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!'"