"Rupert," she said to him, "you must not worry so. I see you are
sick--you're as pale as death now. Is there anything the matter, my
boy?"

Rupert seated himself on the sofa, resting his face in his hands, and
looked into the fire. He was haggard and pale.

"Mother--yes, mother, something's the matter but I cannot tell you, I
cannot tell you."

The mother sank beside him. "Rupert, what is it, are you sick?"

"No, dear mother, I'm not sick--only at heart." He put his arms around
her neck and resting his head on her shoulder, began to sob.

It had been a long time since she had seen her boy shed tears.

"Mother," he sprang to his feet and forced himself to talk, "I must tell
you. The bank has failed and--and--I have not always told you of my
business transactions, mother. I now owe more than we are worth in this
world. I have been investing in real estate. I paid a big price for the
Riverside Addition, and the paper I asked you to sign was a mortgage on
the farm to secure a loan. Mother, I thought it was a good investment,
and it would have been had the railroad remained, but now property has
sunk so low that all we own will not pay my debts. And the bank has
failed also--O mother!"

"My son, do not carry on like that. If the worst comes, we still have
the farm, haven't we?"