She would make molasses candies and send him upon the streets to sell them.  But with all her industry and resource what could she do with three children weighing her down in the fierce struggle for existence, rendered tenfold fiercer after the industrial crisis preceding and following the War of 1812.  Then it was that she was forced to supplement her scant earnings with refuse food from the table of “a certain mansion on State street.”  It was Lloyd who went for this food, and it was he who had to run the gauntlet of mischievous and inquisitive children whom he met and who longed for a peep into his tin pail.  But the future apostle of non-resistance was intensely resistant, we may be sure, on such occasions.  For, as his children have said in the story of his life:  “Lloyd was a thorough boy, fond of games and of all boyish sport.  Barefooted, he trundled his hoop all over Newburyport; he swam in the Merrimac in summer, and skated on it in winter; he was good at sculling a boat; he played at bat and ball and snowball, and sometimes led the ‘Southend boys’ against the Northenders in the numerous conflicts between the youngsters of the two sections; he was expert with marbles.  Once, with a playmate, he swam across the river to ‘Great Rock,’ a distance of three-fourths of a mile and effected his return against the tide; and once, in winter, he nearly lost his life by breaking through the ice on the river and reached the shore only after a desperate struggle, the ice yielding as often as he attempted to climb upon its surface.  It was favorite pastime of the boys of that day to swim from one wharf to another adjacent, where vessels from the West Indies discharged their freight of molasses, and there to indulge in stolen sweetness, extracted by a smooth stick inserted through the bung-hole.  When detected and chased, they would plunge into the water and escape to the wharf on which they had left their clothes.”  Such was the little man with a boy’s irrepressible passion for frolic and fun.  His passion for music was hardly less pronounced, and this he inherited from his mother, and exercised to his heart’s content in the choir of the Baptist Church.  These were the bright lines and spots in his strenuous young life.  He played and sang the gathering brood of cares out of his own and his mother’s heart.  He needed to play and he needed to sing to charm away from his spirit the vulture of poverty.  That evil bird hovered ever over his childhood.  It was able to do many hard things to him, break up his home, sunder him from his mother, force him at a tender age to earn his bread, still there was another bird in the boy’s heart, which sang out of it the shadow and into it the sunshine.  Whatever was his lot there sang the bird within his breast, and there shone the sun over his head and into his soul.  The boy had unconsciously drawn around him a circle of sunbeams, and how could the vulture of poverty strike him with its wings or stab him with its beak.