but Peter kept on in his tour around the room. Suddenly he
stopped and looked steadily at a portrait over the mantel.

"Yes--your father--"

"You knew!" cried Jack.

"Knew! How could any one make a mistake? Fine head. About fifty I should
say. No question about his firmness or his kindness. Yes--fine head--and
a gentleman, that is best of all. When you come to marry always hunt up
the grandfather--saves such a lot of trouble in after life," and one of
Peter's infectious laughs filled the room.

"Do you think he looks anything like Uncle Arthur? You have seen him, I
think you said."

Peter scanned the portrait. "Not a trace. That may also be a question of
grandfathers--" and another laugh rippled out. "But just be thankful
you bear his name. It isn't always necessary to have a long line of
gentlemen behind you, and if you haven't any, or can't trace them, a
man, if he has pluck and grit, can get along without them; but it's very
comforting to know they once existed. Now let me sit down and listen to
you," added Peter, whose random talk had been inspired by the look of
boyish embarrassment on Jack's face. He had purposely struck many notes
in order to see which one would echo in the lad's heart, so that his
host might find himself, just as he had done when Jack with generous
impulse had sprang from his chair to carry Minott the ring.

The two seated themselves--Peter in the easy chair and Jack opposite.
The boy's eyes roamed from the portrait, with its round, grave face, to
Peter's head resting on the cushioned back, illumined by the light
of the lamp, throwing into relief the clear-cut lips, little gray
side-whiskers and the tightly drawn skin covering his scalp, smooth as
polished ivory.

"Am I like him?" asked Peter. He had caught the boy's glances and had
read his thoughts.

"No--and yes. I can't see it in the portrait, but I do in the way you
move your hands and in the way you bow. I keep thinking of him when I am
with you. It may, as you say, be a good thing to have a gentleman for a
father, sir, but it is a dreadful thing, all the same, to lose him just
as you need him most. I wouldn't hate so many of the things about me if
I had him to go to now and then."

"Tell me about him and your early life," cried Peter, crossing one leg
over the other. He knew the key had been struck; the boy might now play
on as he chose.

"There is very little to tell. I lived in the old home with an aunt
after my father's d