Mrs. Green was very tender-hearted in spite of her somewhat free tongue, and she was all sympathy immediately. "There, there, Tom, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said soothingly. "I—I was only fooling. Will you have a piece of hot mince pie? It's just out of the oven."
"I—I—don't know!" sobbed Tom. "You treat me so—so awful meanly!"
"I didn't mean it—really I didn't. Come, sit down and have the pie, that's a good boy. I'm glad you are back, and you are better than lots of the other cadets, so there!" And Tom slid into a seat and devoured the generous slice of pie dealt out to him with keen relish.
"It's really like home," he murmured presently. "Mrs. Green, when you die, they ought to erect an awfully big monument over your grave."
"But I'm not dying just yet, Tom—pray don't speak of it."
"By the way, my aunt was dyeing when I left home," went on the boy, as he moved toward the door.
"Indeed. Didn't you hate to leave her?"
"Not at all. She didn't seem to mind it."
"What was her trouble, Tom—consumption?"
"No, she had an old brown dress that had faded out green and she was dyeing it black," was
