CHAPTER II

PLANNING REVENGE

NO sleep did Tad get that night, tired though he was. He was thinking so hard that he could not close his eyes. Things had come to a climax at last, and something must be done. His stepmother and he hated each other cordially, and his efforts to stand up for the children only made matters worse both for himself and them.

There were only two courses open to Tad now, and to one of these he must commit himself on the following day. Either he must eat humble pie, submit his will entirely to his stepmother, and have no choice of his own in anything, or he must go quite away, away as far as he could—and try to shift for himself.

The thought of remaining at home, to be sneered at, and scolded, and abused by Mrs. Poole, was intolerable. The idea of submitting to her, and thus acknowledging her authority, he put from him as altogether too bitter a pill to be swallowed. There remained, then, only the other alternative, and that was to cut adrift from all his belongings, and go away.

The thing that troubled him most about this plan, next to leaving little Bert and Nell, was that he knew it would be nothing but a delight to Mrs. Poole to get rid of him, and he could not bear to give her pleasure even by carrying out this plan of his own.

"I'd like oncommon to punish her—punish her well!" said the boy to himself, as he tossed uneasily on his bed and stared before him into the darkness. "I'd like to make her real unhappy as she's always makin' us. Go away I'm bound to, but I must do something beside as 'll make her laugh t'other side of her mouth."

For some moments Tad thought intently. At last, with a sudden bound, he found himself, in his excitement, standing in the middle of the floor.

"I have it!" he chuckled. "I know what I'm a-goin' to do! That's fine!"

And again he laughed to himself—a hard laugh that told a sad tale of its own, and showed what a terrible power, even over the soft young heart of early youth, have the stony influences of injustice and cruelty.

With the first dawn of Sunday morning, Tad rose and dressed himself noiselessly. Into an old satchel-basket, that his master had given him, he packed his clothes and his one spare pair of boots. His brush and comb, and a very few other little matters, were added, and then he covered all neatly with a sheet of newspaper, after which he put the basket away in the cupboard till he should want it.

Tad knew his stepmother's Sunday habits and customs, and quite hoped that he should presently have a chance to carry out the plans for his own escape and for the accomplishing of the revenge which he had promised himself.

The boy had eaten no supper, and had passed a sleepless night, and he began to feel sick and faint by the time his little preparations were completed, so that he was glad to lie down again.

About seven o'clock he heard his father's voice calling him, and he jumped up and ran out of his room.

"Come and dress the children, Tad," said James Poole; "your stepmother have got a headache, and means to stay quiet till near dinner time."

Tad smiled, well pleased. He knew that this was the usual Sunday headache, which needed a long sleep and a plentiful dinner for its cure, and he had reckoned upon it as a most important part of his plans. He dressed Bert and Nell, and then the baby. But this last was not an easy thing to do, for the child wriggled and squirmed like an eel.

Meanwhile James Poole lighted the fire and got breakfast ready, and presently all sat down but Tad.

"Come and have your breakfast, lad," said his father.

"No thank you, dad," replied the boy.

"And why not?"

"You heard what she said to me last night, dad, didn't you? After that and what I answered her, I ain't goin' to eat nothin' more of her providin'."

And Tad's face burned at the remembrance of the insulting words that had brought him to this resolution. His heart was hot within him as with a smouldering fire, while he said to himself, "Ah well—my turn's comin'."

"Don't be such a fool, Tad," said his father; "here, take your tea, and I'll cut you some bread and butter."

Tad was just longing for some food. He had not eaten a mouthful since an early tea in Mr. Scales' little back parlour the day before. But it was not for nothing that Mrs. Poole had often called him "the most obstinatious little beast of a boy" she'd ever seen. And since he had made up his mind not to eat again at his father's table, he stuck to his resolution, rash and foolish as it was.

"No, dad, no," he said. "I'll make shift to get a bite somewheres or other later on, but I ain't goin' to unsay what I said last night—not for no one."

"You forget it's Sunday, lad, you can't buy any food," said James Poole; "and besides, though you may be able to starve for a day, you can't keep on doin' of it, so that sooner or later you're bound to break your resolution. Now don't be an obstinate mule, but eat your breakfast, or you'll be makin' yourself ill."

"I don't care," said Tad, feeling very wretched in mind and body.

Not to be shaken in his purpose, he set the baby on his father's knee, and went to his room.

There, seeing his overcoat hanging up on a nail on the door, he recalled to mind that, two days before, his master had given him some broken biscuits that had remained behind after the whole ones were sold. He had put them into the pocket of his light overcoat, just as he was leaving the shop, and had not once thought of them till now. Very thankful to be able to appease his ravenous hunger, the lad sat down and ate up the biscuits to the very last crumb, washing down the dry, stale morsels with a drink of water from his jug.

Then feeling much better for his meal, he went downstairs again, cleared the breakfast table, and washed the crockery and spoons, afterwards making up the fire and tidying the kitchen, all of this being his accustomed Sunday work.

When all was in order, he dressed Bert and Nell for morning Sunday School, and took them there, returning home quickly, for he knew he should be called upon to mind the baby, and take him out; and this—for reasons of his own—he did not mind doing to-day.

An hour later, while James Poole sat reading his paper and smoking a pipe in the chimney corner, and while great, fat, lazy Mrs. Poole turned in bed and commenced another nap to the accompaniment of some terrific snores, Tadpole slipped away with the baby in his arms, and the basket strapped to his waist.

He did not care to say good-bye to his father; had not James Poole taken his wife's part when she was cruel and unjust? As for Bert and Nell, Tad had given each of them a tearful embrace as he left them at the school door—a long, loving kiss that would have set them wondering and asking questions, had they been just a little older. But as it was, they did not notice the difference in their brother's manner.

"Now comes my revenge!" muttered the lad. "My one bit of pleasure in all this bad business. Oh, Mrs. P., you shall have a few jolly hours to-day, if I can manage it for you."

And with a vindictive light in his eyes, Tad walked away, on and on, till he left the town behind him, and came out into a country road between hedges, with a meadow on one side, and a copse and plantation on the other. Finding at last a gate to the meadow, he climbed over it, nearly dropping the child in his scramble. Once over, he went further into the field to be out of sight of anyone passing on the road, for he had no wish, just as his little plan promised success, to be taken up as a trespasser.

For some time he walked about with the child, till at last the little fellow fell asleep. Then Tad laid him in a soft, sheltered place under a tree, and spread a shawl, kept up by the handle of the basket, to keep off the wind and the sun. Then he stood looking at the baby with a malicious grin on his lips.

"It's all right so far," said he to himself. "When dinner time comes, and no me nor no baby turns up, Mrs. P. will begin to have the lovely time I've been wishin' her; and when I think she's had about enough of it, I'll carry baby back, and leave him on the doorstep, or somewheres handy, and then off I goes on my travels, like a prince in one of them fairy tales."