I now began to notice the gambols of the boys out on streets. So new and keen was my instinct for sport that I envied their play. Then I slipped stealthily out of the yard to the gate and looked at their pranks with delight. At last I went out to play. The woman caught and whipped me. I played again. She whipped me again. Well, I then began to think why. I thought and thought. She could not make me understand that I was a bad boy. Playing seemed to be good. I soon learned to hate her. If she had scolded me gently and gave me decently to understand her command, it might have been all right. But it was too late. I made up my mind that I would have my own way, regardless of consequences. I did not want to be whipped so often. I all at once hated whipping. It would make me anything but good. I played out whenever I liked. She whipped me nearly every time. It did me no good. It hardened my body as well as my heart. She desired some other way of punishment by taking off my hat. It failed. She then took off my shoes. It met the same fate. She took off my jacket. I still played only with pants and a shirt on. It availed nothing. I had already determined that she would be revenged. She found it useless to break down my obstinacy. Now and then she would whip me very long and hard when I was out too long. I saw it rationally, but I delighted in following the boys on the alert far from home — say, ten blocks. One day I was playing with two larger boys. There was a large miry pond across the alley. We wanted to cross it. They succeeded, but I was unfortunate. While I was walking along the picket fence, one of the pickets gave way and I lost my balance, falling flat into the mire. I, from head to foot, was covered with the mud. I waddled and cried until I got out of the pond. By chance, my guardian, who had made a call, saw and took me. It was quite a far way off. The children out at recess stared at me and laughed 'wickedly' like the imps. What a funny picture it must be! As soon as we got home, she made me strip off my clothes and wash them. I was then completely naked — still worse, I was made to do the washing out in the yard. It meant punishment. Several of the boys peeped over the yard and made faces at me. I rebelled, but the woman was the more determined, and the boys were the most delighted. I had to remain so in this uncomfortable place for hours until the clothes got dry enough.
A good many of the neighbors knew from the hearsay of the children and by hearing my cries that I must have been cruelly treated. They were kind to me, and would let me come in and have something nice to eat. Several of them dared to see the bad woman, and tell her not to be so hard on me. But she had her own way.
Her new husband was an American captain and owned some barges. The woman sometimes took me with her to his office at the wharf where she usually got meat. Afterwards she sent me alone to the wharf and bring the meat. What a long journey it would take for a small boy to cross a dozen of blocks — alone! However, what a splendid tramp it was! How much I loved to go to the bay! The sea was a wonder to me — nay, a wonder of wonders, since even a boat was a marvel. What a variety of life along the wharves! Such a life with such a variety awakened in me a vague feeling of mystery — sadness(?) — loneliness(?). At my request, the woman would
