this afternoon, Miss
Goldthwaite."
"I am very sorry to hear it," answered she very gravely. "What was it
about?"
Then the whole story came out; and then Miss Carrie folded up her
work, and bent her sweet eyes on the boy's downcast, sorrowful face.
"I am not going to lecture you, Tom," she said soberly. "But I am
sorry my brave soldier should have been such a coward to-day."
Tom flung up his head a little proudly. "I am not a coward, Miss
Goldthwaite."
"Yes, Tom; you remember how Jesus stood all the buffeting and cruelty
of his persecutors, when he could so easily have smitten them all to
death if he had willed. Compare your petty trials with his, and think
how weak you have been."
Tom was silent. "When my temper is up, Miss Goldthwaite," he said at
length, "I don't care for anything or anybody, except to get it out
somehow. I was keeping so straight, too; I hadn't once answered back
to Uncle Josh or Aunt Hepsy for weeks. It's no use trying to be
good.
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