t, even, had she received of Winn's arrival
in the city, and the great fiasco "on 'change" the day before was also
unknown to her. When Winn, using his own latch-key, walked into the
sitting room, she sat by her little table reading the latest _Zion's
Herald_, while near by her pet lap-dog slumbered in a rocking chair.

"Why, Winn," she exclaimed, springing to her feet and kissing him
fondly, "what has brought you to the city, and why didn't you tell me
you were coming? Or did you want to surprise the old lady?"

And Winn, a little proud of his financial success, answered: "I came
here two days ago to surprise Weston & Hill, and succeeded. So much so
that Weston has left for parts unknown, and I am twenty thousand
dollars richer for the surprise. I had to keep in hiding two days to do
it, however."

And then a greater surprise came to Winn.

"Mr. Weston run away," gasped his aunt, growing pale and oblivious to
Winn's twenty-thousand-dollar assertion. "What do you mean, Winn?"

"I mean," he answered coolly, "just what I say. Weston has robbed his
partner and left the town! The Rockhaven Granite Company gone to smash!
Stock not worth a copper, and there you are! But I'm all right, auntie,"
he added cheerfully, "you can't lose me."

And then a scene came.

For a moment Winn's aunt looked at him, her eyes dilated, mouth open.

"The--company--gone--to--smash!" she exclaimed slowly, as the awful news
forced its way into her brain. Then she seemed to reel a moment, and the
next sank to her knees beside a chair, her face in the cushion.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, "I am ruined, ruined, ruined!"

And Winn, half guessing the cause of his aunt's despair, was beside her
in an instant.

"What do you mean, auntie?" he begged. "What do you mean?"

"All my money," she sobbed, "all my money has gone! Twenty thousand, all
I had, gone, gone, gone!" And she moaned again.

Winn, rising, glanced at the table where only magazines and religious
papers lay, and at his aunt, still sobbing at his feet, and then a light
came to him. And it must be recorded, a curse as hearty as it was
profane rose to his lips, and the name of J. Malcolm Weston was linked
with it.

For Winn had known how his aunt had trusted and believed in Weston, and
now the outcome of it was plain.

A moment more only did he look at the woe-begone woman at his feet, and
then he turned and left the room, and went to his own upstairs.

Many of us in this world do