ock. Old man, I must have been an awful bore."

"Oh, no--not _that_, boy!" Then, in glad relief, he fell upon his knees
beside the couch, praying, in discreetly veiled language, that the pure
heart of a babbler might not be held guilty for the utterances of an
irresponsible head.

Yet, after many days of sane quiet and ever-renewing strength--days of
long walks in the summer woods or long readings in the hammock when the
shadows lay east of the big house, there came to be observed in the young
man a certain moody reticence. And when the time for his return to college
was near, he came again to his disquieted grandfather one day, saying:

"I think there are some matters I should speak to you about, sir." Had he
used the term "old man," instead of "sir," there might still have been no
cause for alarm. As it was, the grandfather regarded him in a sudden,
heart-hurried fear.

"Are the matters, boy, those--those about which you may have spoken during
your sickness?"

"I believe so, sir."

The old man winced again under the "sir," when his heart longed for the
other term of playful familiarity. But he quickly assumed a lightness of
manner to hide the eagerness of his heart's appeal:

"_Don't_ talk now, boy--be advised by me. It's not well for you--you are
not strong. Please let me guide you now. Go back to your studies, put all
these matters from your mind--study your studies and play your play. Play
harder than you study--you need it more. Play out of doors--you must have
a horse to ride. You have thought too much before your time for thinking.
Put away the troublesome things, and live in the flesh as a healthy boy
should. Trust me. When you come to--to those matters again, they will not
trouble you."

In his eagerness, first one hand had gone to the boy's shoulder, then the
other, and his tones grew warm with pleading, while the keen old eyes
played as a searchlight over the troubled young face.

"I must tell you at least one thing, sir."

The old man forced a smile around his trembling mouth, and again assumed
his little jaunty lightness.

"Come, come, boy--not 'sir.' Call me 'old man' and you shall say
anything."

But the boy was constrained, plainly in discomfort. "I--I can't call you
that--just now--sir."

"Well, if you _must_, tell me one thing--but only one! only one, mind you,
boy!" In fear, but smiling, he waited.

"Well, sir, it's a shock I suffered just before I was sick. It came to me
one night