“I _would_ like to know what got him into such a state,” said the father, groaning, as he picked up his book from the floor. “He used to march upstairs like a little man, and he wasn’t afraid of the dark, or of anything else; but he’s beginning to be afraid of his own shadow. What’s the matter with him?” Mrs. Thomas shook her head. “I think it’s his constitution,” she said. “I don’t believe he’s as strong as we thought he was.” “‘Strong!’” her husband repeated incredulously. “Have I been dreaming, or _were_ you looking on when I was trying to pry him loose from that table-leg?” “I mean nervously,” she said. “I don’t think his nerves are what they ought to be at all.” “His nerve isn’t!” he returned. “That’s what I’m talking about! Why was he afraid to step into our dining-room—not thirty feet from where we were sitting?” “Because it was dark in there. Poor child, he _did_ want his bow and arrow!” “Well, he got ’em! What did he want ’em for?” “To protect himself on the way to bed.” “To keep off burglars on our lighted stairway?” “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Thomas. “Burglars or something.” “Well, where’d he get such ideas _from_?” “I don’t know. Nearly all children do get them.” “I know one thing,” Mr. Thomas asserted, “_I_ certainly never was afraid like that, and none of my brothers was, either. Do you suppose the children Ludlum plays with tell him things that make him afraid of the dark?” “I don’t think so, because he plays with the same children now that he played with before he got so much this way. Of course he’s always been a _little_ timid.” “Well, I’d like to know what’s at the root of it. Something’s got into his head. That’s certain, isn’t it?” “I don’t know,” Mrs. Thomas said musingly. “I believe fear of the dark is a sort of instinct, don’t you?” “Then why does he keep having it more and more? Instinct? No, sir! I don’t know where he gets this silly scaredness from, nor what makes it, but I know that it won’t do to humour him in it. We’ve got to be firmer with him after this than we were to-night. I’m not going to have a son of mine grow up to be afraid!” “Yes; I suppose we ought to be a _little_ firmer with him,” she said dreamily. However, for several days and nights there was no occasion to exercise this new policy of firmness with Ludlum, one reason being that he was careful not to leave his trusty bow and arrow in an unlighted room after dark. Three successive evenings, weapon in hand, he “marched” sturdily to bed; but on the fourth he was reluctant, even though equipped as usual. “Is Annie upstairs?” he inquired querulously, when informed that his hour had struck. “I’m not sure, dearie,” said his mother. “I think so. It’s her evening out, but I don’t think she’s gone.” Standing in the library doorway, Ludlum sent upward a series of piercing cries: “Annie! Ann_ee_! Ann-_ee_! Oh, _Ann-nee-ee_!” “Stop it!” Mr. Thomas commanded fiercely. “You want to break your mother’s ear-drums?” “Ann-nee-_eeee_!”