CHAPTER I

VERY HARD LINES

"NOW look here, boy! I ain't a-goin' to have no more words about it. Your mother must—"

"She ain't my mother, nor I'll never call her so, never! Not if I live a hundred year; so don't try to make me, dad."

"Well, I dare say it won't matter such a great deal to your stepmother what you call her, so long as you do what you're told, Tad. But please to understand, my lad, that if you kick up a rumpus here, and make things unpleasant for my wife, you'll hear of it again from me, as sure as my name's James Poole."

"But, dad," pursued the boy, "she ain't kind to the children, leastways only to her own kid. She beats poor little Bert, and boxes Nell's ears for the least thing."

"Tiresome spoilt brats! Serve 'em right!" retorted the man. "But anyhow, Tad, it ain't your business. You may as well understand, once for all, that I mean she shall be missis here, and manage the home her own way. Now go along, will you! I've no more time to waste on tale-tellin' and grumblin'."

"It's wicked! It's a shame!" muttered Teddie Poole (or Tadpole as his friends had nicknamed him). "This has got to end somehow!"

But his father only growled under his breath, caught up his cap, and left the house.

"Yes, it's too bad; everything's against me and them two poor chil'en. Dad's number two—she don't care for 'em one little bit, though nothin's too good for that great, thumpin', squealin' baby of hers. I'd take Bert and Nell right off somewheres, only I couldn't keep 'em and look after 'em—poor mites!"

Then with a heavy heart, Tad betook himself to his work. It was not much of a place that the boy had got. He was only a grocer's lad at four shillings a week, but it was better than nothing, and he did his work willingly enough, though he was often footsore and weary with running or standing about from morning till night.

There was a great deal of good in poor Tad. When his own mother died, he tried to take care of his little brother and sister, and often denied himself for their sake.

But when at last James Poole married again, the boy bitterly resented his stepmother's harsh ways with her husband's children. And since her own baby's birth, things at home had been worse than ever. She grudged to Bert and Nell every moment of time that she was obliged to give them, and even the very food they ate. She had no sympathy for their childish troubles, no tender words or caresses for anyone but her own baby boy; while towards Tad, who had from the first made no secret of his feelings, she showed in return a dislike which had something almost malignant about it.

Several times the lad had complained to his father, but his words had produced no effect except still more to enrage his stepmother against him. And now Tad had made another appeal, and had once again failed.

All day long, he turned the matter over in his mind as he ran his errands or helped his master, Mr. Scales, to make up parcels in the shop. Life at home was becoming unbearable—impossible—he told himself. What was to be done?

Once the grocer glanced at him with a comical, puzzled smile on his fat, good-natured face, but Tad never looked up, and presently his master said:

"Before you put them little packets up in brown paper, Teddie, just see if they are all right, will you?"

The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery, he flushed hotly.

"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive' fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."

The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.

"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've something on your mind."

"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.

"Is it anything I can help you in?"

"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.

"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."

Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner, his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs, having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.

"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home in good time?"

"Mr. Scales kept me a bit later than common," replied Tad; "we was very busy."

"I don't believe that's anything but a excuse," retorted the woman. "It's a deal more likely as how you've been playin' round with them rude street boys that you learns your pretty manners from."

Tad flushed scarlet with rage.

"I came straight home," said he; "I ran all the way to try and get back quick. I don't tell lies, and I think you ought to believe me."

"Hark at that, now! Jim, just do hark at that! Ought to, forsooth! Ain't there any other thing, if you please, that I ought to do?"

"Yes," shouted Tad, beside himself with passion—"lots of 'em!"

"Shut up, will you?" roared James Poole, bringing his heavy fist down upon the table. "Am I never to have a minute's peace at home?"

"'Tain't my fault, dad," said the boy; "I ain't gone and done nothin'."

"No, everybody knows you never do nothin'," sneered his stepmother. "You're just one of they poor critturs that's put upon all the time by other folks, when you're as innercent as a angel."

Tad got up and pushed his plate away without having touched a mouthful.

"I can't eat, dad," he said to his father, "a bite or a sup would choke me."

James Poole made no reply, but his wife laughed and said:

"So much the better! All the more left for us!"

"Bein' Saturday," said Tad, coming round to his father's side, "Mr. Scales paid me as usual. Here's the money for you, dad!" and he put down four shillings on the table.

"Give it to your mother, Tad, she does the providin'."

But Tad did not obey.

"Give that there money to me, do you hear?" cried Mrs. Poole.

But Tad appeared to take no notice of her.

"Won't you have the tin, father?" he said.

"No, my boy; I know I've took your wages till now, but I find your mother—your stepmother—likes to have it herself, and it's all the same to me."

Tad did not even glance at Mrs. Poole, but deliberately gathered up the coins and pocketed them, saying:

"Then, since you don't want my earnin's, dad, I'll keep 'em, for from to-day I'm a-goin' to feed myself."

And not waiting to hear any more, he went upstairs to his little garret room, and bolted himself in to brood over his wrongs, and think out some way of escape from the influences of a home that had grown so hateful.