The widow was all that his
half-brother had left that was of the slightest consequence.
Tom, telling the circumstances, asked for a holiday that he might
personally lay claim to his inheritance. Reminded that he had one wife,
he frankly declared in Nelly's presence, and she seemed to acquiesce,
that she was no good; but that the other one was a "good fella" in every
respect, even to washing plates and scrubbing floors.
His holiday was granted. He went away with money in his pockets,
blankets, several changes of raiment--among them Nelly's best dress and
hat, dilly-bags brightly coloured, and weapons--boomerang, two black palm
spears, a great wooden sword, a shield decorated with a complicated
pattern in red and white earth, and a flashing new tomahawk.
So he departed, with Nelly's best wishes, and full of hope and
expectation, promising to return in two weeks.
Two months slipped past, and one evening a forlorn, ragged, lean
scarecrow of a black boy--without a hat, unshaven, without a blanket, and
even destitute of a pipe, clambered over the side of the steamer, and
dropped into the boat without a word. It was Tom!
In shreds and patches the history of his experience was related.
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