"There isn't anything so very queer about it, uncle," he said coolly enough, at first, though once he had spoken his courage seemed to leave him a little. "I-I was smoking up there, and I suppose I threw a match-or maybe-"

"Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Lambert slowly. Then he pressed his lips together, and for a moment or two said nothing. At length he observed,

"There are one or two matters I should like to take up with you after supper, Paul. However, we won't go into them just now." And then he changed the subject with an abruptness that so far from drawing the thoughts of his family _away_ from speculations upon what was in store for Paul, only made them more dismally foreboding. And when after supper the family showed a desire to disperse before the coming storm, Mr.

Lambert solemnly asked them to remain while he asked Paul a few questions.

"Peter, don't scold the poor boy to-night," said Aunt Gertrude in a low voice. "He has-he is very much distressed and disappointed."

"It is true that he brought his own punishment upon himself," returned Mr. Lambert, "and I should, perhaps, overlook the matter of his smoking this time, although he knew quite as well as Carl that I have absolutely forbidden that. It is a far more serious matter that I have to speak of."

And with this he turned to Paul, who had been trying to collect his thoughts. He was not ignorant of what the serious matter might be, but it seemed to him that his uncle was making a good deal more out of it than it was worth, and he had begun to wonder whether he had been guilty of some crime that so far he knew nothing of.

"I have heard to-day-from a source that I fear is only too reliable-certain reports concerning you, which in justice to you I must ask you to deny or confirm," said Mr. Lambert.

"What are they, uncle?" asked Paul.

"I was told-and by one of my most respected fellow-citizens-that you have been seen not once, but at least half a dozen time of late with a young man of a most undesirable character and reputation-Jefferson Roberts. Could my informant have been mistaken? Have you or have you not seen this young man several times-recently?"

Paul swallowed. The entire family was aghast, for it was very plain that Mr. Lambert was deeply angered.

"Well?" said the old merchant. "Is this true?"

"Yes, uncle."

"You knew what my feelings would be if I learned that this _was_ true?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Yes," repeated Mr. Lambert, "I think you knew very well that you were disobeying my strictest injunctions. Just before Christmas you were-or could have been-seen with this notorious youth-a gambler, a rascal, a shameless loafer. When I learned of this, I pardoned you, thinking that you might not have known how deeply outraged I should feel at discovering that any member of my household should wish to a.s.sociate with such a person. But now you have disobeyed me without such excuse.

What am I to think? You give me no choice but to believe that you find pleasure in disobeying me, and mortifying me."

After a pause, he went on,

"Yes, mortifying me. You have treated me as I have not deserved to be treated. I have given you a home, I have considered your welfare as attentively as I have considered the welfare of my own children; I have been lenient with you, though you would, perhaps, not be willing to admit as much-and in return I find you willing to-perhaps you are not aware that in a.s.sociating with this Roberts and his crew you not only injure your own standing in this town, but injure me also. For more than a hundred years the family whose name you bear, and my own have stood for every principle of good citizenship; and that honorable reputation is to be marred through the willfulness of a youth who counts such a thing so lightly that he will toss it away for a few hours' idle amus.e.m.e.nt!"

This grave, stern accusation was not what Paul had expected. He turned white and then blushed crimson. His vocal chords felt stiff, but at last he managed to speak.

"I-I didn't think that Jeff Roberts was judged fairly, sir," he stammered.

"Ah!"

"And what have I done that's so terrible?" cried Paul, "I only-"

"You knew that you were disobeying me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Perhaps you think that at eighteen years of age you are a better judge of character than grey headed men and women? Perhaps you think that you are old enough to be your own master?" Mr. Lambert got up. "I cannot allow willful disobedience in my house. You have been guilty of it too often. I feel now that it would be best for all concerned-for you especially-to-let you _be_ your own master. You are free now to go where you like, make friends with whom you will, direct your own life as you please." He stopped. There was not a sound in the room-indeed no one quite realized that Mr. Lambert's words actually const.i.tuted a dismissal.

"Your father," continued the old man immovably, "left with me a small amount of money, which I shall turn over to you at once. It should be sufficient to maintain you until you are able to support yourself, and I am willing to add to it if necessary. I think-I believe that in the course of time experience will show you that I have been just with you, and if you show yourself worthy I shall always be ready to help you to the best of my ability."

