Tor was hungry. Hunger was a common experience in Tor’s short life; he merely tightened the dingy rags about his middle and continued to stare at the group of sparrows quarreling noisily in the red dust of the street. It had occurred to Tor that the life of a sparrow must be vastly pleasanter than that of a boy. “They find plenty to eat,” he told himself enviously, as he hugged his lean little body. With a sudden impulse the child flung a pebble into the midst of the belligerents. The birds shook the dust from their ruffled feathers with noisy clamor of dismay, darted into the bright air, and disappeared far above the tops of the tallest houses.