isitor or otherwise, to come in with a latch key. You'd
better stay here, read some good book to improve your mind, and retire
early. That's what I do, and I find it pays."

Dick groaned. He now knew the meaning of his father's queer smile.

"Then I'll walk around outside the house for a while to get some air,"
proposed Dick.

"I'd rather you wouldn't," came from Mr. Larabee, as he squirmed
uneasily in his chair. "The gravel walks have just been raked smooth,
and I hate to have 'em disturbed."

Dick did not answer, but sat in his chair silently, while his aunt
cleared off the supper table. When the lamps were lighted, which was not
done until it was quite dark, Mr. Larabee handed Dick a book. The boy
hoped it might be some tale of adventures that would help pass away the
hours, but on looking at the title he saw it was "Pilgrim's Progress."

"I guess I'll go to bed," he announced, and his aunt and uncle gave an
audible sigh of relief.

The next morning Dick, without saying anything to Mr. or Mrs. Larabee,
walked to the railroad station. There he sent a telegram to his father.
It read:

"Dear Dad. This place is fierce. Can't I come home? Wire me
quick."

He said he would wait at the station for an answer, and he was a little
sorry when it came, as it meant he would have to go back to the dismal
house. His father's reply was:

"Dear Dick. To fulfill the conditions you must remain a week.
Do the best you can and let it be a lesson to you."

"Be a lesson to me?" mused Dick. "Oh, I see! He means I must make that
investment so I won't have to come here and live."

On his return Dick entered the house at the rear door, pausing
momentarily to wipe his feet. But his aunt was watching for him.

"Richard," she said severely. "They're not half clean. I can see dirt on
them."

"Oh," he began, but he kept silent, and, instead of entering, turned
into the orchard. There, at least, he would not be corrected. His uncle
found him there a little later, as Dick was sitting idly under a tree.

"Haven't you anything to occupy yourself with?" asked Mr. Larabee
severely.

"No," answered Dick. "There's no one to get up a baseball game with
around here, as far as I can see."

"Boys shouldn't always be playing," commented Mr. Larabee. "You should
labor to improve your mind. Why don't you read that book I gave you last
night?"

"I don't care for it."

"That's the way with the rising generation. Frivolous