I nearly fell down in my haste to obey. The soup was made. Mother Barberin served it on the plates. Then, leaving the big chimney corner, he came and sat down and commenced to eat, stopping only from time to time to glance at me. I felt so uncomfortable that I could not eat. I looked at him also, but out of the corner of my eye, then I turned my head quickly when I caught his eye. "Doesn't he eat more than that usually?" he asked suddenly. "Oh, yes, he's got a good appetite." "That's a pity. He doesn't seem to want his supper now, though." Mother Barberin did not seem to want to talk. She went to and fro, waiting on her husband. "Ain't you hungry?" "No." "Well then, go to bed and go to sleep at once. If you don't I'll be angry." My mother gave me a look which told me to obey without answering. But there was no occasion for this warning. I had not thought of saying a word. As in a great many poor homes, our kitchen was also the bedroom. Near the fireplace were all the things for the meals--the table, the pots and pans, and the sideboard; at the other end was the bedroom. In a corner stood Mother Barberin's big bed, in the opposite corner, in a little alcove, was my bed under a red figured curtain. I hurriedly undressed and got into bed. But to go to sleep was another thing. I was terribly worried and very unhappy. How could this man be my father? And if he was, why did he treat me so badly? With my nose flattened against the wall I tried to drive these thoughts away and go to sleep as he had ordered me, but it was impossible. Sleep would not come. I had never felt so wide awake. After a time, I could not say how long, I heard some one coming over to my bed. The slow step was heavy and dragged, so I knew at once that it was not Mother Barberin. I felt a warm breath on my cheek. "Are you asleep?" This was said in a harsh whisper. I took care not to answer, for the terrible words, "I'll be angry" still rang in my ears. "He's asleep," said Mother Barberin; "the moment he gets into bed he drops off. You can talk without being afraid that he'll hear." I ought, of course, to have told him that I was not asleep, but I did not dare. I had been ordered to go to sleep, I was not yet asleep, so I was in the wrong. "Well, what about your lawsuit?" asked Mother Barberin. "Lost it. The judge said that I was to blame for being under the scaffold." Thereupon he banged his fist on the table and began to swear, without saying anything that meant anything. "Case lost," he went on after a moment; "money lost, all gone, poverty staring us in the face. And as though that isn't enough, when I get back here, I find a child. Why didn't you do what I told you to do?" "Because I couldn't." "You could not take him to a Foundlings' Home?" "A woman can't give up a little mite like that if she's fed it with her own milk and grown to love it." "It's not your child." "Well, I wanted to do what you told me, but just at that very moment he fell ill."