pollen as he brushed them in passing. All the world was lovely, and he
appreciated it as he had never been able to do before. Bertrand's
influence had permeated his thoughts and widened thus his reach of
happiness.

He entered the bank just at the closing hour, and the staid, faithful
old clerks nodded to him as he passed through to the inner room, where
he found his father awaiting him. He dropped wearily into a swivel
chair before the great table and placed his crutch at his feet; wiping
the perspiration from his forehead, he leaned forward, and rested his
elbows on the table.

The young man's wan look, for the walk had taxed his strength,
reminded his father of the day he had brought the boy home wounded,
and his face relaxed.

"You are tired, my son."

"Oh, no. Not very. I have been more so." Peter Junior smiled a
disarming smile as he looked in his father's face. "I've tramped many
a mile on two sound feet when they were so numb from sheer weariness
that I could not feel them or know what they were doing. What did you
want to say to me, father?"

"Well, my son, we have different opinions, as you know, regarding your
future."

"I know, indeed."

"And a father's counsel is not to be lightly disposed of."

"I have no intention of doing so, father."

"No, no. But wait. You have been loitering the day at Mr. Ballard's?
Yes."

"I have nothing else to do, father,--and--" Peter Junior's smile
again came to the rescue. "It isn't as though I were in doubtful
company--I--there are worse places here in the village where I
might--where idle men waste their time."

"Ah, yes. But they are not for you--not for you, my son." The Elder
smiled in his turn, and lifted his brows, then drew them down and
looked keenly at his son. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the
high western window and fell on the older man's face, bringing it into
strong relief against the dark oak paneling behind him, and as Peter
Junior looked on his father he received his second revelation that
day. He had not known before what a strong, fine old face his father's
was, and for the second time he surprised himself, when he cried
out:--

"I tell you, father, you have a magnificent head! I'm going to make a
portrait of you just as you are--some day."

The Elder rose with an indignant, despairing downward motion of the
hands and began pacing the floor, while Peter Junior threw off
restraint and laughed aloud. The laughter freed his soul, bu