seated, his nervous hands gripping the arms of his chair. On the desk
beside him lay a thin cane. He motioned to his son to stand before him.

"My boy," he said, "tell me each thing you have done to-day."

There was a slight pause.

"I have forgotten what I did to-day," answered Shenton, his eyes fixed
on his father's face.

"That is a falsehood," breathed Leighton, tensely, "I am going to thrash
you until you remember."

Leighton saw his boy's frail body shrink, he saw a flush leap to his
cheeks and fade, leaving them dead-white again. Then he looked into his
son's eyes, and the hand with which he was groping for the cane stopped,
poised in air. In those eyes there was something that no man could
thrash. Scorn, anguish, pride, the knowledge of ages, gazed out from a
child's eyes upon Leighton, and struck terror to his soul. His boy's
frail body was the abiding-place of a power that laughed at the strength
of man's hands.

"My boy, O, my boy!" groaned Leighton.

"Father!" cried Shenton, with the cry of a bursting heart, and hurled
himself into his father's arms.