One morning when Ned came in from school looking pale and white, gave random answers to questions, and even, to the astonishment of the class, answered Mr. Porson himself snappishly, the master, when school was over and the boys were leaving their places, said: “Sankey, I want to have a few words with you in the study.” Ned followed his master with an air of indifference. He supposed that he was going to be lectured for the way he had spoken, but as he said to himself, “What did it matter! what did anything matter!” Mr. Porson did not sit down on entering the room, but when Ned had closed the door after him took a step forward and laid his hand on his shoulder. “My boy,” he said, “what is it that is wrong with you? I fear that you have trouble at home.” Ned stood silent, but the tears welled up into his eyes. “It can't be helped, sir,” he said in a choking voice, and then with an attempt at gayety: “it will be all the same fifty years hence, I suppose.” “That is a poor consolation, Ned,” Mr. Porson rejoined. “Fifty years is a long time to look forward to. Can't we do anything before that?” Ned was silent. “I do not want you to tell me, Ned, anything that happens at home--God forbid that I should pry into matters so sacred as relations between a boy and a parent!--but I can see, my boy, that something is wrong. You are not yourself. At first when you came back I thought all was well with you; you were, as was natural, sad and depressed, but I should not wish it otherwise. But of late a change has come ever you; you are nervous and excited; you have gone down in your class, not, I can see, because you have neglected your work, but because you cannot bring your mind to bear upon it. Now all this must have a cause. Perhaps a little advice on my part might help you. We shall break up in a week, Ned, and I shall be going away for a time. I should like to think before I went that things were going on better with you.” “I don't want to say anything against my mother,” Ned said in a low voice. “She means kindly, sir; but, oh! it is so hard to bear. She is always talking about father, not as you would talk, sir, but just as if he were alive and might come in at any moment, and it seems sometimes as if it would drive me out of my mind.”