What little comfort she had to offer her unhappy child, was offered by Mrs. Howland.  But few rays of light came through the heavy clouds that enveloped both of their hearts.

At dinner time, Andrew declined meeting his father at the table.

“Go and tell him,” said the unyielding man, when the servant, who had been sent to his room to call him to dinner, came back and said that he did not wish to come down, “that he cannot have a mouthful to eat unless he comes to the table.”

“No, no, Andrew—­don’t say that!” quickly spoke Mrs. Howland.

“I do say it, and I mean it,” replied Mr. Howland, fixing his eyes rebukingly upon his wife.

Mrs. Howland answered nothing.  But her purpose to stand between her unrelenting husband and wandering son, was none the less fixed; and in her countenance Mr. Howland read this distinctly.  Accordingly, so soon as the latter had left the house, she took food to Andrew, who still remained in his room, at the same time that she expressed to him her earnest wish that he would meet the family at the tea-table in the evening.

“I don’t want to meet father,” he replied to this.  “He will only frown upon me.”

“He is, of course, very much fretted at this occurrence,” said the mother.  “And you cannot much wonder at it, Andrew.”

“He is more to blame than I am,” was answered in an indignant tone.

“Don’t speak of your father in that way, my son,” said the mother, a gentle reproof in her voice.

“I speak as I feel, mother.  Is it not so?”

An argument on this subject Mrs. Howland would not hold with her boy, and she therefore changed it; but she did not cease her appeals to both his reason and his feelings, until he yielded to her wishes.  At supper time he joined the family at table—­it was his first meeting with his father since morning.  Oh, what an intense desire did he feel for a kind reception from his stern parent!  It seemed to him that such a reception would soften everything harsh and rebellious, and cause him to throw himself at his feet, and make the humblest confessions of error, and the most truthful promise of future well doing.  Alas! for the repentant boy! no such reception awaited him.  His father did not so much as turn his eyes upon his son, and, during the meal, maintained a frigid silence.  Andrew ate but a few mouthfuls.  He had no appetite for food.  On leaving the table, he went into one of the parlors, whither he was followed in a little while, by his younger brother, Edward, who was, by nature, almost as hard and unsympathsizing as his father.  It was the first time, on that day, that the two boys had been alone.

“Set a house on fire!” said Edward, in a half-sneering, half-censorious, tantalizing voice.

“If you say that again, I’ll knock you down!” fell sharply from the lips of Andrew, in whom his father’s repulsive coldness was beginning to awaken bad feelings.