my
husband might become good friends. Then, six years ago, just as we were
beginning to feel that we were really making our way in the world, your
father died."

Mrs. Randall paused, and Betty felt the hand she held quiver
convulsively, but after a moment's pause she went on again.

"It was a terrible struggle at first. I had never been brought up to
support myself, and now I was left alone in the world with two little
helpless children to care for. Little Jack was frightfully delicate. The
doctors told me that it was only by the very tenderest care that I could
hope to save him. Twice I decided to write to my brother Jack. He would
help me, I knew. I even wrote the letters, but I tore them up again. I
was too proud. I could not ask for help even from him.

"My music was my only talent, and in time I succeeded in procuring
pupils. It has been hard work ever since, but I have managed somehow,
and you and Jack have never suffered."

"No, indeed, we haven't, mother; we've had lots of good times, and Jack
is ever so much stronger than he used to be."

"I know that, and I am very thankful. If I can only keep my health--I
have always been very strong. Why, I don't think I have ever been really
ill in my life."

A spasm of coughing interrupted Mrs. Randall's words, and it was several
minutes before she was able to speak again.

"I don't know why I am telling you all this to-night, Betty, unless it
is that I feel so restless and wakeful. If I keep well everything will
be all right, but if anything should ever happen--things do happen
sometimes you know, darling--if you and Jack are ever left alone in the
world, then you must try to find your Uncle Jack. He will be good to
you and love you for my sake, I know."

"Where does he live, mother?"

"I don't know where he is now, but a letter sent to the old home would
probably reach him. My father has been dead for nearly two years--I saw
the notice of his death in an English newspaper--and Jack, as his only
son, would naturally inherit everything. My father was a general, you
know--General Stanhope. In my desk you will find a letter addressed to
John Stanhope, Esq., Stonybrook Grange, Devonshire, England. That is the
address of my old home. You must see that it is stamped and posted. I
wrote it shortly after my father's death. I thought that I ought to make
some provision in case of anything happening to me. In it I have told
him everything, and asked him to care for you a