side and walked right along, no matter how fast the tears came.

Now he had often hated before, but never quite like this. Before, it had
been a frightened hate, a gnawing, hurting thing deep down in his heart.
But to-day it was a flaring hate, a burning thing right up in his head.
It was big, too, because it included everything that he knew, Mrs. Freg,
her boys, the street, the people jostling him, and hottest and wildest
of all the canning factory. How terrible to go in there in the morning,
when the sun was only just up, and not to come out again until it was
quite down! Eric knew little about play, but he did know that if he
could only be let stay out in the sunshine he would find things to do
there. If they'd only let him try it once!

So he walked along in the direction the others were going, the hating
tears in his eyes and on his face. But no one laughed at him, and no one
asked him what was the matter, even the other children. For he was not
crying in the usual way with little boys. He was walking along with his
head up. So people did not bother him.

He had reached the outskirts of the town, and was almost in the shadow
of the big, cruel factory, when the Magic began to work. For there was
magic in this day that had started so badly. It was only waiting for
Eric to see it before it would take hold of him and carry him away into
happiness. It had waited for him at the door of the dull, bare little
house that had never been home to him, but his tears would not let him
see it. So it had followed along beside him all the way to the factory,
waiting for him to feel, even if he could not see. And he did
feel,--just in time to let the Magic work.

He felt that the day that had begun so freezingly was warm, strangely