for 'the balance,' in one thing
or another? I want to be myself,--to get outside of this everlasting,
profitable 'plan,'--to let myself go, and lose myself for a while at
least,--to do the things that I want to do, just because I want to do
them."

"My boy," said his mother, anxiously, "you are not going to do
anything wrong or foolish? You know the falsehood of that old proverb
about wild oats."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, mother," he answered, "I
know it well enough. But in California, you know, the wild oats are
one of the most valuable crops. They grow all over the hillsides and
keep the cattle and the horses alive. But that wasn't what I meant--to
sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, if you like, or even to chase
wild geese--to do something that seems good to me just for its own
sake, not for the sake of wages of one kind or another. I feel like a
hired man, in the service of this magnificent mansion--say in training
for father's place as major-domo. I'd like to get out some way, to
feel free--perhaps to do something for others."

The young man's voice hesitated a little. "Yes, it sounds like cant, I
know, but sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some good in the
world, if father only wouldn't insist upon God's putting it into the
ledger."

His mother moved uneasily, and a slight look of bewilderment came into
her face.

"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she asked. "Surely the righteous must
have their reward. And your father is good. See how much he gives to
all the established charities, how many things he has founded. He's
always thinking of others, and planning for them. And surely, for us
he does everything. How well he has planned this trip to Europe for me
and the girls--the court-presentation at Berlin, the season on the
Riviera, the visits in England with the Plumptons and the
Halverstones. He says Lord Halverstone has the finest old house in
Sussex, pure Elizabethan, and all the old customs are kept up,
too--family prayers every morning for all the domestics. By-the-way,
you know his son Bertie, I believe."

Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: "Yes, I fished at
Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; he's rather a
decent chap, in spite of his in-growing mind. But you?--mother, you
are simply magnificent! You are father's masterpiece." The young man
leaned over to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club for his
afternoon canter in the Park.

So i