Riot, and brawling were the order there, every night and nearly all night long

Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place. Yet little Tom was not

Unhappy. He had a hard time of it, but did not know it. It was the sort of time

That all the Offal Court boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and

Comfortable thing. When he came home empty-handed at night, he knew his

Father would curse him and thrash him first, and that when he was done the

Awful grandmother would do it all over again and improve on it; and that

Away in the night his starving mother would slip to him stealthily with any

Miserable scrap of crust she had been able to save for him by going hungry

Herself, notwithstanding she was often caught in that sort of treason and

Soundly beaten for it by her husband.

No, Tom's life went along well enough, especially in summer. He only begged

Just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendicancy were stringent,

And the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time listening to good

Father Andrew's charming old tales and legends about giants and fairies,

Dwarfs and genii, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. His

Head grew to be full of these wonderful things, and many a night as he lay in

The dark on his scant and offensive straw, tired, hungry, and smarting from a

Thrashing, he unleashed his imagination and soon forgot his aches and pains