ing and long, intimate talks about the books. Tom had a sense of humor and a ready wit and could come back with clever repartee. But these other children—good enough in their way, but with no idea of a joke! It was hardly worth while teasing them, they took life so seriously.
Once Tom had failed to see through his father's grim humor; at least that was how the old man chose to think of the stand he had taken when Tom wanted to go to Paris and study art. It was merely a joke when he sent back his son's letters unopened after the news came that Tom was married. Tom should have known it was a joke and sent them back or written them again—done something besides just remain silent. He should have brought his wife down to the Mill House and let his people see her. He might have known his father would have come around. How could he have been so dense? Did he expect a man of his father's age and temper to be the one to eat humble pie? Why need he have chosen a foreigner to fall in love with? Why hadn't he married a girl in his own county and settled down at the Mill House? There was plenty of room there and if there wasn't it would have been an easy matter to build another L to the old house as his fathers before him had done.
