mostly land, then
quite valueless--prevented his executors from carrying out his wishes,
or from even proving the will, or making it otherwise publicly known,
until within the last two or three years, when the property had
enormously increased in value. The provisions of that bequest are
simple, but unmistakable. The property is divided between Carry and
her stepmother, with the explicit condition that Mrs. Starbottle shall
become her legal guardian, provide for her education, and in all details
stand to her IN LOCO PARENTIS."

"What is the value of this bequest?" asked Mr. Robinson. "I cannot
tell exactly, but not far from half a million, I should say," returned
Prince. "Certainly, with this knowledge, as a friend of Miss Tretherick
I must say that her conduct is as judicious as it is honorable to her,"
responded Mr. Robinson. "I shall not presume to question the wishes,
or throw any obstacles in the way of carrying out the intentions, of my
dead husband," added Mrs. Tretherick; and the interview was closed.

When its result was made known to Mrs. Starbottle, she raised Jack's
hand to her feverish lips. "It cannot add to MY happiness now, Jack; but
tell me, why did you keep it from her?" Jack smiled, but did not reply.

Within the next week the necessary legal formalities were concluded, and
Carry was restored to her stepmother. At Mrs. Starbottle's request, a
small house in the outskirts of the town was procured; and thither they
removed to wait the spring, and Mrs. Starbottle's convalescence. Both
came tardily that year.

Yet she was happy and patient. She was fond of watching the budding
of the trees beyond her window--a novel sight to her Californian
experience--and of asking Carry their names and seasons. Even at this
time she projected for that summer, which seemed to her so mysteriously
withheld, long walks with Carry through the leafy woods, whose gray,
misty ranks she could see along the hilltop. She even thought she
could write poetry about them, and recalled the fact as evidence of her
gaining strength; and there is, I believe, still treasured by one of the
members of this little household a little carol so joyous, so simple,
and so innocent that it might have been an echo of the robin that called
to her from the window, as perhaps it was.

And then, without warning, there dropped from Heaven a day so tender, so
mystically soft, so dreamily beautiful, so throbbing and alive with the
fluttering of invisi