The boy selected a seat in the waitingroom, and his mother sank down beside him with a great rustle of silk. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, and frowned. Presently she began to smooth her forehead as though she were a masseuse. Then the frown went into her handsome eyes. She seemed deeply preoccupied, she saw nothing of the shifting crowd, the farmers from "down East," the gayly clad immigrants, the aristocrats on their way to Beverley

"I don't know what you had to bring me for," he said, impatiently. "Why couldn't you have brought one of the girls? They are older than I."

"Your grandfather doesn't like them and they don't like him. I wasn't coming out alone to see those two men. Not to such a house."

"Suppose grandfather won't do it?"

Mrs. Braddock laughed. "Won't do it! He'll jump at it. I know him."

When Curtin Braddock finally joined them, they were seated in the train. Mrs. Braddock flushed when she saw him coming. Even if she had not hated him because he always opposed her in family councils, she would have been uncomfortable in his presence. He was so superbly good-looking, and apparently so exquisitely well-bred. When, thirty years before, she had married his brother Rollin, she had felt his disapproval. She had been angrily certain that his brilliant story, "The Mesalliance," had been a covert sneer at her. She had seen almost nothing of him for ten years. She heard of him in Boston, or the papers said that he had gone abroad, or that he had written another clever book. They had come faster of late years, since he had lost the money which his father had settled upon him when he came of age. It was because she knew that he was poor that his sister-in-law relied so confidently upon his aid in the errand upon which she had come. He would call her crazy at first, but afterward he would realize that she was the only one in the family who was really clear-sighted and wise.

He looked down at Egbert after he had spoken to Mrs. Braddock. The boy sat awkwardly, his hand-clasp was limp, he did not take off his hat. Mrs. Braddock flushed again. She knew the boy was loutish; that was the way he was made. She had been too busy trying to make fifty dollars do the work of a hundred, and to make the girls attractive, to spend much time on Egbert. Nevertheless, she resented Curtin's glance.

"Let your Uncle Curtin sit down here, Egbert, and you sit in front of us," she commanded.

Egbert obeyed, dropping his books, and almost losing his balance as he gathered them up. His mother looked out the window, until Curtin sat down beside her. "I suppose you wonder why I want to see you and your father," she began.

"Yes," answered Curtin. He was a man of few words. His father, in moments of anger, often accused him of being too lazy to speak.

"You can't imagine any reason why we, as a family, should want to get together?"

"No."

"I never heard of such people," Mrs. Braddock said, passionately. "You don't seem to care, you don't watch over your own affairs, you don't have any regard for my children, you let thousands of dollars go to waste, you

Egbert turned to look at his mother. "The whole car will hear you," he said, curtly.

"I don't care who hears me," answered Mrs. Braddock. But she lowered her voice.

"But, my dear Emma!" said Curtin. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know that we might have five hundred thousand dollars for the asking? Five hundred thousand dollars that other people are enjoying. It belongs to you and your father and my children, and you won't take it."

Curtin folded his hands over his cane. "You must be mad," he said, forgetting for once his fine manners.

"I am not mad." Mrs. Braddock spoke more slowly, as though she were afraid he might rise and go away. "It is all perfectly true. Your great-grandfather left five hundred thousand dollars to Braddock College

"Oh, nonsense, Emma! We could no

"No, it isn't too late. I don't know whether your great-grandfather said this in his will, or whether it's only the law in such cases, but we can get it back in your father's lifetime."

"How do you know?”

Mrs. Braddock stammered in her excitement. It was the name of her lawyer which made the thing so blessedly certain.

"I went to Lorado Gray," she said. "He says there isn't any question about it. All that needs to be done is for your father to apply. Their own catalogue proves our case. They've-they've thrown the money away, back to us where it belongs."

Curtin turned to look at her. For the first time in their acquaintance they saw each other with friendly eyes.

"Did you discover all this-suddenly?" "No," she confessed, frankly. "I worked for weeks till I found it all. And then I couldn't believe it till I went to Lorado Gray. He says there can't be any defense, that it is ours, ours, ours.”

It was a long time before Curtin spoke again. He stared past the unkempt head of his nephew, while the snow-covered New England landscape glided slowly by. He was oblivious to the discomfort of the jolting stops, he did not hear the angry screaming of a child in the car.

Are you really poor, Emma?" he asked finally.

"Oh, we get along. But the girls should marry, and I can't take them out as I ought. Think of having five hundred thousand dollars to divide among us!"

tin.

"It would be—heaven!" answered Cur

In an hour the train stopped, jerkingly, at Dalton. Egbert scrambled down first, without the least thought of helping his mother, and Curtin, who was behind her, could not save her from stepping almost knee-deep into the snow. The people on the station platform eyed them curiously as they started up the street. It was unusual now, since almost all the Braddock family had died or had gone away, to see three such prosperous-looking persons.

It was bitterly cold, but in their enchantment they were conscious of no discomfort, until they came opposite to the house itself, standing far back beneath its pine-trees, through whose thick shade the sun never penetrated. The house, once white, was

dingy, the shutters were closed. It was the epitome of desolation and neglect. "I haven't been here for five years," said Mrs. Braddock, shivering.

"Nor I," answered Curtin. "I-I was abroad, you know, that is, most of the time."

"Oh, you needn't apologize," laughed his sister-in-law, grimly. "It hasn't been an especially pleasant place to come to."

She went through the broken gate, lifting her skirts carefully above the snow. "We'll have to go round to the diningroom," she said. "I don't suppose there's anybody here to open the door."

Curtin knocked, first with his hand, then with his cane. There was no answer. What if the old man should be dead? Lorado Gray had said that only he could apply to the courts. Panic-stricken, Mrs. Braddock turned to her brother-in-law, and their eyes met in frightened understanding.

"A little louder," she said faintly. "Perhaps he is-asleep."

The "Come in" which answered Curtin's pounding was so shrill, that Mrs. Braddock clutched his arm, in a mixture of fright and relief. Once inside the door, they stood for a moment, silently. Curtin's eyes saw first of all the well-remembered grandeur of the room, its splendid proportions, its fine old fireplace, and the noble portrait of his great-grandfather, the most famous man of his day. Then the indescribable slovenliness of the place struck more than one of his senses. He was conscious of both impressions before he saw his father, who stood beyond the great dining-table. He was grandeur and slovenliness combined, the fine head and face of the portrait masked by a week's growth of white beard, and almost brutalized by drink and dissipation. There was none of the joviality of the confirmed drinker about him, his supply of liquor was now too poor in quality and quantity to keep him cheerful. Curtin could foresee the passionate delight with which he would receive their story. He almost wished they had written to him instead of coming.