"My son, you are unreasonably bitter toward your father."
"And isn't he unreasonably bitter toward me?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," moaned the poor woman; "but don't quarrel. I can't bear it. Oh, Perry, how could you go so wrong? You certainly have been taught better."
"Yes, mother, I have had a mixed sort of education; and, unfortunately, I found some of the lessons easier than others. But, after all, I think you and father are making a great fuss about something that happens every day. I've done no more than half a dozen rich men's sons that I could name."
The poor mother turned her face to the wall; she did not know what to say to her boy; she only partly understood him, but she began to realise faintly that there had been a fault in his training, that the seed which had brought such bitter fruit might have been of their own sowing. Unconsciously and ignorantly on her part the evil had been wrought; but was she not to blame for this very unconsciousness and ignorance? Alas! She had followed Christ afar off, and so her children had failed to see manifested in her life the beauty of holiness. And, too, now in her troubles, her Saviour seemed afar off, so far that she could not carry her grief to Him, and she had no strength to call out that He might hear and draw nigh. Poor mother!
[CHAPTER XIX.]
A BATCH OF LETTERS.
"How many lives made beautiful and sweet
By self-devotion and by self-restraint!"
THAT which they said of Perry Morse was true. He had been brought home dead drunk; he had neglected his business and taken his employer's money to pay his gambling debts, and he was only seventeen! The reproaches which his father had heaped upon him had roused a spirit of defiance and stubbornness; yet he was not altogether hardened, as was shown by the tears he shed over a note he received the next morning. It ran thus:
"DEAR PERRY:—Could you come and see me a little while this afternoon? I would like to have a little quiet talk and consultation upon a matter of interest to you, and think that we may have a better chance to be alone here. Shall we say at three o'clock?
"Your friend,
"MABEL MCNAIR."