“Well! I hope I won't have to keep a boarding house all my life. It's a thankless task. An' it ties a body down so. “Here's my uncle--my poor mother's only brother and about the only relative I've got in the world--here's Uncle Jeptha down with the grip, or suthin', and goodness knows if he'll ever get over it. And I can't leave to go and see him die peaceable.” “Does he live far from here?” asked Hiram, politely, although he had no particular reason for being interested in Uncle Jeptha. “He lives on a farm out Scoville way. He's lived there most all his life. He used to make a right good living off'n that farm, too; but it's run down some now. “The last time I was out there, two years ago, he was just keepin' along and that's all. And now I expect he's dying, without a chick or child of his own by him,” and she burst out crying again, the tears sprinkling the square of toast into which she continued to bite. Of course, it was ridiculous. A middle-aged woman weeping and eating toast and drinking strong boiled tea is not a romantic picture. But as Hiram climbed to his room he wished with all his heart that he could help Mrs. Atterson. He wasn't the only person in the world who seemed to have got into a wrong environment--lots of people didn't fit right into their circumstances in life. “We're square pegs in round holes--that's what we are,” mused Hiram. “That's what I am. I wish I was out of it. I wish I was back on the farm.” CHAPTER III. A DREARY DAY Daniel Dwight's Emporium, the general store was called, and it was in a very populous part of the town of Crawberry. Old Daniel was a driver, he seldom had clerks enough to handle his trade properly, and nobody could suit him. As general helper and junior clerk, Hiram Strong had remained with the concern longer than any other boy Daniel had hired in years. When the early Monday morning rush was over, and there was moment's breathing space, Hiram went to the door to re-arrange the trays of vegetables which were his particular care. Hiram had a knack of making a bank of the most plebeian vegetable and salads look like the display-window of a florist. Now the youth looked out upon a typical city street, the dwellings on either side being four and five story tenement houses, occupied by artisans and mechanics. A few quarreling children paddled sticks, or sailed chip boats, in the gutters. “Come on, now! Get a move on you, Hi!” sounded the raucous voice of Daniel Dwight the elder, behind him in the store. Hiram went at his task with neither interest nor energy. All about him the houses and the street were grimy and depressing. It had been a gray and murky morning; but overhead a patch of sky was as blue as June. He suddenly saw a flock of pigeons wheeling above the tunnel of the street, and the boy's heart leaped at the sight. He longed for freedom. He wished he could fly, up, up, up above the housetops and the streets, like those feathered fowl.