looked up as she came in. "See here, Milly, I've been thinking about what you said. Sit down. You look tired," he added kindly.
She took the chair he offered. "What was it I said?" she asked.
"The other day, you know," Tom nodded.
"The other day?" Her brow wrinkled. What was it she had said to Tom the other day? It seemed to her it was months—years—since she had seen Tom.
He regarded her kindly. "You said sin was a disease," he quoted impressively.
"Yes? Well—it is." She leaned back in her chair. She had placed her green jacket on the back and it made a comfortable rest for her head.
Tom looked at her expansively. "I believe you're right!" he said. "It sounded all foolishness to me then. But it's kept coming back—till I've got a hunch you may be right, you know!"
She smiled a little wearily.
"If it's really a disease, we ought to be able to cure it," he said thoughtfully.
"We can."
"And prevent it," he added.
She sat up. The tired look left her face. "We can, Tom!" she said swiftly. "And it's better worth doing than anything in the world!"
"Yes. How would you begin?" he asked cautiously.
"I'd like to begin with their ancestors!" she laughed. "Most of them come of lying and thieving stock—or, anyway, from ancestors that have a taint of white lies in their blood. All this experimenting with white mice and black mice is well enough," she said quickly. "But what if two white liars marry and all of the descendants with black hair are black liars?"
Tom laughed out. "Go on!" he said.
She nodded. "Why don't we take hold of things a little nearer by? We clear up the slums, but we don't touch the slums of their minds. We're cowards. We don't dare teach morals in the schools. What children need in school is not so much practical arithmetic; they need a little practical living. You had examples when you went to school, I suppose, about buying bonds at so much and selling at so much, and what percent did you make?" She glanced at him.
Tom grinned. "I just guess I did! It was a green book we studied 'em out of," he said thoughtfully.
"Ever need them since?" asked Milly quietly.
"Lord, no! I don't buy and sell. I pay Baker to do it for me!"
"If you had had exercises in lying, it would have been some use to you, perhaps." Milly's eyes were dreamy.
"Exercises in lying!" retorted Tom. "I didn't need 'em!"
"Yes, you did," said Milly. "You don't half know how to lie. You're a regular bungler at it! You could call them exercises in truth, if you wanted to. But 'lying' would sound more attractive to a boy."
"You bet it would!" said Tom. "Or a man, either," he added.
"It's a little stupid, I think"—Milly was threshing it out—"not to use a thing a boy is as keen about as he is about lying to help educate him with. Can't you see a class of boys that have been going to sleep over fractions, just come all alive over an exercise in practical lying?"
Tom chuckled.
"Let 'em try it for a while," said Milly. "Let them watch out for lies for a day—see how many examples, different kinds, they can bring to class—the way they bring flowers. The one that brings the largest collection has his name on the board—or has a badge to wear home."
"I say!" said Tom. His face considered it. "Watch folks around 'em—their fathers and mothers?"
Milly nodded. "Everybody—the minister, the grocer, the newspaper reporter"
"Whew!" whistled Tom.
"That's their real education, isn't it?" said Milly. "That's what they're doing every day, blundering along by themselves, while we teach them how many bricks it takes to build a wall six feet high—allowing a quarter of an inch for mortar, and ten bricks to a row!" Her voice was filled with the scorn of it.
Tom laughed out.