go. It was a wonderful address. A treat. A feast of good things. A
_spiritual_ feast."

Her son tried to lift his head. "Yes, mother," he said, "but you know
I've sometimes thought how good it would seem to see you in the house,
dressed for staying in instead of going out, and maybe sitting by the
window sewing, or in the kitchen paring apples, or lifting the lid from
a pot and letting the steam out in a cloud . . ."

"A survival of the male superstition that Woman was born into perpetual
bondage," was the crisp response.

It seemed to Everychild that some one ought to change the subject. He
tried. "It's really very interesting, Mother Hubbard," he said;
"and--and that's a very nice dog you've got!"

"Do you think so? Take him away with you--do! I see nothing nice
about him."

By this time her son could endure no more. "He's going to take him
away, mother," he said. "And he's going to take me, too. I just came
to tell you good-by."

For the first time the old lady was strangely quiet. She gasped an
instant and then she cried out angrily, "Good-by? And where are you
going?"

"I'm going with Everychild. We're going to find the truth."

His mother turned aside. "The boy is mad!" she said. Then facing him