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.

"He's mine, really," explained Tom, "though I always try to think of
him as hers. You take a fellow like me and he'd rather not own a dog.
He has to go out into the world sooner or later; and if he has a dog he
keeps thinking about him when he's away, and about there not being any
one to put water in his bowl, and open the gate for him or go with him
for a run. A dog likes to be with you, you know; and when you're gone
you keep seeing him all the while: waiting at the gate for you, or
outside your door. And you know all the time that some day when you're
gone he'll grow old at last, and lie alone dreaming of you, and
looking--while there's none but strangers by to spurn him. No,
sometimes I think it's better not to have a dog for a friend."

Everychild was think