"What did you ever learn about his will ?"

"Nothing, except that he left all his property to a distant relation."

"Now, Robert Warren, please don't be a fool. What more did I hear, you ask. I've just said all this happened before I was born."

"Oh! I thought your mother might have told you something about it."

"Well, that was all there was to tell. Unele died and left us nothing."

"So your mother told you?"

"So my mother told me."

"And you were born six months afterward.”

"I was born six months afterward. My mother told me that, too."

"You are sure his name was James ?"

"If by 'his' you mean my father's uncle, Mr. Walden, I am sure his name was James."

66

Strange that he should be called James ?" "Nonsense."

"Now, Robert Warren, tell me why you ask these questions ?"

"Oh! nothing; just to satisfy my curiosity."

"About what?"

"Why, about the matter generally."

"Well, I hope it is satisfied."

"Not altogether; but I suppose I have got all that I can

out of you."

"What do you mean?" chimed in Anna.

Warren smiled.

"Make him tell, papa," said Anna.

I confess I was wondering quite as much as she. I smiled, too, and said nothing.

"Come here, Alice, and make him explain," cried Anna. "Oh! he's only rehearsing," cried Matilda; "pray let him alone. If the fellow thinks he can learn how to examine and cross-examine a witness by practising on me, I am quite willing he should."

This provoked no reply from Warren. He continued silent and abstracted, and in a little while took his leave. "Really, what can it mean ?" continued Anna, as Warren left the room.

"How can I tell," said Matilda, pettishly, "unless it means he's a fool ?"

"Well, I shall not give it up so. I will have it out of him next time he comes, and Alice shall help me. Charley, don't you feel interested ?"

"Oh! yes," said Charley, looking up from his book; "but then, you know I am not quite so excitable as you are, and I am willing to wait."

"Bravo! Charlie," cried Matilda.

"There's a philoso

pher for you."

CHAPTER XX.

THE TURNING POINT.

ANOTHER month passed. We now come to the middle of October. Within a few days, several persons had called to see the house. I had paid the landlord forty-five dollars on account of the rent. It was the semi-annual interest on the fund of the two younger children, invested by the court. There was still more than two quarters due, and the proprietor said he could not let it run on any longer in arrear. Every day I expected to hear that the house had been let, and we must go. Go where? The little debts due in the neighborhood began to annoy me. By that species of prescience, which creditors so often exhibit, it was now very generally understood I was reduced to extremities.

It was Saturday morning, and several little sums had to be paid that afternoon, or we must go without our Sunday's marketing. As I was leaving the house, Alice told me that the servant-girl wanted a part of her month's wages. I hurried to my office. I hoped I should find some calls already on my desk. There were none. I went to half a dozen different places where I thought I should be most apt to find something to do, but no one just then required my services. The sky seemed made of brass. Never had I been in such utter perplexity.

As the day began to wear away, my anxiety increased.

At length this idea came into my head. I would go to Mr. Frink, and ask him to lend me five dollars! I had rendered him many little services, for which I received no compensation. Besides, he always appeared friendly. It was not unusual for me to go and spend a few minutes with him, even if I had no note to take in, for he sometimes gave me valuable information about paper. So I clambered up to his little room to try the experiment.

Mr. Frink was in, engaged as usual with his check-book. After a few minutes he looked up at me over his spectacles, and said: "How do you do?"

Thereupon a rather pleasant conversation ensued; for Mr. Frink, when he had nothing else to do, was fond of hearing himself talk, especially as his listeners were very sure to agree with him, whatever he said.

The usurer had no commands for me on the present occasion, and as the longer he talked the more unready I felt to broach my subject, I determined to do so abruptly.

Taking advantage of a pause in his remarks, I said: "Mr. Frink, I have been unfortunate to-day in my attempts to make a little money, and I want you to lend me five dollars."

Mr. Frink immediately commenced again at his checkbook, saying at the same time, in his ordinary monotonous tone: "I never go into any such transactions."

"I know you do not," I replied; "but I thought, under the circumstances, you might possibly accommodate me with this small sum."

"Oh! it's out of my line; I don't do any of that sort of business."

"I suppose not. Good morning."

I went back to my desk. Alice was standing by it as I entered.

แ

"Papa," she whispered, "Mr. Hoyt has sent in word that he has rented the house, and will want possession on Monday."

"Very well, I will see to it. Now go right home again, my child."

She departed, and I sank into a chair stunned and helpless. After a few minutes I rose, and proceeded with uncertain steps as far as Broadway. I then turned and walked slowly the whole length of Wall-street to the river. There I entered a ferry-boat, crossed and recrossed, while I stood against the railing where I might be exposed to the full sweep of the air. Landing, I retraced my steps, entered my office again, and sat down, leaning my head upon my hand.

It was past three o'clock. All the other inmates of the office had left for home. Suddenly the door opened with a jerk.

"Charles E. Parkinson!"

I looked up. It was the postman, already standing near

me.

"Two cents."

He left a letter, received the money, and was off in a twinkling.

I took the letter in my hand, and looked at it carefully. The postmark was illegible, the handwriting unfamiliar. I suppose I held it five minutes before I opened it. Then, not without some tremor, I broke the seal.