What happened to Tad

by Mary E. Ropes

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."