r him that his mill
might be enlarged. By this time as a result of various improvements
Crompton's idea had expanded until one of his looms had as many as
three hundred and sixty spindles, and another had two hundred and
twenty."

"And years before the spinners had destroyed those that boasted more
than twenty," commented Mary thoughtfully.

"I know it! Ironic, wasn't it? Poor old Crompton! He just didn't seem
to have any luck," asserted Carl.

"It wasn't want of luck, my dear, so much as want of wisdom--the wit to
grasp opportunity when it came," contradicted his mother.

"You mean 'there is a tide in the affairs of men', Ma, and all that?"
Carl grinned. "Who says I don't know Shakespeare when I meet him?
Anyhow, I guess Bill was right; he certainly was in this case. Even the
money the English government later collected and presented to Crompton
got dribbled away and lost in various unfortunate enterprises. Crompton
got poorer and poorer, and if it hadn't been that friends took care of
him he might almost have starved."

"And did his star never rise again?" inquired Mrs. McGregor.

"Never! He just died in poverty and left other people to grow rich on
what he had done."

"That is the world, I am afraid," was Mrs. McGregor's observation.
"Still he had given humanity a hand up and done a great service to his
generation. That knowledge was better than all the fortunes he could
have possessed."

"But he might so easily have had both, Ma," returned the practical
Carl. "I call the help to humanity slim comfort when you've been
cheated out of what should have been yours. I shouldn't even have been
grateful had I been Crompton for the fine monument they set up to his
memory long after he was dead. What they ought to have done was to
treat him square while he was alive to enjoy it."

"See that as you go through life you do not forget your own philosophy,
my son," cautioned his mother.

CHAPTER XV

TIDINGS

The following week brought a letter from Uncle Frederick and very
important the McGregors felt when they took it, adorned with its
English stamp, from the mail box in the hall. Mulberry Court did not
receive so many letters that the arrival of one was a routine affair.
No, indeed! When a real letter came to any of its residents the fact
was remarked upon by the recipient with a casualness calculated to veil
the pride he or she experienced.

Mrs. O'Dowd, for example, in passing through the hall would c