Part 6 (1/2)

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.