dirt, and blood. "I'm as big as you now, an' I'm goin' to git bigger.
Then I'll lick you--see if I don't."

"You ought to be to work, seein' how big you are," Johnny snarled. "That's
what's the matter with you. You ought to be to work. An' it's up to your
ma to put you to work."

"But he's too young," she protested. "He's only a little boy."

"I was younger'n him when I started to work."

Johnny's mouth was open, further to express the sense of unfairness that he
felt, but the mouth closed with a snap. He turned gloomily on his heel and
stalked into the house and to bed. The door of his room was open to let in
warmth from the kitchen. As he undressed in the semi-darkness he could
hear his mother talking with a neighbour woman who had dropped in. His
mother was crying, and her speech was punctuated with spiritless sniffles.

"I can't make out what's gittin' into Johnny," he could hear her say. "He
didn't used to be this way. He was a patient little angel.

"An' he is a good boy," she hastened to defend. "He's worked faithful, an'
he did go to work too young. But it wasn't my fault. I do the best I can,
I'm sure."

Prolonged sniffling from the kitchen, and Johnny murmured to himself as his
eyelids closed down, "You betcher life I've worked faithful."

The next morning he was torn bodily by his mother from the grip of sleep.
Then came the meagre breakfast, the tramp through the dark, and the pale