"It's no fit place for a boy to live," said Tom. "In the first place, nobody's ever home. Mother's always gadding about somewhere. She gives lectures on _The Home_, and she's never here except between lectures. And even then her mind is somewhere else. You don't dare to speak to her. She stares at nothing--so. And all she says is, 'For goodness' sake, don't shout so;' or '_Must_ you make that noise when you're eating?' or 'Can't you walk without shaking the floor like that?' and finally, 'I think you'll drive me insane at last--such a careless creature you are!'" "It must be very bad," said Everychild. "I've been so I was afraid to move, knowing she would complain. I've sat for hours studying her, trying to understand her. I used to think the fault was all mine." "It does make you feel that way, doesn't it?" said Everychild. "And sometimes I've thought fathers were as bad as mothers about making you feel so." Tom lapsed into a dreamy mood. "Fathers . . . I don't remember much about my father," he said. "But he used to be uncomfortable about the house the same as me. The things she says to me--they come easy to her now, because she learned to say them long ago, to my father. He couldn't have a friend in to see him. It was always: 'Why don't they go home for their meals?' or 'Why don't they track dirt into their own houses?' or 'Why don't they fill their own curtains with tobacco smoke?' You know how they talk. And he quit bringing his friends home. He stayed away more and more himself. I've not seen him now for years." "I'm not sure I ever heard of your father," said Everychild. "You wouldn't have heard of him. Mother always made so much noise that you only heard of her. You wouldn't have overlooked _her_, with her finding fault all the time, and pretending not to be appreciated at home. She was always pitied by the neighbors, who knew only her side of the story. Oh, everybody's heard of Old Mother Hubbard. But who ever heard of Old Father Hubbard? She drove him away with her precise little ways, and now he's forgotten." Everychild could scarcely conceal his surprise. He hadn't supposed it was _that_ Hubbard. "And so this is where Old Mother Hubbard lives," he said, looking about him with new interest. "It's where you'll find her at odd times," said Tom, "when she hasn't got a committee meeting to attend, or a board meeting, or a convention, or something. I shouldn't say she _lives_ anywhere." "Still, everything is nice enough in its way," remarked Everychild, "and I always thought she was very poor." "Not at all," said Tom. "It was her 'poor dog.' That's what you have in mind, I suppose. And there never was a poor dog except one with a mean master or mistress." At that moment, the little black dog, weary of looking at the cupboard, approached Tom and flopped down beside him. "And that's her dog," said Everychild musingly.