ote of it in quieter twitter and slower
flight.

David rose resolutely and started downstairs. As he entered his
father's room, his mother was passing out She looked at her son with
apprehension, as she closed the door. His father was sitting by a
window, reading, as was his Sunday wont, the Bible. He had once written
to David that his had always been a religious people; it was true. A
grave, stern man--sternest, gravest on Sunday. When it was not possible
to go to church, the greater to him the reason that the house itself
should become churchlike in solemnity, out of respect to the day and
the duty of self-examination. A man of many failings, but on this
subject strong.

David sat down and waited for him to reach the end of the page or
chapter. But his father read on with a slow perceptible movement of his
lips.

"Father."

The gray head was turned slowly toward him in silent resentment of the
interruption.

"I thought it would be better to come down and talk with you."

The eyes resought the page, the lips resumed their movements.

"I am sorry to interrupt you."

The eye still followed the inspired words, from left to right, left to
right, left to right.

"Father, things ought not to go on in this way between us. I have been
at home now for two months. I have waited, hoping that you would give
me the chance to talk about it all. You have declined, and meantime I
have simply been at work, as I used to be. But this must not be put off
longer for several reasons. There are other things in my life now that
I have to think of and care for." The tone in which David spoke these
last words was unusual and significant.

The eyes stopped at a point on the page. The lips were pressed tightly
together.

David rose and walked quietly out of the room. After he had closed the
door behind him and put his foot on the stairs, he stopped and with
fresh determination reopened the door. His father had shut the Bible,
laid it on the floor at the side of his chair, and was standing in the
middle of the room with his eyes on the door through which David had
passed. He pointed to his son to be seated, and resumed his chair. He
drew his penknife from his pocket and slowly trimmed the ravellings
from his shirt-cuffs, blowing them off his wrists. David saw that his
hands were trembling violently. The tragedy in the poor action cut him
to the heart and he threw himself remorsefully into the midst of things.

"Father, I know I ha