The trouble vanished out of Tom s face. He opened his jacket. His shirt
collar was securely sewed.
Bother! Well, go long with you. I d made sure you d played hookey
and been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you re a kind of a
singed cat, as the saying is better n you look. _This_ time.
She was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom
had stumbled into obedient conduct for once.
But Sidney said:
Well, now, if I didn t think you sewed his collar with white thread,
but it s black.
Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!
But Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:
Siddy, I ll lick you for that.
In a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into
the lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them one needle
carried white thread and the other black. He said:
She d never noticed if it hadn t been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes
she sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to
gee-miny she d stick to one or t other I can t keep the run of em. But
I bet you I ll lam Sid for that. I ll learn him!
He was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well
though and loathed him.
Within two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not
because his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a
man s are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore
them down and drove them out of his mind for the time just as men s
misfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new
interest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired
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