nce I can
remember has been bad, or against my duty, or displeasing to God. Why
does He frown on everything I want to do? Why do we always have to be
killing our wishes on account of duty? I don't believe it. I hate duty.
I hate obedience. I hate everything, and I won't obey--"

"Freddie, be keerful: don't say anything that 'll hurt after yore mad
spell 's over. Don't blaspheme the Lord A'mighty."

'Liphalet Hodges' voice was cool and tender and persuasive. He laid his
hand on the boy's shoulder, while his wife sat there motionless, white
and rigid with horror.

The old man's words and his gentle touch had a wonderful effect on the
boy; they checked his impassioned outburst; but his pent-up heart was
too full. He burst into tears and rushed headlong from the house.

For a time he walked aimlessly on, his mind in a tumult of rage. Then he
began to come to himself. He saw the people as they passed him. He had
eyes again for the street, and he wondered where he was going. He felt
an overwhelming desire to talk to some one and to get sympathy,
consolation, and perhaps support. But whither should he turn? If
'Liphalet Hodges had been at the old house, his steps would naturally
have bent in that direction; but this refuge was no longer his. Then his
mind began going over the people whom he knew, and no name so stuck in
his fancy as that of Elizabeth. It was a hard struggle. He was bashful.
Any other time he would not have done it, but now his great need created
in him an intense desperation that made him bold. He turned and retraced
his steps toward the Simpson house.

Elizabeth was leaning over the gate. The autumn evening was cool: she
had a thin shawl about her shoulders. She was humming a song as Fred
came up. His own agitation made her seem irritatingly calm. She opened
the gate and made room for him at her side.

"You seem dreadfully warm," she said, "and here I was getting ready to
go in because it is so cool."

"I 've been walking very fast," he answered, hesitatingly.

"Don't you think you 'd better go in, so as not to take cold?"

"Oh, I don't care if I do take cold." The speech sounded rude. Elizabeth
looked at him in surprise.

"What 's the matter with you?" she asked.

"I 'm mad; that 's what 's the matter."

"Oh, Fred, you should n't get mad: you know it 's wrong."

He put up his hand as if she had struck him. "Wrong! wrong! It seems I
can't hear anything else but that word. Everything is wrong. D