were on the
bridge, Little Jim said to me, "Look, there's an _oak_ tree that still
has its leaves on, and'll maybe keep 'em on all winter."

Then we came to Tom's weathered, old-looking house, and barn, and Pop
pulled up at the side of the road in front of their mail box which
said on it, "John Till," and honked the horn for Tom to come out and
get in.

There was a new path which maybe Tom had scooped for his mom so she
could get the mail. In a minute now, I thought, their side door
would open and Little Tom would come zipping out, with his kinda
oldish-looking coat on and he would come crunch, crunch, crunch
through the snow path to where we were. Tom didn't come right away,
though. Pop honked again, so Tom would be sure to hear, then when he
still didn't come, and when there wasn't any curtain moving at their
window to let us know anybody was home and that Tom would be here in
a minute, Mom said to me, "Bill, you better run in and tell him we're
here. We have to stop at Long's yet, and we don't want to be late."

Almost in a second I was opening the door and getting out. Little Jim
tumbled out right after me, saying, "I'll go with you," and since
neither his mom nor his pop were there to tell him not to, both of us
went squishing up the snow path toward their side door. There had been
a little wind during the night, and some snow had drifted into the
path, and I was glad we had on our boots, so our good Sunday shoes
wouldn't get wet and spoil their shine.

I knocked at Tom's door, and waited and nobody answered, and Little
Jim and I listened to see what we could hear, but all I could hear was
somebody moving around inside like whoever it was was in a hurry--like
maybe there had been some things on the floor and they were in a hurry
to straighten up the room or the house on account of company was
coming.

Then I heard a door shutting somewhere in the house, and I knew it was
the door between their living-room and kitchen, then I heard footsteps
coming toward our door, and I wondered what was wrong. I was sure
something was, but didn't know what.

The next thing I knew the door opened in front of me and there stood
Little red-haired Tom, with his hair mussed up, and his old clothes
on, and his eyes were kinda reddish, and it looked like he had been
crying. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't go. Mother's got the flu,
and I have to take care of her, and keep the fires going."

"Can't your daddy do that?" Little