for all this everlasting discord, than his actual years; had only grown a little more serious, feeling himself, at a very early age, to be the mediator; and, now that he was a couple of years older, now that he was thirteen, accepted this mediation, almost unconsciously, as an appointed task and a bounden duty, with only very deep in his childish heart the ache of it all, that things were so, because he loved both his parents. At table, at both meals, the child talked and the two parents smiled, though they avoided each other’s glances, though, to each other, their words were cruel and pitilessly cold. After lunch, it was always:
“Addie, what are you doing this afternoon?”
“I have to work, Mamma.”
“Aren’t you going out with me?”
“Well, then, at three o’clock, Mamma.”
After dinner it was:
“Addie, my boy, what are you doing this evening?”
“I have to work, Papa.”
“Aren’t you coming for a cycle-ride with me first?”
“For an hour, Papa, that’s all.”
And it was always as though the parents, almost stupidly, kept the child from working, happy as long as he sat with him or her, walked with her or cycled with him. It was so many favours that he granted; and he granted them not as a spoilt child, but as a man: he divided his precious time systematically between his work and his father and mother, conscien-
