The next morning Bart was not up as usual, and George rushed into the
low-ceiled room, under the roof.

"Bart! breakfast is ready! Ma thinks it strange you ain't up. That was
a splendid big bass. Where did you take him? Are you sick?" as he came
in.

"No, Georgie; I am only languid and dull. I must have been wofully
tired."

"I should think you would be, running all day and up all night. I
should think you'd be hungry, too, by this time."

"Georgie, how handsome you look this morning! What a splendid young
man you will be, and so bright, and joyous, and good! Everybody will
love you; no woman will scorn you. There, tell mother not to wait! I
will get up soon."

Some time after, the light, quick step of his mother was heard
approaching his door, where she paused as if to listen.

"I am up, mother," called out Bart; and she found him partly dressed,
and sitting listlessly on his bed, pale and dejected.

"It is nothing, mother; I'm only a little depressed and dull. I'll be
all right in an hour. I ran in the woods a good deal, took cold, and
am tired."

She looked steadily and wistfully at him. The great change in his face
could not escape her. Weary he looked, and worn, as from a heart-ill.