lf exclusively. But in this
respect there was nothing more to be had out of Johan.

At school he began to join a group of boys who always gathered in a
corner of the assembly hall during the pauses instead of mixing with the
mob in the schoolyard. The centre of that group was Swensson, a handsome
young chap of more advanced age than the others who had spent two years
in most of the grades. He was always behind in his studies, but he
seemed to know more of life than all the rest put together. A large part
of the time he was telling stories--always about girls--or relating
adventures--always with girls. Keith found the stories amusing, but as a
rule he failed to grasp their point. And yet they added fuel to the
flame that was burning more and more hotly within him.

His mother had been watching him intently for some time, and after a
while she began to ask questions. These were guarded almost to
unintelligibility, and yet Keith guessed that they referred to his own
secret--the game learned back of the big rock. And so that game grew
still more enticing. Even then, however, it did not seem to matter very
much except in so far as it was the one thing that brought him a slight
relief from the consuming restlessness of body and mind.

His mother's questions were followed by long talks, sometimes taking the
form of warnings, but more often turning into passionate pleas. And
gradually he gathered that the game he had been playing so innocently
must be both sinful and dangerous. He tried as hard as he could to get
to the root of his mother's hints, and he wanted to ask all sorts of
questions. But in the end the meaning of her words seemed to dissolve
into mist, and when he tried to question her directly, it was as if a
solid wall had suddenly risen between them, so that neither one could
hear what the other one said.

His father, too, began to ask questions, evidently urged on by the
mother. He spoke sternly, but not unkindly, when he asked if Keith had
been doing anything he ought not to do. And naturally enough Keith
answered emphatically no.

In this way the mystery came closer and closer to him, and became more
and more urgent. His mother's futile efforts at communicating what
apparently rested heavily on her heart made him ill at ease, but he
remained unconscious of any guilt or fear. A conflict of serious aspect
and proportions was undoubtedly taking shape within him, but so far it
was mainly concerned with the school