11 ACORN heard the colorless voice and looked into the cold hard face and keen gray eyes in a sort of daze all the bitterness he had ever known seemed to weigh on him two-fold. He went slowly to his room, the beautiful room which had been his since childhood, and, throwing himself on the bed, stared at the portrait of the mother he could hardly remember, until its pale colorings became a blur. The long, weary days gradually dragged themselves into weeks. During this time Ivan remained almost constantly in his room. He saw his father at the dinner table and occasionally at breakfast, but more often he was alone. He dared not trust himself to go to the end of the old orchard with its weather-beaten trunks and knotted boughs, though he longed to go there more than any other place. It had been the haunt of all his boyish pranks and play; it was there that the first robins built their nests; it was at the far end of this orchard that the thick row of shrubbery grew, and just over this hedge lived the dearest girl in all Melville. Eva Marian had been a playmate from childhood, and he could never bear to face her after his disgrace. Finally the desire to visit the beloved orchard overcame all his forebodings and so, one afternoon, when the sun had at last burst through the heavy clouds in all his splendour, Ivan walked through the orchard. All the memories of his innocent happy boyhood stirred his soul until he was trembling with conflicting emotions. As he drew near the hedge he heard a young voice raised in angry tones, "Ivan Clamart expelled! You you why, he came home to work!" "Ivan Clamart work!" answered another voice in high scorn, "Why my pa said he couldn't drive a plough to the end of the orchard." Ivan felt his face burn, but he hurried to the hedge. Bennie Marian, with clenched fists and flushed face, was ready to spring upon the little boy in front of him, who had dared to insult his idol, when Ivan's clear tones fell on his ear. "Bennie!" Bennie looked up quickly, his little clenched fists relaxed, and the angry flush gave place to a look of extreme surprise, pleasure and annoyance intermingled. The object of his anger made a hasty retreat through the orchard. "Bennie, you are mistaken about my coming home to work. I came home because I was expelled from school." And Ivan walked hurriedly away, not waiting to see the expression of grief as the little fellow's idol crashed to earth. "It's work, work. It's what I hear everywhere. I hear it when I walk along the street. Always some one remarks, 'If he'd plough, if he'd dig, if he'd work' heavens, am I lazy? Is it money that has ruined me?" ACORN 12 He looked at his hands, big and strong, but soft and white, bearing no traces of toil. He thrust the offending members in his pockets and strode up and down the orchard in deep thought. It was no use to remain in a village where every one knew his story and looked upon him with scorn and contempt. He had once been a general favorite, jolly and fun-loving, care-free and with a gentle, winning way which no one could resist. Those days with Eva Marian had been the very happiest in his life. He could never go on living here, day out and day in, shunned and avoided by her. There was nothing to induce him to remain here not even a father. Some moments later, he was standing in his father's study. "Father, I have decided to go to New York." At first Ivan thought he started, but felt that he was mistaken when the cold, gray face turned to him with the simple question: "Why?" "Because I can't go on staying here, doing nothing. When I reach New York I shall do something, I don't know just what it will be. I can better decide when I get there." "When do you go?" "Tomorrow." The answer came voluntarily, almost without thought. Ivan watched the motionless figure of his father a moment, seemingly disinterested and again absorbed in his books. With a heavy sigh he left the room to make preparations for this hurried departure. He was slowly mounting the steps to go to his room when a sudden desire to say some kind word to his father caused him to stop. This was the last time he would see him before his departure. Probably he would never return, and, if he did, his father may have departed from this world. He hurried back to the study, but stopped short in the middle of the room. Before the desk, piled with its books and papers, sat his father, gazing at the beautiful portrait of his mother. The cold, gray eyes seemed to have melted and two large tears were slowly rolling down the seemed and lined face. The once stern mouth was quivering with an emotion which sat strangely on the hardened face. The gray hair seemed whiter than before. Ivan trembled. This was the first, the only change he could ever remember in his father. Somehow he managed to reach his side, and, dropping on his knee by the big chair, pressed his head against that