r
Churchouse's servant, instead of being your wife and having servants of
her own, and I'm a poor woman's son instead of being a rich man's son,
as I ought to be. All that's been told me by them who know it. And
you're a bad man, and I hate you, and I shall always hate you as long as
you live. And I'll never be beholden to you for anything, because my
life is no good now, and my mother's life is no good neither. And if I
thought she was taking a penny of your money, I'd--"

His temper upset him and he burst into tears. The emotion only served to
increase his anger.

"I'm crying for hate," he said. "Hate, hate, hate!"

Raymond looked at the boy curiously.

"Poor little chap, I wish to God I could make you see sense. You've got
the substance and are shouting for the shadow, which you can never have.
You talk like a man, so I'll answer you like a man and advise you not to
listen to the evil tongue of those who bear no kindly thought to me, or
you either. What is the sense of all this hate? Granted wrong things
happened, how are you helping to right the wrong? Where is the sense of
this blind enmity against me? I can't call back the past, any more than
you can call back the tears you have just shed. Then why waste nervous
energy and strength on all this silly hate?"

"Because it makes me better and stronger to hate you. It makes me a man
quicker to hate you. You say I talk like a man--that's because I hate
like a man."

"You talk like a very silly man, and if you grow up into a man hating
me, you'll grow up a bitter, twisted sort of man--no good to anybody. A
man with a grievance is only a nuisance to his neighbours; and seeing
what your grievance is, and that I am ready and willing to do everything
in a father's power to lessen that grievance and retrieve the mistakes
of the past--remembering, too, that everybody knows my good
intentions--you'll really get none to care for your troubles. Instead,
all sensible people will tell you that they are largely of your own
making."

"The more you talk, the more I hate you," said the boy. "If I never
heard your voice again and never saw your face again, still I'd always
hate you. I don't hate anything else in the world but you. I wouldn't
spare a bit of hate for anything but you. I won't be your son
now--never."

"Well, run away then. You'll live to be sorry for feeling and speaking
so, Abel. I won't trouble you again. Next time we meet, I hope you will
come to me."

The