He gave me his promise, and, telling him that he had been in the water long enough for that afternoon, I asked him to dress himself and come home with me.

I felt that I had been weak.  I ought to have forbidden him ever to enter the mill-pond unless in my company, and thus that which followed never could have occurred.  I did not tell his mother what had taken place, for I knew she would insist on a strict prohibition of his aimless swimming efforts.

To tell the truth, there were two reasons why I did not forbid Bob to enter the mill-pond.  I knew it would be the most cruel kind of punishment, and, I may as well confess it, I didn’t believe the boy would obey me if he gave the pledge.  The temptation was too strong to be resisted.  Alas! how often our affection closes our eyes to the plainest duty!

And now I have reached a point which prompts me to ask the question at the head of this sketch, “Who Shall Explain It?” I have my own theory, which I shall submit, with no little diffidence, later on.

It was on Saturday afternoon, the ninth of last August, that I became a victim to a greater depression of spirits than I had known for years.  I felt nothing of it during the forenoon, but it began shortly after the midday meal and became more oppressive with each passing minute.  I sat down at my desk and wrote for a short time.  I continually sighed and drew deep inspirations, which gave me no relief.  It was as if a great and increasing weight were resting on my chest.  Had I been superstitious, I would have declared that I was on the eve of some dreadful calamity.

Writing became so difficult and distasteful that I threw down my pen, sprang from my chair, and began rapidly pacing up and down the room.  My wife had gone to the city that morning to visit her relatives, and was not to return until the following day; so I was alone, with only two servants in the house.

I couldn’t keep the thoughts of Bob out of my mind.  Saturday being a holiday, I had allowed him to go off to spend the afternoon as he chose; and, as it was unusually warm, there was little doubt where and how he was spending it.  He would strike a bee-line for that shady mill-pond, and they would spend hours plashing in its cool and delicious depths.

I looked at the clock; it was a few minutes past five, and Bob ought to have been home long ago.  What made him so late?

My fear was growing more intense every minute.  The boy was in my mind continually to the exclusion of everything else.  Despite all my philosophy and rigid common-sense, the conviction was fastening on me that something dreadful had befallen him.

And what was that something?  He had been drowned in the mill-pond.  I glanced out of the window, half expecting to see a party bearing the lifeless body homeward.  Thank Heaven, I was spared that woful sight, but I discerned something else that sent a misgiving pang through me.