the right thing, at last. Don't you know what that is?"

"Perhaps you will tell me," said Aunt Jane, curiously.

"With pleasure," returned Patsy. "Mr. Bradley left you this property
because he loved you, and love blinded him to all sense of justice.
Such an estate should not have passed into the hands of aliens because
of a lover's whim. He should have considered his own flesh and blood."

"There was no one but his sister, who at that time was not married and
had no son," explained Aunt Jane, calmly. "But he did not forget her
and asked me to look after Katherine Bradley in case she or her heirs
ever needed help. I have done so. When his mother died, I had the boy
brought here, and he has lived here ever since."

"But the property ought to be his," said Patricia, earnestly. "It
would please me beyond measure to have you make your will in his
favor, and you would be doing the right thing at last."

"I won't," said Aunt Jane, angrily.

"It would also be considerate and just to the memory of Mr. Bradley,"
continued the girl. "What's going to became of Kenneth?"

"I have left him five thousand," said the woman.

"Not enough to educate him properly," replied Patsy, with a shake of
her head. "Why, the boy might become a famous artist, if he had good
masters; and a person with an artistic temperament, such as his,
should have enough money to be independent of his art."

Aunt Jane coughed, unsympathetically.

"The boy is nothing to me," she said.

"But he ought to have Elmhurst, at least," pleaded the girl. "Won't
you leave it to him, Aunt Jane?"

"No."

"Then do as you please," cried Patsy, flying angry in her turn. "As a
matter of justice, the place should never have been yours, and I won't
accept a dollar of the money if I starve to death!"

"Think of your father," suggested Aunt Jane, cunningly.

"Ah, I've done that," said the girl, "and I know how many comforts I
could buy for the dear Major. Also I'd like to go to a girl's college,
like Smith or Wellesley, and get a proper education. But not with your
money, Aunt Jane. It would burn my fingers. Always I would think that
if you had not been hard and miserly this same money would have saved
my mother's life. No! I loathe your money. Keep it or throw it to the
dogs, if you won't give it to the boy it belongs to. But don't you
dare to will your selfish hoard to me."

"Let us change the subject, Patricia."

"Will you change your will?"

"No.".

"Then I