m or my mother very much even
had it been otherwise I cannot say, for Life, so small a thing when
looked at beside Death, seemed to have lost all terror for them; but be
that as it may, I like to remember that Fortune at the last was kind
to my father, prospering his adventures, not to the extent his sanguine
nature had dreamt, but sufficiently: so that no fear for our future
marred the peaceful passing of his tender spirit.

Or should I award thanks not to Fate, but rather to sweet Barbara,
and behind her do I not detect shameless old Hasluck, grinning
good-naturedly in the background?

"Now, Uncle Luke, I want your advice. Dad's given me this cheque as a
birthday present. I don't want to spend it. How shall I invest it?"

"My dear, why not consult your father?"

"Now, Uncle Luke, dad's a dear, especially after dinner, but you and
I know him. Giving me a present is one thing, doing business for me
is another. He'd unload on me. He'd never be able to resist the
temptation."

My father would suggest, and Barbara would thank him. But a minute later
would murmur: "You don't know anything about Argentinos."

My father did not, but Barbara did; to quite a remarkable extent for a
young girl.

"That child has insisted on leaving this cheque with me and I have
advised her to buy Argentinos," my father would observe after she was
gone. "I am going to put a few hundreds into them myself. I hope they
will turn out all right, if only for her sake. I have a presentiment
somehow that they will."

A month later Barbara would greet him with: "Isn't it lucky we bought
Argentinos!"

"Yes; they haven't turned out badly, have they? I had a feeling, you
know, for Argentinos."

"You're a genius, Uncle Luke. And now we will sell out and buy
Calcuttas, won't we?"

"Sell out? But why?"

"You said so. You said, 'We will sell out in about a month and be quite
safe.'"

"My dear, I've no recollection of it."

But Barbara had, and before she had done with him, so had he. And the
next day Argentinos would be sold--not any too soon--and Calcuttas
bought.

Could money so gained bring a blessing with it? The question would
plague my father.

"It's very much like gambling," he would mutter uneasily to himself at
each success, "uncommonly like gambling."

"It is for your mother," he would impress upon me. "When she is gone,
Paul, put it aside, Keep it for doing good; that may make it clean.
Start your own life without any help fro