d off him,
that was all. Mixing more with men, his priggishness would be laughed
out of him. Otherwise he was quite a decent youngster, clean minded,
high principled. Clever, too: he often said quite unexpected things.
With approaching womanhood, changes were taking place in Ann. Seeing
her every day one hardly noticed them; but there were times when,
standing before him flushed from a walk or bending over him to kiss him
before starting for some friendly dance, Abner would blink his eyes and
be puzzled. The thin arms were growing round and firm; the sallow
complexion warming into olive; the once patchy, mouse-coloured hair
darkening into a rich harmony of brown. The eyes beneath her level
brows, that had always been her charm, still reminded Abner of her
mother; but there was more light in them, more danger.

"I'll run down to Albany and talk to Jephson about him," decided Abner.
"He can come home on Saturdays."

The plot might have succeeded: one never can tell. But a New York
blizzard put a stop to it. The cars broke down, and Abner, walking
home in thin shoes from a meeting, caught a chill, which, being
neglected, proved fatal.

Abner was troubled as he lay upon his bed. The children were sitting
very silent by the window. He sent Matthew out on a message, and then
beckoned Ann to come to him. He loved the boy, too, but Ann was nearer
to him.

"You haven't thought any more," he whispered, "about--"

"No," answered Ann. "You wished me not to."

"You must never think," he said, "to show your love for my memory by
doing anything that would not make you happy. If I am anywhere
around," he continued with a smile, "it will be your good I shall be
watching for, not my own way. You will remember that?"

He had meant to do more for them, but the end had come so much sooner
than he had expected. To Ann he left the house (Mrs. Travers had
already retired on a small pension) and a sum that, judiciously
invested, the friend and attorney thought should be sufficient for her
needs, even supposing--The friend and attorney, pausing to dwell upon
the oval face with its dark eyes, left the sentence unfinished.

To Matthew he wrote a loving letter, enclosing a thousand dollars. He
knew that Matthew, now in a position to earn his living as a
journalist, would rather have taken nothing. It was to be looked upon
merely as a parting gift. Matthew decided to spend it on travel. It
would fit him the better for h