able, he would have gone to the West, and established himself upon a
ranch. But this was impossible; he must do the work that was nearest at
hand, and as soon as he found it, he set himself at it with a will.

For eight long years he had struggled and labored; changing his
occupation several times, but always living in the city; always making
his home in a boardinghouse or a hotel. His pluck and energy had had its
reward, and for the past three years he had held a responsible and
well-paid position in a mercantile house. But his life and his work had
for him nothing but a passing interest; he had no sympathy with bonded
warehouses, invoices, and ledgers. All he could look forward to was a
higher position, a larger salary, and, when Miriam should graduate, a
little home somewhere where she could keep house for him. In his dreams
of this home, he would sometimes place it in the suburbs, where Sundays
and holidays spent in country air would compensate for hasty breakfasts,
early morning trains, and late ones in the afternoon. But when he
reflected that it would not do to leave his young sister alone all day in
a thinly settled, rural place, at the mercy of tramps, he was forced to
the conclusion that the thing for them to do was to live in a city
apartment. But there was nothing in either of these outlooks to create
fervent longings in the soul of Ralph Haverley.

For some legal reason, probably connected with the fact that old
Butterwood died at a health resort in Arkansas, Haverley did not learn
until late in the winter that his mother's uncle had left to him the
estate of Cobhurst. The reason for this bequest, as stated in the will,
was the old man's belief that the said Ralph Haverley was the only one of
his blood relations who seemed to be getting on in the world, and to him
he left the house, farm, and all the personal property he might find
therein and thereon, but not one cent of money. Where the testator's