on to ask for an opinion is Abel himself. When people are
talking about the young, the last thought in their minds is what the
young are thinking themselves. They never get asked what's in their
minds, yet, if we knew, it might make all the difference."

"Very sound, Sabina," admitted Mr. Churchouse; "and you should know
what's in his mind if anybody does."

"I should no doubt, but I don't. I've never been in the boy's secrets,
or I might have been more to him. But that's not to say nobody could win
them. Any clever boy getting on for sixteen years should have plenty of
ideas, and if you could find them, it might save a lot of trouble."

She turned to Estelle as she spoke.

"He's often told me things," said Estelle, "and he's often been going to
tell me others and stopped--not because he thought I'd laugh at him;
but because he was doubtful of me. But he knows I can keep secrets now."

"He must be treated as an adult," decided Ernest. "Sabina is perfectly
right. We must give him credit for more sense than he has yet
discovered, and appeal directly to his pride. I think there are great
possibilities about him if he can only be brought to face them. His
ruling passion must be discovered. One has marked a love of mystery in
him and a wonderful power of make-believe. These are precious promises,
rightly guided. They point to imagination and originality. He may have
the makings of an artist. Without exaggeration, I should say he had an
artist's temperament without being an artist; but art is an elastic
term. It must mean creative instinct, however, and he has shown that. It
has so far taken the shape of a will to create disaster; but why should
we not lead his will into another channel and help it to create
something worthy?"

"He's fond of machinery," said Sabina, "and very clever with his hands."

"Could your child be anything but clever with his hands, Sabina?" said
Estelle.

"Or mine be anything but fond of machinery?" asked Raymond.

He meant no harm, but this blunt and rather brutal claim to fatherhood
made Sabina flinch. It was natural that she never could school herself
to accept the situation in open conversation without reserve, and all
but Ironsyde himself appreciated the silence which fell upon her. His
speech, indeed, showed lack of sensibility, yet it could hardly be
blamed, since only through acceptation of realities might any hopeful
action be taken. But the harm was done and the delicate poise of th