er's
expression. At first it was that of one who is stunned, then it
slowly changed to one of rage. For once the boy had broken through
that wall of self-control in which the Elder encased himself. Slowly
the Elder rose and leaned towering over his son across the table.

"I tell you that is a lie!" he shouted. "Your mother has never
rebelled. She has been an obedient, docile woman. It is a lie!"

Peter Junior made no reply. He also rose, and taking up his crutch,
turned toward the door. There he paused and looked back, with flashing
eyes. His lip quivered, but he held himself quiet.

"Come back!" shouted his father.

"I have told you the truth, father." He still stood with his hand on
the door.

"Has--has--your mother ever said anything to you to give you reason to
insult me this way?"

"No, never. We can't talk reasonably now. Let me go, and I'll try to
explain some other time."

"Explain now. There is no other time."

"Mother is sacred to me, father. I ought not to have dragged her into
this discussion."

The Elder's lips trembled. He turned and walked to the window and
stood a moment, silently looking out. At last he said in a low voice:
"She is sacred to me also, my son."

Peter Junior went back to his seat, and waited a while, with his head
in his hands; then he lifted his eyes to his father's face. "I can't
help it. Now I've begun, I might as well tell the truth. I meant what
I said when I spoke of the different element in me, and that it is
from my mother. You gave me that mother. I know you love her, and you
know that your will is her law, as you feel that it ought to be. But
when I am with her, I feel something of a nature in her that is not
yours. And why not? Why not, father? There is that of her in me that
makes me know this, and that of you in me that makes me understand
you. Even now, though you are not willing to give me my own way, it
makes me understand that you are insisting on your way because you
think it is for my good. But nothing can alter the fact that I have
inherited from my mother tastes that are not yours, and that entitle
me to my manhood's right of choice."

"Well, what is your choice, now that you know my wish?"

"I can't tell you yet, father. I must have more time. I only know what
I think I would like to do."

"You wish to talk it over with your mother?"

"Yes."

"She will agree with me."

"Yes, no doubt; but it's only fair to tell her and ask her advice,
especiall