A picture of the long table covered with the white cloth at the end of the
big dining room in Freedom's house came back into the mind of the boy now
sitting in the barren little kitchen before the untasted, badly-cooked
food. Upon it lay a profusion of bread and meat and great dishes heaped
with steaming potatoes. At his own house there had always been just enough
food for the single meal. The thing was nicely calculated, when you had
finished the table was bare.
How he had enjoyed that dinner after the long day on the road. With a
flourish and a roar at the children Freedom heaped high the plates and
passed them about, the wife or the tomboy girl bringing unending fresh
supplies from the kitchen. The joy of the evening with its talk of the
children in school, its sudden revelation of the womanliness of the tomboy
girl, and its air of plenty and good living haunted the mind of the boy.
"My mother never knew anything like that," he thought.
The drunken man who had been sleeping aroused himself and began talking
loudly--some old forgotten grievance coming back to his mind, he talked of
the cost of school books.
"They change the books in the school too often," he declared in a loud
voice, turning and facing the kitchen stove, as though addressing an
audience.
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