k the
proffered hand with unresponsive coldness.

Paul glanced into his brother's face a moment, and said:

"What's the use of breeding malice? It's a sort of live stock that's not
worth its fodder, and it eats up everything."

There was a scarcely perceptible curl on Hugh Ritson's lip, but he
turned silently away. With head on his breast, he walked toward the
porch.

"Stop!"

It was old Allan's voice. The deep tone betrayed the anger that was
choking him. His face was flushed, his eyes were stern, his lips
trembled.

"Come back and shak' hands wi' thy brother reet."

Hugh Ritson faced about, leaning heavily on his infirm foot.

"Why to-day more than yesterday or to-morrow?" he said, calmly.

"Come back, I tell thee!" shouted the old man more hotly.

Hugh maintained his hold of himself, and said in a quiet and even voice,
"I am no longer a child."

"Then bear thysel' like a man--not like a whipped hound."

The young man shuddered secretly from head to foot. His eyes flashed for
an instant. Then, recovering his self-control, he said:

"Even a dog would resent such language, sir."

Greta had dropped aside from the painful scene, and for a moment Hugh
Ritson's eyes followed her.

"I'll have no sec worriment in my house," shouted the old man in a
broken voice. "Those that live here must live at peace. Those that want
war must go."

Hugh Ritson could bear up no longer.

"And what is your house to me, sir? What has it done for me? The world
is wide."

Old Allan was confounded. Silent, dumb, with great staring eyes, he
looked round into the faces of those about him. Then in thick, choking
tones he shouted:

"Shak' thy brother's hand, or thou'rt no brother of his."

"Perhaps not," said Hugh very quietly.

"Shak' hands, I tell thee." The old man's fists were clinched. His body
quivered in every limb.

His son's lips were firmly set; he made no answer.

The old man snatched from Mr. Bonnithorne the stick he carried. At this
Hugh lifted his eyes sharply until they met the eyes of his father.
Allan was transfixed. The stick fell from his hand. Then Hugh Ritson
halted into the house.

"Come back, come back ... my boy ... Hughie ... come back!" the old man
sobbed out. But there was no reply.

"Allan, be patient, forgive him; he will ask your pardon," said Mrs.
Ritson.

Paul and Greta had stolen away. The old man was now speechless, and his
eyes, bent on the ground, swam with tears.

"All will be