they were alone, Kenneth forgot his sense of injury and dependence,
and spoke so well and with such animation that Mr. Watson was
astonished, and believed that hidden underneath the mask of reserve
was another entirely different personality, that in the years to come
might change the entire nature of the neglected youth and win for him
the respect and admiration of the world. But these fits of brightness
and geniality were rare. Only the lawyer had as yet discovered them.

Today he found the boy lying listlessly upon the window-seat, an open
book in his hand, but his eyes fixed dreamily upon the grove of huge
elm trees that covered the distant hills.

"Morning, Ken," said he, briefly, sitting beside his young friend and
taking the book in his own hand. The margins of the printed pages were
fairly covered with drawings of every description. The far away trees
were there and the near-by rose gardens. There was a cat spitting at
an angry dog, caricatures of old Misery and James, the gardener, and
of Aunt Jane and even Silas Watson himself--all so clearly depicted
that the lawyer suddenly wondered if they were not clever, and an
evidence of genius. But the boy turned to look at him, and the next
moment seized the book from his grasp and sent it flying through
the open window, uttering at the same time a rude exclamation of
impatience.

The lawyer quietly lighted his pipe.

"Why did you do that, Kenneth?" he asked. "The pictures are clever
enough to be preserved. I did not know you have a talent for drawing."

The boy glanced at him, but answered nothing, and the lawyer thought