surprised Nan.
Despite his simplicity regarding some of the commonest things of the
great outside world, he showed that he was very observant of the things
about him.

"Oh, Tom was always like that," scoffed Rafe, with ready laughter at his
slow brother. "He'd rather pick up a bug any day and put it through a
cross-examination, than smash it under the sole of his boot."

"I don't think bugs were made to smash," Tom said stoutly.

"Whew! What in thunder were they made for?" demanded the mocking Rafe.

"I don't think God Almighty made things alive just for us to make 'em
dead," said Tom, clumsily, and blushing a deep red.

Rafe laughed again. Rafe had read much more in a desultory fashion than
Tom.

"Tom ought to be one of those Brahmas," he said, chuckling. "They carry
a whisk broom to brush off any seat they may sit on before they sit
down, so's they sha'n't crush an ant, or any other crawling thing.
They're vegetarians, too, and won't take life in any form."

"Now, Rafe!" exclaimed his mother, who was never quite sure when her
younger son was playing the fool. "You know that Brahmas are hens.
I've got some in my flock those big white and black, lazy fowls, with
feathers on their legs."

Nan had to laugh at that as well as Rafe. "Brahma fowl, I guess, came
from Brahma, or maybe Brahmaputra, all right. But Rafe means Brahmans.
They're a religious people of India," the girl from Tillbury said.

"And maybe they've got it right," Tom said stubbornly. "Why should we
kill unnecessarily?"

Nan could have hugged him. At any rate, a new feeling for him was born
at that moment, and she applauded. Aunt Kate said:

"Tom always was soft-hearted," and her big son became silent. She
might as well have called him "soft-headed"; but Nan began better to
appreciate Tom's worth from that time on.

Rafe remained in her eyes still the reckless, heroic figure he had
seemed when running over the logs the day of the timber drive. But
she began to confide in Tom after this evening of her return from the
tamarack swamp.

However, this is somewhat in advance of the story. The pleasant evening
passed as usual until bedtime came for Nan. She retired to her east
chamber, for the windows of which Tom had made screens to keep out the
night-flying insects. No matter how tired she was at night there was one
thing Nan Sherwood seldom forgot.

Possibly it was silly in a girl who was almost through her freshman year
at high school, but Nan