door. "What is it? Nobody ill at Thankful Rest, I hope."

"No," said Tom. "It's only me; I want to see Mr. Goldthwaite."

"He has just gone out, but will not be many minutes," said Miss
Goldthwaite, more amazed than ever. "Come in and get dried, and take
tea with me; I was just thinking to have it alone."

Looking at Miss Goldthwaite in her dainty gray dress and spotless
lace collar and blue ribbons, Tom began to realize that he had done a
foolish thing coming to the parsonage to bother her with his soaking
garments. He would have run off, but Miss Carrie prevented him by
pulling him into the lobby and closing the door. Then she made him
come to the kitchen and remove his boots and jacket. "I have not a
coat to fit, so you'll need to sit in a shawl," laughed she; and the
sound was so infectious that, miserable though he was, Tom laughed
too. 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