edge. So he had not slept at all in the way little boys of nine
usually sleep,--that is, when they have a bed to themselves, and their
mother has left a kiss with them. When he had slept, he had dreamed he
was wading in icy puddles out in the street.

But it was only a minute that he huddled there, trying to come really
awake, and then he sprang out, and without thought of a bath, was into
his clothes in a minute. The two older boys followed him more slowly,
yawning, growling, and quarreling.

Breakfast was served in the kitchen by Mrs. Freg. The room was bare and
ugly like the rest of the house, and the food was far from satisfying.
As the older boys got most of the bedding for themselves, so they got
most of the breakfast, while Mr. and Mrs. Freg laughed at them, and
praised them for fine, hearty boys who knew what they wanted and would
get it.

"You will succeed in the world, both of you," said Mrs. Freg with
mother-pride gleaming in her eyes, when they had managed to seize and
divide between them little Eric's steaming cup of coffee,--the only hot
thing he had hoped for that morning.

"Will I be a success, too?" asked Eric in a faint but hopeful voice.

"You!" said the harsh woman. "You, young man, had better be thankful to
work on at the canning instead of starving in the streets. That's the
fate of most orphans. Success indeed! Now hurry along, all of you. It's
quarter to seven."

But right here is where the day began to differ from other days. Eric
did not hurry along. He threw down his spoon and cried, "I'd just as
soon starve in the streets, and wade in its icy puddles, too, as live
here with you and your nasty boys and work in that old canning factory!
I just wonder how you'd feel if I went out this morning and never, never
came back! I'd like to do that!"

Mrs. Freg laughed, and her laugh was not a nice mother-laugh at all, for
she was not Eric's mother, and had never pretended that she was.

"Why, little spitfire, it wouldn't matter a bit except to make one less
mouth to feed. But you won't be so silly as that. You don't want to
starve."

"All right," said little Eric, snatching his cap from its peg. "You said
it wouldn't matter to you. You won't see me again, any of you. I hate
you all, and everything in the world. I hate you. You've made me hate
you hard!"

Then he suddenly ran out into the street.

In a minute he was in a flood of people, men, women and children moving
towards the canning fa