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.