t at first that Bert's queer
ways must be due to ill health; but after watching him awhile he came to
the conclusion that the boy's trouble was mental, rather than physical,
and he determined to take the first opportunity of probing the matter.
The opportunity soon came. Mrs. Lloyd and Mary were out for the evening,
leaving Bert and his father at home. Bert was studying his lessons at
the table, while his father sat in the arm-chair near by, reading the
paper. Every now and then, as he bent over his books, Bert gave a deep
sigh that seemed to well up from the very bottom of his heart. Mr. Lloyd
noted this, and presently, laying his paper down, said, pleasantly:

"Bert, dear, put your lessons aside for a few minutes, and come over
here. I want to have a talk with you."

Bert started and flushed slightly, but obeyed at once, drawing his chair
close up beside his father's. Laying his hand upon Bert's knee, and
looking him full in the face, Mr. Lloyd asked:

"Now, Bert, tell me what's the matter with you? There's something on
your mind, I know; and it has not been your way to keep any secrets from
me. Won't you tell me what is troubling you?"

Bert fidgeted in his chair, the flush deepened in his face, his eyes
dropped before his father's searching gaze, and his hands worked
nervously. At last, with an apparent effort, he replied, in a low tone:

"There's nothing the matter with me, father."

Mr. Lloyd sighed, and looked troubled.

"Yes, there is, Bert. You know there is. Now, don't conceal it from me,
but speak right out. Remember your motto, Bert: 'Quit you like men.'"

The working of Bert's countenance showed clearly the struggle that was
going on within, and there was silence for a moment, while Mr. Lloyd
awaited his answer, praying earnestly the while that his boy might be
helped to do the right. Then, suddenly, Bert sprang up, darted toward
the door, and heeding not his father's surprised exclamation of--"Bert,
Bert, aren't you going to answer me?" ran up the stairs to his own room.
An instant more and he returned, bearing a volume which he placed in Mr.
Lloyd's hands; and then, throwing himself on the sofa, he buried his
head in the cushions, and burst into a passion of tears.

Bewildered by this unexpected action, Mr. Lloyd's first impulse was to
take his boy in his arms and try to soothe him. Then he bethought
himself of the book lying in his lap, and turned to it for an
explanation of the mystery. It was