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My real grief was caused by a tree in the court-yard. It was a melancholy specimen of its kind; Nature had long since abandoned it and its ugly surroundings. To me, however, it was a precious and beautiful tree, and I anticipated sitting quietly under its begrimed and scraggy branches.
Alas! I was to know that all the children in the district had chosen that particular spot as as meeting-place; the poor tree, fairly trembling with the clamor of their voices, failed to offer even the illusion of rural seclusion.

Mrs. Hickey would now go out to work for the whole day, leaving me a few pennies with which to buy food. I lived practically on some sweet buns. There were no more pancakes or black coffee. Hunger now became chronic, and I would rock myself violently on the rocking-chair and sing loudly to ease the pangs.

One day it began to rain hard while I was playing outside. Running back to the room for shelter I found the door locked. This had never happened before. Wondering what it meant I put an eye to the key-hole. To my surprise I saw Mike in bed with the froway relation who helped drink beer and wash the clothes. I realised in some odd way that my indiscretion was unpleasant to me, and quickly turned back again in to the rain. Towards evening, entering the room with Mrs. Hickey, we found the woman still in bed, drunk; Mike had disappeared. Mrs. Hickey asked me if I had seen him, but I disavowed all knowledge of his movements, probably because the incident had not fixed itself too agreeably on my mind.

During all this time, Mrs. Hickey never asked me to work, nor did she bother me in any way. Yet, understanding that I ought to make an effort, I tried to get a place in one of the big shops, but they found me too young. Then a small acquaintance of mind sold newspapers in the streets, and that seemed to me the height of achievement. She would divide her bundle with me, and I ran about selling them, crying out the news in a small piping voice. This was not unpleasant work; I do remember why I gave it up.