Aunt Gertrude looked pleadingly at her husband, but he did not see her.

No one else had courage to say anything, and indeed to do so would have been worse than useless; for whether Mr. Lambert had judged his nephew too harshly or not, it was certain that he could not be made to look at the facts of the case in a different light. To him two things were of paramount importance,-obedience to his wishes, and respect for public opinion, and Paul had offended against both of these fundamental statutes. The old merchant had not exaggerated when he said that his nephew's conduct had mortified him.

Paul made no attempt to defend himself; he was too much dazed by all that the day had brought forth to find a word to say.

Well, he was free. He should have been glad-and only a few months before he would have been. But looking helplessly around the table, from one face to the other he realized suddenly that he was _not_ glad. Why, he had grown to love them all-he had even a certain fondness for Carl. Who was there now to care whether he got into sc.r.a.pes or out of them, whether he won prizes or burnt his pictures to cinders, whether he was defeated or triumphant. But his face showed nothing of what was pa.s.sing in his mind. Somewhere in the distance Mr. Lambert was saying,

"I wished for all of you to hear what I had to say to my nephew, so that you would understand that I judged him by nothing but what he himself admitted. And I believe, Gertrude, that when you have considered the matter as carefully as I have you will feel that I am doing only what is just, and, I hope, wise. Paul is not a child, but a young man, quite able to think for himself. It is plain that our ways and customs are disagreeable to him, and I have come to believe that it is only fair to him to let him go his own way as he thinks best. And-er-that is all."

One by one the others rose from the table, and left the room. Only Paul and his uncle remained.

"Have I made myself quite clear?" asked Mr. Lambert, sitting down at his desk, and putting up the roll-top.

"Yes, uncle. I-when do you want me to-go?"

"That I leave entirely to your convenience," returned Mr. Lambert. He opened a drawer and took out an envelope with a rubber band around it, which he gave to his nephew. "If you should find that this is not sufficient for your needs you may let me know. I am very sorry that you have forced this painful duty upon me-I had hoped that you-I still hope that you will realize-"

"My responsibilities," said Paul absently. "Oh, I have-but never mind.

I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't understand-"

"Quite so. I want you to know that I am not acting with any thought of punishing you. I am doing only what I believe to be best."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Lambert looked curiously at his nephew's face, and saw that the contrition in it was sincere. He did not for a moment waver in his decision, but after a moment he held out his hand.

"I hope you do not harbor any hard feelings against me?"

Paul slowly and wonderingly took the proffered hand. His uncle's cold, immovable justice was something that he had never been able to understand. Not for a moment did he dream of asking for pardon, but he could not "harbor any hard feelings" against the austere old man, who judged everything according to an inflexible standard of right and wrong-who saw all conduct as either black or white, and to whom the crime of disobedience was equally unpardonable whether it affected the routine of a little household or the affairs of a nation.

CHAPTER XIV-THE CROSSROADS

Along the dusty road, Paul trudged alone, his head bent. He did not look up until the little town lay behind him. There was very little feeling of exultation in his heart as he made his way along the shady road, under the apple trees, from which the yellow fruit was already falling.

For the first time in his life, this young citizen of the world knew what homesickness was-and he could not bring himself to look back to the town to which he had come so unwillingly ten months before. Well, he was free-he was his own master. That was what his uncle had said. The whole world lay before him-but where should he go? There was no one out there who knew that he was coming, or who cared whether he came or stayed.

There was the city-"lots of people, lots of streets, lots of houses."

But what was Paul Winkler to the city? And even if at some time in that future to which he looked forward with dogged hope, he should make fame and fortune, would the city care any more about Paul Winkler? Would he not have been wiser-and happier-to have fitted himself to the ways of his own people, to have gone on growing up among them, learning to know them, to honor them for their simple virtues, and to forgive them their weaknesses? He shook his head impatiently; it was too late to think about the might-have-beens.

He had just reached a bend in the road, when he heard a voice calling him.

"Paul! Oh, Paul, wait a minute!"

He stopped, and looked around slowly. Janey was running toward him, stumbling over the stones in the road, panting, her round little face puckered with distress.