Of course it was not that abject kind of poverty which stints the supply of food and fire in a house. It did not still the prattle of the children, or banish childish mirth from the dwelling. It was not the wolf at the door, but the wolf in the dim possible distance when the poor father, bent with age, would perhaps be unable to keep his little flock together. But the boy had never thought of such a possible time. _His_ visions of the future were of sights to be seen in the great world--of a time when he would be large enough and free enough to accompany his uncle Henry upon some of his wild adventures among civilized or savage races, and of the delights of unlimited books to be read upon subjects most congenial to his mind. He therefore made no allowance for his father's gloomy face and short words, and often thought him stern when he was only sad. A slight incident, however, changed all this and compelled him to face life not as a dream but as a reality. One evening Willard's father came home very tired and somewhat dispirited by some adverse circumstances, such as occur in every man's business life at times, and of course he was not in the most pleasant frame of mind to encounter the petty annoyances of a household. Something that Willard said or did, capped the climax of his irritability and he called the boy a fool. It was a very unusual thing for Ward Glazier to speak with even apparent harshness to his children, and the lad felt it, therefore, all the more keenly. He became very thoughtful and silent, and crept off to bed earlier than usual only to lie awake most of the night brooding over the insult, and debating within himself what to do in order to vindicate his outraged dignity. The conclusion at which he finally arrived was that when the morning came, he would run away from home and seek his fortune in the great world. The fact is he had been reading "Robinson Crusoe" but a day or two previous, and that charming story had made a great impression on his mind. Under its weird influence his vivid imagination conjured up possible scenes of adventure in which he was to emulate the courage and sagacity of that celebrated truant, and eventually come home, as Robinson did, a man full of knowledge with which to astonish the family, and with wealth to lavish on brothers and sisters, and make comfortable the declining years of his parents. "_Then_ his father would not think him a fool," said this youthful logician to himself. His active little brain was too highly stimulated by his great resolve to permit much sleep that night, and his bosom swelled proudly as he thought how bravely he would encounter misfortune and face danger for the sake of the glorious future he saw in the distance. His boyish heart thrilled strangely within him as he pictured to himself how full of amazement his brothers and sisters would be, when they found he had gone forth all alone to seek his fortune. Even the little sleep, therefore,