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ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen and began to wipe his face
diligently on the towel behind the door. But Mary removed the towel and said:
“Now ain’t you ashamed, Tom. You mustn’t be so bad. Water won’t hurt you.”
Tom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he stood
over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath and began. When
he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut, and groping for the towel
with his hands, an honorable testimony of suds and water was dripping from his
face. But when he emerged from the towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the
clean territory stopped short at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and be-
yond this line there was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread
downward in front and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and
when she was done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of
color, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls wrought into
a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately smoothed out the curls,
with labor and difficulty, and plastered his hair close down to his head; for he
held curls to be effeminate, and his own filled his life with bitterness.] Then
Mary got out a suit of his clothing that had been used only on Sundays during
two years-they were simply called his “other clothes”- and so by that we know
the size of his wardrobe.

The girl “put him to rights” after he had dressed himself, she buttoned his neat
roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt collar down over his shoulders,
brushed him off and crowned him with his speckled straw hat. He now looked
exceedingly improved and uncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he
looked; for there was a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled
him. He hoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she
coated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought them out.
He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do everything he
didn’t want to do. But Mary said, persuasively: “Please, Tom-that’s a good
boy.” So he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three
children set out for Sunday-school-a place that Tom hated with his whole heart;
but Sid and Mary were fond of it.

Sabbath-school hours were from nine to half past ten; and then church service.
Two of the children always remained for the sermon, voluntarily, and the other
always remained, too-for stronger reasons. The church’s high-backed,
uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons; the edifice was but
a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board tree-box on top of it for a steeple.
At the door Tom dropped back a step and accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:
“Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?” “Yes.” “What’ll you take for her?” “What’ll you
give?” “Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook.” “Less see ‘em.” Tom exhibited. They
were satisfactory, and the property changed hands. Then Tom traded a couple of
white alleys for three red tickets, and some small trifle or other for a couple of
blue ones. He waylaid other boys as they came, and went on buying tickets of
various colors ten or fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a
swarm of clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started a

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