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When he had slept, he had dreamed he was wading in icy puddles out in the street. But it was only a minute that he huddled there, trying to come really awake, and then he sprang out, and without thought of a bath, was into his clothes in a minute. The two older boys followed him more slowly, yawning, growling, and quarreling. Breakfast was served in the kitchen by Mrs. Freg.
He slept long and deeply, for when he woke he felt rested. But he did not open his eyes. "It must be time for Mrs. Freg to shake me," he was thinking. "Until she does I'll just stay as I am and pretend it wasn't a dream, but real." For although he remembered very well all that had happened to him yesterday, he could not believe it was true. So he lay still in his snug bed, wondering that Mrs.
He was indeed far away in the woods, safe and snug and warm in this bright house, and Mrs. Freg could never reach him here. And he would not go to the canning factory that day, nor the next, nor the next, nor ever again. The new mother had said so. His happiness brought him up in bed wide awake, and then he got out. He had not learned to bound out yet, but that came. The fire was burning merrily.
The room was bare and ugly like the rest of the house, and the food was far from satisfying. As the older boys got most of the bedding for themselves, so they got most of the breakfast, while Mr. and Mrs. Freg laughed at them, and praised them for fine, hearty boys who knew what they wanted and would get it. "You will succeed in the world, both of you," said Mrs.
Baths had been rare in Eric's life, and when they did happen were unhappy adventures, cold water in a hand basin in the kitchen sink, a scratchy sponge, and a towel too small. So if Mrs. Freg had said "bath-time and bed-time" to him now, he might have run away. But if Ivra's mother said it, it must be. She was his mother too, now, and he loved her and thought her beautifully strange.
Freg with mother-pride gleaming in her eyes, when they had managed to seize and divide between them little Eric's steaming cup of coffee, the only hot thing he had hoped for that morning. "Will I be a success, too?" asked Eric in a faint but hopeful voice. "You!" said the harsh woman. "You, young man, had better be thankful to work on at the canning instead of starving in the streets.
Before, it had been a frightened hate, a gnawing, hurting thing deep down in his heart. But to-day it was a flaring hate, a burning thing right up in his head. It was big, too, because it included everything that he knew, Mrs. Freg, her boys, the street, the people jostling him, and hottest and wildest of all the canning factory.
I just wonder how you'd feel if I went out this morning and never, never came back! I'd like to do that!" Mrs. Freg laughed, and her laugh was not a nice mother-laugh at all, for she was not Eric's mother, and had never pretended that she was. "Why, little spitfire, it wouldn't matter a bit except to make one less mouth to feed. But you won't be so silly as that. You don't want to starve."
Freg to boss him about when work was over! There were to be no more cans for him forever, and no more Mrs. Freg. Helma had said that quite firmly. He believed her and was so happy that he trembled.
Freg's boys had left him so much of the bed-clothes. "How fine to have a little time to pretend a dream!" he said to himself. But Mrs. Freg did not come and did not come, until at last he opened his eyes, just in wonderment. "It must be six o'clock!" When he saw where he was, and that the dream was true, his heart almost stood still for joy.
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