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"I get sort of restless myself, with nothing to do," says Tom.

"We just figured we'd do a little exploring around in the woods and get some exercise."

"Why, yes, that seems like a good idea." Mom looks at him and nods.

She seems to have decided he's reliable, as well as respectable.

I see there's some leftover cold spaghetti in the icebox, and I ask Mom to put it in sandwiches.

She thinks I'm cracked, but I did this once before, and it's good, 'specially if there's plenty of meat and sauce on the spaghetti.

We take along a bag of cherries, too.

"Thanks, Mom. Bye. I'll be back before supper."

"Take care," she says.

"No fights."

"Don't worry.

We'll stay out of fights," says Tom quite seriously.

We go down the stairs, and Tom says, "Your mother is really nice."

I'm sort of surprised—kids don't usually say much about each other's parents.

"Yeah, Mom's O.K. I guess she worries about me and Pop a lot."

"It must be pretty nice to have your mother at home," he says.

That kind of jolts me, too.

I wonder where his mother and father are, whether they're dead or something; but again, I don't quite want to ask.

Tom isn't an easy guy to ask questions.

He's sort of like an island, by himself in the ocean.

We walk down to Fourteenth Street and over to Eighth Avenue, about twelve blocks; after all, exercise is what we want.

The IND trains are fast, and it only takes about half an hour to get up to Inwood, at 206th Street.

The park is right close, and it is real woods, although there are paved walks around through it.

We push uphill and get in a grassy meadow, where you can see out over the Hudson River to the Palisades in Jersey.

It's good and hot, and we flop in the sun.