With a strong bodily shudder his tears burst forth,
and the passion of his weeping filled him from head to foot. How
long he wept he knew not; it seemed as if the hot fountains would
never run dry. Suddenly and startlingly a hand fell upon his
shoulder.
"Boy, what does this mean?"
It was his father who stood before him.
Jacob looked up like some shy animal brought to bay, his eyes full
of a feeling mixed of fierceness and terror; but he said nothing.
His father seated himself on one of the roots of the old stump,
laid one hand upon Jacob's knee, and said with an unusual
gentleness of manner, "I'd like to know what it is that troubles
you so much."
After a pause, Jacob suddenly burst forth with: "Is there any
reason why I should tell you? Do you care any more for me than the
rest of 'em?"
"I didn't know as you wanted me to care for you particularly," said
the father, almost deprecatingly. "I always thought you had
friends of your own age."
"Friends? Devils!" exclaimed Jacob. "Oh, what have I done--what
is there so dreadful about me that I should always be laughed at,
and despised, and trampled upon? You are a great deal older than
I am, father: what do you see in me? Tell me what it is, and how
to get over it!"
The eyes of the two men met.
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