lause in which her
name appeared--"My sister will understand the motive which animates
me in making this bequest"--and then handed back the Will to Mr.
Mool. Before Ovid could ask for it, she was ready with a plausible
explanation. "When your uncle became a husband and a father," she said,
"those claims on him were paramount. He knew that a token of remembrance
(the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I happened to
outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool."

In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to
that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore
easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother's hand.

"I ought to have known it," he said, "without obliging you to tell me."

Mrs. Gallilee did _not_ blush. Mr. Mool did.

"Go on!" Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. "The next
name, Mr. Vere, is yours."

"Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?" asked Ovid.

"Yes, sir--and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached to
the bequest. 'It is needless' (your late uncle says) 'to leave any more
important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already
provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second
fortune by the exercise of his profession.' Most gratifying, Mrs.
Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old
housekeeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the
following terms--"

Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. "We may, I
think, pass over that," she suggested, "and get to the part of it
which relates to Carmina and me. Don't think I am impatient; I am only
desirous--"

The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. "That
tiresome creature!" she said sharply; "I shall be obliged to get rid of
him!"

Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs.
Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.

"Don't, Mr. Mool! That dog's temper is not to be trusted. He shows it
with Miss Minerva, my governess--growls just in that way whenever he
sees her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only
making him worse. Come back!"

Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once
more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek
admiration. "The flowering fern!" he said softly.

"A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What
a