"Yes, mother, I know; you were not poor in England."

"I have often told you about my English home, and about your Uncle Jack,
and how happy we were together when we were children. I have been
thinking a great deal of those times this evening, and all last night I
dreamed of Jack."

"He was your twin brother, wasn't he, mother?"

"Yes; and we were everything to each other. Our mother died when we were
babies, and our two sisters were much older, almost grown up in fact,
while we were still little children. I suppose my father loved us in his
way, but he was very stern, and we were all rather afraid of him. Our
older sisters were very good to us little ones, but they had their own
affairs to think of, and so Jack and I were left a good deal to
ourselves. Such merry times as we had--such pranks as we played."

"You mean the time when Uncle Jack rode the wild colt, and the day you
climbed the plum tree, and fell and broke your arm," said Betty, glad to
have her mother's thoughts turn in this direction, and hopeful of new
stories.

"Yes, those and many others, but, Betty dear, I want to talk to you
about something else to-night. You have never heard very much about your
father, have you, darling?"

"No, mother," said Betty softly; "I know you don't like to talk about
him."

"I ought to like it, but I loved him so dearly that for a long time
after his death I could not bring myself to mention his name to any one,
even my own children."

"Did Uncle Jack love him too?" Betty asked rather timidly; "you said you
always liked the same things."

"They never met. Jack was at college when your father first came into
our neighborhood. He came to visit at the vicarage; Mr. Marvyn, our
vicar, had known his father. By that time both my sisters were married,
and as I was often lonely at home when Jack was away, I got into the
habit of spending a good many days with the Marvyn girls, who were
about my own age. Your father was only a poor artist, but he was very
clever, and people said he would make his mark in the world some day.
Jack was very fond of sketching himself, and I think that was one reason
why I first began to be interested in your father. We used to go off on
sketching expeditions together that spring, and we grew to know each
other very well. Jack was invited to spend his summer vacation in
Switzerland with a party of friends, and he decided to go. It was the
first vacation he had not spent with me, and I thin