CHAPTER XIII
A TERRIBLE LADY AT HOME

She came into the room in the manner of one who was about to say, "Fellow-citizens!" But she said nothing just at first. She took a few steps further, walking as if she expected to have a badge pinned on her, or to receive a prize. She had a double chin; and when she began to speak, which she did a moment later, it developed that she had a deep baritone voice.

Her first words were: "Away with you!"

They were for the little black dog, who had rushed toward her with swaying tail.

Then she saw her son and Everychild. She sniffed as if there were a fire somewhere as she said to her son, "And who is this, pray?"

Everychild would have felt almost alarmed but for the fact that something extraordinary occurred just then. The Masked Lady entered the room and stood just inside the door. Still more remarkable, Mr. Literal appeared just behind her.

"This," replied Tom to his mother, "is—is a boy who came home with me."

"Is it, indeed!" exclaimed Old Mother Hubbard icily. She added, "What I meant to inquire was. What is his name?"

Tom was blushing. "His name is Everychild, mother," he said, "and he's——"

Old Mother Hubbard had removed her bonnet, which was a little affair of black velvet and jet ornaments. She touched her hair with her finger tips here and there. "I might have known as much!" she said. "Everychild! And I suppose you think it is quite right for Everychild to come tagging home after you, making work for other people?"

Tom cried out forlornly, "Oh, mother …"

As for Everychild, he was thinking—"She'll never let him go!" He was standing with one foot on top of the other in a very uncomfortable manner. Still, he was trying to smile, as if to convey the idea that Old Mother Hubbard must be joking, of course.

But the old lady continued severely: "I've warned you before. You ought to know by this time that a house is a—a house."

Here Everychild managed to say, "I'll not be a bit of trouble, Mother Hubbard, and—and I'm very glad to meet you."

She stared at him as if she were really seeing him for the first time. But her temper broke forth again. "Don't tell me!" she exclaimed. "I know what boys are. You'll not deny, I suppose, that you get ravenously hungry three times a day?"

Everychild was so amazed by this that he looked helplessly at Tom.

"Precisely!" continued Old Mother Hubbard. "Well, you should have heard our President's address yesterday afternoon on The Superfluous Table ."

Her son interrupted in great embarrassment, "Oh, mother, he doesn't even know what you mean!"

"Per'aps not. You've not told him, then, that your mother is Vice-President of the Mother Goose Auxiliary of the Amalgamated Associations of Notable Ladies?"

"No, mother," said Tom, bending his head in shame.

"Well, at all events … the President went on to say that the dinner table was a relic of barbarism. And she was quite right. She cited cases known to all we ladies …"

Mr. Literal, from his place in the background, could not help saying to the Masked Lady, "Why is it that ladies with baritone voices always have trouble with their objective case?"

But the Masked Lady did not reply, and Old Mother Hubbard continued: "There was the case of Mrs. Horner's son—her dear, dutiful little Jack. When he ate his Christmas pie, where was he sitting? In a corner ! No dinner table there to cause a lot of work and worry. And please note that he was delighted when he pulled out a plum . Yet the plum is one of the simplest forms of—of sustenance. And there was Miss Muffet, daughter of the highly honored Mrs. Alonso Muffet. During that meal which has become historic, where did she sit? On a tuffet !"

Everychild could not help asking, "What is a tuffet?"

But Old Mother Hubbard only regarded him blankly, as if there had been no interruption, and then she proceeded. "And you will note what she was eating. Curds and whey —perfectly simple yet nutritious fare. There were other instances showing that the wasteful dinner table must go. It was a wonderful address. A treat. A feast of good things. A spiritual feast."

Her son tried to lift his head. "Yes, mother," he said, "but you know I've sometimes thought how good it would seem to see you in the house, dressed for staying in instead of going out, and maybe sitting by the window sewing, or in the kitchen paring apples, or lifting the lid from a pot and letting the steam out in a cloud …"

"A survival of the male superstition that Woman was born into perpetual bondage," was the crisp response.

It seemed to Everychild that some one ought to change the subject. He tried. "It's really very interesting, Mother Hubbard," he said; "and—and that's a very nice dog you've got!"

"Do you think so? Take him away with you—do! I see nothing nice about him."

By this time her son could endure no more. "He's going to take him away, mother," he said. "And he's going to take me, too. I just came to tell you good-by."

For the first time the old lady was strangely quiet. She gasped an instant and then she cried out angrily, "Good-by? And where are you going?"

"I'm going with Everychild. We're going to find the truth."

His mother turned aside. "The boy is mad!" she said. Then facing him again she demanded, "Do you know what the truth is? I'll tell you. It's this: When you get hungry and come back home, standing with one foot on top of the other outside my door, you'll find the door shut !"

There was an impressive silence for a moment, and then the Masked Lady remarked tranquilly, "If he finds the truth, no door will ever be closed to him again."

Then Tom, turning to Everychild, said—"Come, we'll go."

They left the house together. The little dog bounded after them. The door swung to.

The old lady, clearly alarmed, went to the door as if she would open it and cry out. But pride prevented her from doing so. She stood with one hand on the wall, listening. And at last she did open the door; but not a living creature was in sight. XNucxX6l5cfgl9aL2mkwvfvAbdT6rRWazxr21DKNiccHdTxIm9RvKqos7O65eWeC