p before the boy Tom,
trying to lick his hands.

They entered the house, and the instant Everychild crossed the
threshold he realized that he had never seen a house quite like this
one. It made you think of a very careful drawing. Everything was at
right angles with everything else. A small table stood precisely in
the middle of the floor, and two really silly little chairs were placed
before it. A spick-and-span cupboard, with a perforated tin front,
stood over against the wall.

The little black dog ran over to the cupboard immediately and stood on
his hind legs, gazing at the perforated doors.

"We'd better sit on the floor." said Tom, after he had glanced uneasily
about the room.

This seemed a bit strange to Everychild, but he said politely, "I'm
very fond of sitting on the floor myself."

And so they sat down on the floor and clasped their hands about their
knees.

"And so this is where you live!" said Everychild, looking about him
with frank interest.

"It is where I _did_ live. I'll live here no more, now that I've found
somebody to run away with. When she comes in--my mother, I mean--I'll
just say good-by and light out."

"What's been the matter?" asked Everychild.

"It's no fit place for a boy to live," said Tom. "In the first place,
nobody's ever home. Mother's always gadding about somewhere. She
gives lectures on _The Home_, and she's never here except between
lectures. And even then her mind is somewhere else. You don't dare to
speak to her. She stares at nothing--so. And all she says is, 'For
goodness' sake, don't shout so;' or '_Must_ you make that noise when
you're eating?' or 'Can't you walk without shaking the floor like
that?' and finally, 'I think you'll drive me insane at last--such a
careless creature you are!'"

"It must be very bad," said Everychild.

"I've been so I was afraid to move, knowing she would complain. I've
sat for hours studying her, trying to understand her. I used to think
the fault was all mine."

"It does make you feel that way, doesn't it?" said Everychild. "And
sometimes I've thought fathers were as bad as mothers about making you
feel so."

Tom lapsed into a dreamy mood. "Fathers . . . I don't remember much
about my father," he said. "But he used to be uncomfortable about the
house the same as me. The things she says to me--they come easy to her
now, because she learned to say them long ago, to my father. He
couldn't have a friend in to