In answer he sometimes said "Bah! life is but an empty bubble,"

oftener, he said nothing at all, but gazed fixedly at the floor all the time.

A few days after the manager had spoken to him, he ceased to go to work altogether. He did not send a letter to his employers, telling them of his intention to leave; of what use was it? everything was nothing to him.

It was not for his departed mother that he grieved. He grieved not.

He hardly gave her a thought now, and, when he did, his eyes seemed to brighten up and his lips muttered: "Thou art happy."

The doctor who examined him shrugged his shoulders. "Hypochondria,"

he said as he met the enquiring glance of Mr. Mathers; then he added: "He will probably be better in a few weeks."

The neighbours, without being consulted, said: "He is mad."

The days came and went, and after a few months of melancholiness he grew a little bit better. His father noticed that he began to take an interest in the culture of the garden.

"I shall have to find work for him," thought Mr. Mathers, and, one day, when his son seemed in a more joyous mood than usual, he spoke to him.

"Do you think that if I built a greenhouse you could take care of it?" he questioned.

"I think so," said his son.

"Work is slack just now," went on Mr. Mathers, "I might as well put up one in the garden as do nothing."

"I think I should very much like to grow tomatoes and grapes," Frank remarked.

"You feel better now, then," said the father. These were the first words which he ventured to speak to his son about his health, now that the latter's senses seemed to have returned to him.

"Have I been ill?" said Frank; and then after a pause----"Of course, I have not been very well lately,--yes, I am better, I think I am myself again."

"Well;" said his father, "it is agreed, we shall have a greenhouse.

I think you had better go in the garden and see if you can find something to do there."

Frank did as he was requested. The garden at the back of the house was a small one, covering some twenty-five perches; of these eight were to be blessed, or cursed, with a gla.s.s covering.

While Frank was engaged in tying up some Chrysanthemums, he was joined by Marie, the servant.

"Doin' a bit o' work, Master Frank," she said.

"Yes, a little," he replied.

"Well, that's better than mopin' about doing nothing," was the not over-particular rejoinder.

Frank smiled. "Well," he said, "a fellow must do something when he can, but there are times when he cannot."

"Perhaps," said Marie, rather absent-mindedly, as if she had not understood the meaning of his words.

She glanced around her, to make sure that there was no one about; then she came quite close to Frank. "Have you heard the news?" she said.

"What news?" questioned Frank.

"Why, they say your father is goin' to marry; didn't you know?"

Frank's face became livid, his lips tightened, his pruning knife dropped from his hand.

"What?" he exclaimed, as if he had not fully understood.

"Your father's going to marry again," said the servant in an undertone, "and I'll tell you who told me so, it was Jim Tozer, her brother; he ought to know."

"The brother of whom?" questioned Frank mechanically.

"The brother of Miss Tozer," informed Marie.

"I should have thought that your father would have stuck a little more to his word, for when your poor, dear mother was dying, she mentioned something to your father about marrying. He pretended to cry, and bawled out: 'Don't mention it, I'll never marry again; I'll never marry again.'"

"And mother been dead only five months," said Frank, more to himself than otherwise.

"But it won't be yet, you know," said Marie. "Jim Tozer told me they would probably wait till next year."

Then seeing Mr. Mathers coming towards them, she pretended to gather some parsley close by, and quickly re-entered the house.

Frank's father did not talk to his son then, but began taking measures for the greenhouse.

As for Frank, he was extremely angry with his father. He thought that his mother's memory was being slighted; but he resolved not to say a word about it to his father, and to let matters stand as they were.

Time pa.s.sed on. The winter was over. It was the month of April. The birds sang in the trees, the gra.s.s was springing up, the fields were being clothed in verdure. Nature, which had lain so long dormant, was awakening. From the trees which looked dead a few weeks ago little buds were peeping forth, taking their first view of the world.

Frank Mathers was filled with delight as he watched this development of nature.

One evening when he had just finished planting some tomatoes, he was surprised to see his father enter the greenhouse.

Mr. Mathers' face was rather pale. He looked agitated.

"They look well," said the father, meaning the tomato plants.

"Yes, they _do_ look well," answered his son; "I was just thinking as much before you came in."

There was a long silence here. Frank knew that his father had something to communicate to him, and he guessed what it was.

However, he did not help him out of his embarra.s.sment.

Finally, after several preliminary hems to clear his throat, Mr.

Mathers began: "It is a good thing that the tomatoes are planted; to-morrow you will not work, I suppose."

"I hope I shall, I have all these boxes to clear away."

"Yes, yes, but to-morrow I am going to be married."

Frank did not answer. He raised his eyes and looked straight at his father. His lips quivered and refused to utter a sound.

The son's gaze was more than a match for the father's. Mr. Mathers was not yet so hardened as to laugh and look back defiantly at his son. He, however, recovered his self-composure, tried to make himself believe that he was in his perfect right, and in a well-feigned voice--"Well?" he said interrogatively.