As he did so he met the big round face of the farmer on a broad grin. The
latter turned around and accosted him.

"Not very sociable, hey?" he remarked.

"Oh, I probably seem strange to him," observed Frank.

"He's that way all along," declared the farmer. "If he is my son, I say
it."

"You are his father, then?"

"The only one he's got," replied the farmer. "You see, I married his
mother. She's dead, now. That boy always was a sulky, ugly varmint. Why,
he'd ought to be the happiest critter in Christendom. He's got eight step-
brothers and step-sisters. Won't jibe, though. He's just unnateral, that
fellow is. No living at home with him, so I'm taking his to a boarding-
school."

"Maybe he doesn't feel well all the time," suggested Frank gently.

"What, that big, husky boy? Why, he's strong as an ox. No, sir-ree, nateral
depravity, I say. I tried to whip it out of him. It did him no good."

"I shouldn't think it would," decided Frank mentally, and then the
conversation dropped and the man returned to his paper.

Frank felt sorry for the grumpy, sad-looking boy across the aisle. His own
loveless experience with his aunt at Tipton gave him some reason for this.