gether had all the gaiety of little picnics. They discussed every subject under the sun, and for the time being were absolutely free from female domination or nagging. Upon the last night of those few happy days, just when it was getting to be bedtime, Mr. Eaton suddenly asked his son a leading question.
"Eddie," he said, "you're not going to the divinity school, are you?"
"No, sir!" said Edward.
"That is final, is it, and not subject to sudden change owing to irresistible pressure?" Mr. Eaton smiled as he spoke, and Edward smiled back at him.
"I'll have to tell mother that I'm not going," said Edward, "and there'll be a row. I've tried to tell her a hundred times. But nothing comes of it; I get too panicky. I'm a perfect coward where mother's concerned. And I don't know why. I'm too big to be whipped. There isn't a blessed thing she can do to hurt me, and yet I'm scared to death of her."
"But she'll have to know."
"If I could tell her that I was going to the law school instead of the divinity school it wouldn't be so bad. But it's the telling her that I'm going to be an artist is what I can't face. You know how she is about people who paint and sculpture and
