That was all; but to Freckles it was a revelation. The children filed between the long rows of wooden benches, that served for seats, and the tables. They remained standing until the sister in charge gave the signal to be seated. When the three hundred sat down as one, with a thud of something more than fifteen tons' weight, there broke loose a Babel of tongues--English as it is spoken in the mouths of children of many nationalities. It was then that Freckles began to "watch out." Flibbertigibbet sat rigid on the bench, her eyes turned neither to right nor left but staring straight at the pile of smoking corn-meal cakes trickling molasses on her tin plate. She was counting: "One, two, three, four, five," and the prospect of more; for on treat nights, which occurred once a week, there was no stinting with corn-meal cakes, hulled corn, apple sauce with fried bread or whatever else might be provided for the three hundred orphans at the Asylum on ----nd Street, in the great city of New York. Freckles grew nervous as she watched. What _was_ Flibbertigibbet doing? Her fingers were busy untying the piece of red mohair tape with which her heavy braid was fastened in a neat loop. She put it around her apron, tying it fast; then, blousing the blue denim in front to a pouch like a fashion-plate shirt waist, she said in an undertone to her neighbor on the right: "Gee--look! Ain't I got the style?" "I ain't a-goin' ter look at yer, yer so pizen mean--dirt ain't in it," said 206 contemptuously, and sat sideways at such an angle that she could eat her cakes without seeing the eyesore next her. "Stop crowdin'!" was the next command from the bloused bit of "style" to her neighbor on the left. Her sharp elbow emphasized her words and was followed by a solid thigh-to-thigh pressure that was felt for the length of at least five girls down the bench. The neighbor on the left found she could not withstand the continued pressure. She raised her hand. "What is the trouble with 205?" The voice from the head of the table was one of controlled impatience. "Please 'um--"; but she spoke no further word, for the pressure was removed so suddenly that she lost her balance and careened with such force towards her torment of a neighbor that the latter was fain to put her both arms about her to hold her up. This she did so effectually that 205 actually gasped for breath. "I'll pinch yer black an' blue if yer tell!" whispered Flibbertigibbet, relaxing her hold and in turn raising her hand. "What's wanting now, 208?" "A second helpin', please 'um."