smile. "No,
I haven't, father," he said.

"It's a family tradition, and if the proper care has been taken that the
boys should not learn of it, it will be as much of a test for them as it
was for you and for me, and for my father. You have not forgotten the
day I gave it to you, Cornelius?"

"That would be impossible," said his son, still smiling.

The elder man's somewhat stern features relaxed, and he sat back in his
chair with a chuckle. "Do it at once," he requested, "and make it a
stiff one. You know their characteristics; give it to them hard. I feel
pretty sure of Cyrus, but Cornelius----" He shook his head doubtfully
and returned to his letter. Suddenly he wheeled about again.

"Do it Thursday, Cornelius," he said in his peremptory way, "and
whichever one of them stands it shall go with us on the tour of
inspection. That will be reward enough, I fancy."

"Very well, sir," replied his son, and the two men went on with their
work without further words. They were in the habit of dispatching
important business with the smallest possible waste of breath.

On Thursday morning, immediately after breakfast, Cyrus Woodbridge found
himself summoned to his father's library. He presented himself at once,
a round-cheeked, bright-eyed lad of fifteen, with an air of alertness in
every line of him.

"Cyrus," said his father, "I have a commission for you to undertake, of
a character which I cannot now explain to you. I want you to take this
envelope"--he held out a large and bulky packet--"and without saying
anything to any one follow its instructions to the letter. I ask of you
your word of honour that you will do so."

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other for a moment, singularly
alike in a certain intent expression, developed into great keenness in
the man, but showing as yet only an extreme wide-awakeness in the boy.
Cyrus Woodbridge had an engagement with a young friend in half an hour,
but he responded firmly:

"I will, sir."

"On your honour?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is all I want. Go to your room and read your instructions. Then
start at once."

Mr. Woodbridge turned back to his desk with the nod and smile of
dismissal to which Cyrus was accustomed. The boy went to his room,
opening the envelope as soon as he had closed the door. It was filled
with smaller envelopes, numbered in regular order. Enfolding these was a
typewritten paper which read as follows:

Go to the reading-room of the Westche