[CHAPTER IV.]
TROUBLED THOUGHTS.
"FATHER, it's my birthday to-day;" and Phil Mellor stole his hand into his father's, as he sat moodily over the fire one Sunday morning in December.
"Is it, Phil? Well, 'twould have been a good thing for me and you too if you'd never had a birthday."
"Oh, father!" and the boy's eyes filled with tears, "would you just as soon be without me? Don't you care one bit about me, father?"
A strange look came over Stephen Mellor's face, as he glanced down at the lad kneeling beside him.
"I didn't say that, Phil; but you've had a rough time of it, and—yes, I do wish you'd never been born; not that I want to be rid of you; but when I think of what—" and then he stopped. "But there, I don't wish to think. Let me see, how old are you?"
"Thirteen, father; and I was thinking lots of boys have good times on their birthday, and presents of all sorts, and I've never had that; and so I wondered to-day if you'd let me have a birthday treat."
Stephen Mellor stared. "Treat, indeed; I don't see much likelihood of that, Phil."
"Oh yes, I could, father; something I want so much; and you can do it for me."