to give pleasure to others. Popular
opinion, therefore, looked with a cold and suspicious eye on all
manifestations of selfishness.

But Silas Tomlin's parsimony, his stinginess, had no selfish basis. He
was saving not for himself, but for his son, in whom all his affections
and all his ambitions were centered. He had reared Paul tenderly without
displaying any tenderness, and if the son had speculated at all in
regard to the various liberties he had been allowed, or the indulgent
methods that had been employed in his bringing up, he would have traced
them to the carelessness and indifference of his father, rather than to
the ardent affection that burned unseen and unmarked in Silas's bosom.

He had never, by word or act, intentionally wounded the feelings of his
son; he had never thrown himself in the path of Paul's wishes. There was
a feeling in Shady Dale that Silas was permitting his son to go to the
dogs; whereas, as a matter of fact, no detective was ever more alert.
Without seeming to do so, he had kept an eye on all Paul's comings and
goings. When the lad's desires were reasonable, they were promptly
gratified; when they were unreasonable, their gratification was
postponed until they were forgotten. Books Paul had in abundance. Half
of the large library of Meredith Tomlin had fallen to Silas, and the
other half to Pulaski Tomlin, and the lad had free access to all.

Paul was very fond of his Uncle Pulaski and his Aunt Fanny, and he was
far more familiar with these two than he was with his father. His
association with his uncle and aunt was in the nature of a liberal
education. It was Pulaski Tomlin who really formed Paul's character, who
gathered together all the elements of good that are native to the mind
of a sensitive lad, and moulded them until they were strong enough to
outweigh and overwhelm the impulses of evil that are also native to the
growing mind. Thus it fell out that Paul was a young man to be admired
and loved by all who find modest merit pleasing.

When his father arrived at home on that particular evening, as has been
noted, Paul was reading a book. He changed his position, but said
nothing. After awhile, however, he felt something was wrong. His father,
instead of seating himself at the table, and consulting his note-book,
walked up and down the floor.

"What is wrong? Are you ill?" Paul asked after awhile.

"No, son; I am as well in body as ever I was; but I'm greatly troubled.
I wish