l completed, save a single part, and was
obliged to make another trip to the village to get the proper material.
When he returned he was alarmed by the discovery that his model was
gone. He ran down stairs to the study, but held back as he saw the Judge
and a stranger intently examining his missing work.

"I always believe," said the Judge, "in letting boys work out their
notions. It don't hurt 'em, and it teaches 'em patience."

"Of course, of course," replied the stranger. "For instance, this
'notion,' as you call it, will never do. It isn't the thing at all; but
see here, Judge, examine this hub. There's a 'notion' in that worth
something. I tell you what it is, any boy who can stumble on such an
idea, even by accident, has got good stuff in him."

Just then the Judge caught sight of Wilbert.

"Here's the lad himself. And so," said he to the boy, with a great show
of severity, "this is all that your work for two weeks has brought out.
Mr. Congdon here, Clarence's father, says your invention ain't worth
anything. What do you say to that? Your work ain't much of a mine, after
all, is it?"

Wilbert felt very much like choking with vexation and grief. He couldn't
bear to have fun made of his model, especially before a stranger, but he
wisely remained silent.

"So your name is Wilbert?" inquired Mr. Congdon. "Well, now, Wilbert, I
want you to let me take this toy of yours home with me. I have come
after Clarence. We leave this evening for Boston. Trust me with it, and
you won't regret doing so."

So Mr. Congdon left with Wilbert's companion and his "notion," after
which the boy seemed lost for a few days. He went back to the old farm,
and handed his mother the wages the Judge had paid him, and an order for
a new suit of clothes kindly added by Mrs. Barton.

Toward the close of the year he sat one night, reading, as usual, by
candle-light, and oddly enough it happened to be Christmas-eve, when a
rap came at the door, and Judge Barton entered. He held in his hand an
important-looking envelope, which he reached toward Wilbert, saying,
"Here's a Christmas gift for you, boy. Work's a mint--work's a mint.
Yes, indeed, it's better than a gold mine, for it brings its reward
already coined."

Now, you see, Wilbert had never had but one letter before in his life,
and that was a little boyish scrawl from Clarence, and no wonder he
opened the big envelope timidly. The contents began, "Know all men by
these presents," and h