It was Everychild who went forward to salute the traveler, who proved to be a boy with hanging head and lagging feet.  His hands were thrust into his pockets and there were tear-stains on his cheeks.

“Good morning,” said Everychild.

“Don’t bother me,” said the boy.  “I’m running away.”

“I didn’t see you run,” said Everychild.

The boy stopped and looked at Everychild reproachfully.  “It’s called running away,” he said; “though everybody knows you don’t run, and for that matter, there’s no away about it.  Mostly you turn around and go back.  But I call it running away just the same.  It takes a load off my mind.”

“I know how it is,” declared Everychild.  “My friends and I have taken to the road, too; and if you like, you may join us.”

The boy thought this over a moment; and at length he said, “I’ll do it.  I’ll not get any further away, being with others, and it’ll not be any harder to go back, when I weaken.  I’m ready to join you now, only it might look better if I just drop in on my mother for a minute to tell her good-by.”

If seemed to Everychild that perhaps this would be a wise thing to do.  “And shall we wait for you?” he asked.

“You might just go along with me, if the others will wait, to make sure there isn’t any foul play.”

To this plan Everychild readily agreed; and after he had explained the situation to his companions, he set off with the new boy along a path which branched off from the road.

“My name is Tom,” explained the boy.  “Tom Hubbard.”  And after that they continued their way in silence.

They arrived, after no great journey, at a very prim little house, set down in a very prim little garden.  Curtains hung in the windows just so, and the door-knob shone like gold.  The only friendly thing about the place was a little black dog with a rough coat and great wistful eyes, which came running down the walk to leap up before the boy Tom, trying to lick his hands.

They entered the house, and the instant Everychild crossed the threshold he realized that he had never seen a house quite like this one.  It made you think of a very careful drawing.  Everything was at right angles with everything else.  A small table stood precisely in the middle of the floor, and two really silly little chairs were placed before it.  A spick-and-span cupboard, with a perforated tin front, stood over against the wall.

The little black dog ran over to the cupboard immediately and stood on his hind legs, gazing at the perforated doors.

“We’d better sit on the floor.” said Tom, after he had glanced uneasily about the room.

This seemed a bit strange to Everychild, but he said politely, “I’m very fond of sitting on the floor myself.”

And so they sat down on the floor and clasped their hands about their knees.

“And so this is where you live!” said Everychild, looking about him with frank interest.