"What are you in a 'brown stud' about now?" asked Frank.
"Oh, nothing," answered Arthur hastily, while he prepared for bed.
"You're just a wee bit cross, aren't you?" said Frank jestingly.
"I don't know that I am."
"Well, good-night," said Frank, "we won't talk if you are tired."
The words sounded kind in themselves, but there was an ironical ring in them that vexed Arthur, and roused him to make an effort to get rid of his disquieting thoughts; so with a light word or two, he laughed off his ill-humour, and dashed into lively talk.
Somehow the atmosphere of the house was less placid than it had been. Tom grew restless, and, strange as it would seem, he was often called 'the weather-glass of the house.' Any change in the moral atmosphere always affected him, and now, while feverishly anxious to enjoy Frank's company whenever he was there, he did not seem satisfied with it when obtained. He was heard to sigh more after liberty; he brooded more over his affliction, and was often snappish to the little ones and fretful with his mother. These were like the old days to him, before he had found out what Christ had done for him.
What was the cause? He did not wait to ask himself, or if he did, he knew not the answer.
Mrs. Arundel looked tired and worried, and told her husband that things did not seem to go so smoothly as usual. "But then," she added, "I am always tired if Tom is poorly."
