an annuity for the boy, although it's more than he
deserves. When I realized that death was creeping upon me I felt a
strange desire to bequeath my fortune to one of my own flesh and
blood. Perhaps I didn't treat my brothers and sisters generously in
the old days, Silas."

"Perhaps not," he answered.

"So I'll make amends to one of their children. That is, if any one of
the three nieces should prove worthy."

"I see. But if neither of the three is worthy?"

"Then I'll leave every cent to charity--except Kenneth's annuity."

The lawyer smiled.

"Let us hope," said he, "that they will prove all you desire. It would
break my heart, Jane, to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital."

Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane Merrick read her letter,
her face growing harder with every line she mastered. Then she
crumpled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a moment later smoothed
it out carefully and replaced it in the envelope.

Silas Watson had watched her silently.

"Well," said he, at last, "another acceptance?"

"No, a refusal," said she. "A refusal from the Irishman's daughter,
Patricia Doyle."

"That's bad," he remarked, but in a tone of relief.

"I don't see it in that light at all," replied Miss Jane. "The girl
is right. It's the sort of letter I'd have written myself, under the
circumstances. I'll write again, Silas, and humble myself, and try to
get her to come."

"You surprise me!" said the lawyer.

"I surprise myself," retorted the old woman, "but I mean to know more
of this Patricia Doyle. Perhaps I've found a gold mine, Silas Watson!"

CHAPTER VI.

THE BOY.

Leaving the mistress of Elmhurst among her flowers, Silas Watson
walked slowly and thoughtfully along the paths until he reached the
extreme left wing of the rambling old mansion. Here, half hidden by
tangled vines of climbing roses, he came to a flight of steps leading
to an iron-railed balcony, and beyond this was a narrow stairway to
the rooms in the upper part of the wing.

Miss Merrick, however ungenerous she might have been to others, had
always maintained Elmhurst in a fairly lavish manner. There were
plenty of servants to look after the house and gardens, and there were
good horses in the stables. Whenever her health permitted she dined in
state each evening in the great dining-room, solitary and dignified,
unless on rare occasions her one familiar, Silas Watson, occupied the
seat opposite her. "The boy," as he was